by Sophia Henry
But attitudes like that are what I hope to change in our company in the future. Construction work is grueling, especially now—during the summer—when the blistering sun and temperatures hovering in the hundreds threaten to melt our bones. But I’m still out there with the guys day in and day out, working as hard as any of them, praying heat stroke doesn’t take me down.
“I’m busting your balls.” Colt laughs. “Every single guy on this site needs a hot meal and a shower. But we also need to blow off steam and have some fun—you included.”
He’s right. All the guys—not just me—need time to relax and recuperate over the weekend. And if I join them at the bar, I can get even more insight into what makes them tick. I can figure out what motivates them and what doesn’t. And I get to hear the complaints about management and the company.
One of the reasons I’m hesitant to go out with the guys is because I don’t want them to know who I am. The more I drink, the more I talk, and that could get awkward.
Last summer, when I started working construction for the family business, I was only seventeen. I wasn’t really a member of the team. Everyone treated me like a kid who got in the way. I didn’t even get to do much when it came to building. I get it—I had to earn my status. I embraced my role of apprentice and runner. But this summer, things changed, and I need to capitalize on being invited into the inner circle.
It’s one of the reasons I begged Daddy to let me take this job under complete anonymity—the guys think my name is Harris Jenkins. I wanted to know exactly what was happening on our job sites. Daddy—and Granddaddy, surprisingly enough—both thought it was a genius idea.
If only the crew knew who I was and what family I’m connected to.
The truth is that they would grovel and beg me to put in a good word for them, but that would defeat the purpose of what I set out to do. The goal is to make a mark for myself without pulling any sort of favors from anyone. I don’t plan letting my ego ruin the opportunity to impress Daddy.
“Hey, earth to Harris.” Colt’s fingers snapping under my nose jerks me out of my thoughts. Why is he still here? Doesn’t he have someone else to bother?
“Don’t do that,” I say pointedly and thank the heavens my reflexes didn’t kick in and punch him square in the face.
“Alright, kid,” he replies with his hands up in mock surrender.
“Call me ‘kid’ again and I swear I’ll beat your ass,” I warn.
“You’re a twig! That would sound more threatening coming from that guy who yells, ‘the plane! the plane!’ on Fantasy Island.” He laughs. “So, are you coming out with us or not?”
I roll my eyes. “All right, all right. You big puppy.” I sigh in resignation.
Colt pumps his fist in the air like a basketball player who just hit a three-pointer at the buzzer. Judging by his reaction, you’d think he was the eighteen-year-old and I was the twenty-six-year-old.
“Be at the Park Elevator around nine,” he says, walking away from me. “And don’t be late,” he shouts over his shoulder.
I started at the site about three weeks ago—the Monday after I graduated from Myers Park High School. Working 6 a.m. to 7 p.m. five days a week has me absolutely exhausted when I get home. At the moment, I have zero social life—which is probably why Colt feels sorry for me. He’s eight years older than I am and having much more fun. I must be one of the saddest eighteen-year-olds in North Carolina.
No, in America.
A saying I read somewhere suddenly pops into my head. Success isn’t a fan of crowds.
The goal is clear; show that I am indispensable in the running of the family business. It’s not like Granddaddy had the luxury of messing around and hanging out with friends when he was building his empire back in the day.
“Ugh,” I groan, suddenly annoyed with myself for succumbing to Colt’s invitation.
Loud music and dancing isn’t my cup of tea and that’s all the Park Elevator has to offer. I like the music they play, I’m just not into having to scream over it just to talk with friends.
My idea of relaxing includes some marijuana that I buy from some black kid in the roughest part of Charlotte. I could probably get it from someone at school, but I feel better going straight to the source. I don’t trust the assholes selling at Myers Park to give me straight shit. Last month, I heard some people got weed laced with PCP. That kind of surprise is the last thing I need.
Call me old fashioned, but I’m not into drugs like that. I’m not even into snorting coke like my brother and everyone else in the Charlotte social scene now. I’m all about that relaxed vibe. Marijuana does a better job for me than alcohol does; well, except for a luscious, vintage red wine from Daddy’s cellar. But I couldn’t be caught dead drinking red wine in front of my macho coworkers. I’d be hazed for life.
My mind wanders over a wide range of thoughts as I make my way home. From drinks with the boys to my upcoming fall semester at NCU. I’m not worried about it, I just hate school. Sometimes, I think I could happily work on a construction site for the rest of my life.
But that would never fly in my family. The weight of being the second born male is almost too much to bear. My older brother, Beau has it easy. As first born, he knows his role; The Heir. I’m the one who has to prove myself. I’m the one who has to come up with different ideas just to be noticed.
All this worry is too much. I’ll likely lose all my hair before I’m forty due to how much stress I feel at eighteen. It’s not easy being a male in the Commons family.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in my bedroom stripping and flipping on the shower. The feeling of hot water flowing down my skin makes me want to crawl into bed and fall asleep, but I made a commitment to Colt and my brother, and breaking my word isn’t an option. That was plugged into my head at a very young age. Your word and a handshake are the only things needed to solidify the biggest and best deals.
I pull on a turquoise golf shirt and a pair of khaki slacks before sliding into a short sleeve button down with multi-color geometric patterns. As I descend the stairs of my parents’ house, I pop the collar on both shirts. Just in case I have a few too many, I decide to leave my truck behind and hail a taxi instead.
* * *
The cab drops me off in front of Mangione’s, a phenomenal little place serving authentic Italian food. Beau would never meet me at someplace like the Park Elevator. He once called it, ’a club for low-class freaks playing suicide music.’
Yeah, Beau’s a dick.
But the big dope is waving at me from the tiny bar and grinning widely. As irritating as my brother can be, he’s my only one and I love him.
“Hey!” Beau exclaims as I get within hearing range. “It’s my baby brother!”
I can’t help but grin back at him and hug him fiercely. “Keep it down, Captain,” I say, as I release him.
Beau steps back dramatically, with his hands spread apart. “No, welcome home? No, ‘How have you been’ or ‘How was Greece?’”
I forgot to mention, my older brother can be a bit of an attention whore. He just got back from a two-week vacation in Mykonos. Did he really need a vacation after spending a week in London with Daddy the month before? Evidently.
“Oh, come off it,” I reply. “Don’t rub your trip to paradise in my face when I just got off a thirteen-hour day of back-breaking work.”
“You’re the one who begged the old man for that job,” he replies, picking up his jacket which had been draped over the bar stool next to his, presumably saving the seat for me.
Work is a foreign word to Beau, someone who’s never had to earn a paycheck in his life. He gets everything handed to him, which means he’s the one being groomed to take over Commons Property Development, the multi-billion-dollar corporation founded by our grandfather, when Daddy retires. All he had to do was graduate from North Carolina University.
And he did—with honors.
I, on the other hand, have always had to work my ass off. Not because I need the mon
ey—my parents provide everything I need and more. I asked for the job in the field—on a job site—to prove my value to the business.
I eye the seat with curiosity before sitting down. “Don’t tell me we’re not eating, dude. You can’t bring me here and not let me eat.”
My stomach growls as I inhale the luscious aromas of Italy. I’m so hungry I’m about make like a termite and start gnawing this chair.
“I ate already, but have at it.” He slides me a menu. “I had to meet with Waylon and this was the place he chose.”
Was.
Hopefully that means they already met up and I can relax instead of plastering on a fake smile to interact with that nasty old man.
“He’s already come and gone, right? I can’t stomach food if he’s here.” I peruse the menu I know by heart. Mangione’s has been our family’s favorite restaurant for years. My parents are close friends with the owners.
“He’ll be joining us shortly.”
“For fuck’s sake, Beau.” My stomach drops and I look up at my brother. “It creeps me out that you hang out with Waylon.”
He laughs. “Why?”
“He’s like, in his fifties? Sixties?” I guess. “Why is he hanging out with twenty-something-year-olds?”
“Better company?” Beau asks, looking at me over the rim of his highball glass. “Because twenty-year-old women are more attractive than fifty-year-old women?”
“Bullshit,” I say, closing the menu and setting it down. “Even twenty is too old for that nasty old, cradle-robber.”
I’m about to continue my protest, but Beau cuts me short.
“Don’t worry about Waylon. I haven’t seen you in almost a month,” he says, sounding like our grandfather, someone who preaches about putting family first. “The least you can do is ask me all about my wonderful trips.”
“Such a prick,” I say under my breath.
“I know I’m a prick, Harris, but I’m the only brother you’ve got, so deal with it.”
I can’t help but laugh. Despite a healthy amount of sibling rivalry, we’ve always had a pretty good relationship.
“Well, Captain, since you’ve admitted to being a prick, it’s my brotherly duty to listen to you brag,” I reply, anxious to order food before Waylon shows up.
When we were younger, Beau always loved it when I called him ‘Captain’ because he would be the one to lead the way whenever we had some prank to pull or something delinquent to do. Years later, I don’t think the feeling has changed too much.
Sometimes, I wish we were children again and didn’t have this thing with inheriting a company creating tension between us. It’s not like we were at each other’s throats about it; Beau had always been nonchalant when father harped on him taking over the business.
He has a strong personality and a loud mouth. He’s never been a fan of people telling him what to do or having things being forced on him. If someone tries to make my brother do something, he instinctively does the opposite.
He can’t play that game now that he’s working with Daddy. He’s gotta sit down, shut up, and learn the Commons way. Sometimes, I feel like the weight of his eventual ‘ascension’ to the head of Commons Property Development is one of the reasons for my brother’s transformation into a total douche bag; like he wants to make father rethink his decision.
“Sometimes, I wish our roles were reversed,” he told me one night while we shared a twelve-pack of beer on the roof of the family mansion. Though, I was only fifteen years old at the time, age never stopped good ‘ole Southern boys from raiding their parent’s fridge and getting drunk in the moonlight.
Sometimes, I do, too. I’d kill to be head of the Property Development company. Instead, I’ll keep working my ass off to forge my own way.
3
Harris
The hum of an Italian love song fills the air like the hum of white noise. Something about this place makes me want to live in the moment and not think about my future. Now that I think about it, that’s exactly what I need to do tonight; be in the moment and see where the night takes me.
Beau snaps me out of my thoughts by tapping my shoulder and motioning his chin toward the bar. “You getting something?”
“I will if the bartender ever looks my way. What does it take to get a drink around here?” I call to the man whom I’ve never seen before. My family spends so much money here, the employees usually climb over each other for the opportunity to wait on us.
The new guy’s head snaps toward us, peeved at my audacity. One brow arches as he eyes me. I can’t tell if he doesn’t think I’m old enough or if he doesn’t think I can pay for my drink. Probably both.
“Should I call Roberto and Anna?” I ask, mentioning the owners by first name. Sure, anyone could throw out their names, but the Mangione’s have been to our house many times. “Or are you going to get me a Pinot Noir?”
The bartender must be struggling to keep his expression neutral because he looks like he’s constipated as he grabs a wine bottle from the shelf above him.
“I could buy this entire restaurant if I wanted to,” I mutter, the smug rich kid in me rearing. “And the first employee change I would make is fire that dude.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Beau smirking at me before he bursts out laughing.
“What?” I ask, wondering what has him so amused.
“I’d forgotten how menacing you can be,” he says, still laughing.
“Menacing? I’m a lover, not a fighter,” I reply. Though it sounds like I’m trying to convince myself more than I’m trying to convince him.
“You’ve always had a mean strike, little brother,” he says, shaking his head but looking more serious than amused. “You were born a dictator. It just takes a lot to bring it out of you.”
“Can I get you anything else, gentlemen?” the bartender asks as he sets a glass of wine in front of me with a scowl on his face.
“Another,” I reply, grabbing the glass and draining half of it in one sip.
The bartender grunts, but turns around to grab the bottle again.
Beau is silent for a while, and I can’t help but wonder what’s happening in that maze of a mind of his.
The fact remains that I’ll never be as good as Beau in our father’s eyes. I’ll always be the second son, not his shining star of a first son. Beau has always excelled at everything; academics, sports—everything. I, on the other hand, while being more than average, would always be in my older brother’s shadow; barely noticeable.
But Beau always saw more in me. He knows I could run the company if given the chance. Hell, sometimes I think he’d hand it over to me—but can’t as long as Daddy’s alive. And neither of us are wishing for something tragic.
“Look Beau, as much as I appreciate the gesture, you and I both know, I’ll never be a leader in that company if Daddy fails to acknowledge me,” I say.
“You’re such a drama queen.” Beau rolls his eyes. “Daddy doesn’t treat us that differently.”
“I don’t want to be your understudy. I want to run my own division.”
“Work your ass off in Chapel Hill over the next four years and Daddy will let you do anything you want.” He pauses for a moment. “Except run it, of course.”
“You’re such a jack-ass.” I scoff and finish off my first glass, pushing it toward the bartender who refills it quickly.
Before I can further vent, all thoughts vanish from my head when a bombshell blonde appears behind Beau. He must notice my hesitation and the direction of my gaze because he also turns around, then slides off his seat.
“Well, hel-lo,” he says, his voice silky.
When Beau turns on the charm I need someone to gag me with a spoon.
“You must be Naomi’s daughter?” he says, taking the woman’s petite hand in his.
“Yes, I am,” she replies. The lilt of her voice sounds soft and melodious. “Beau, right?”
He nods in assent and claps my shoulder. “And this here is my brother,
Harris.”
The lady in crimson regards me silently, sizing me up so subtly that one would barely notice—but I do. Underneath the thick layer of makeup, she may be underage or in her early-twenties, it’s hard to tell, but she carries herself well.
What the hell is Beau doing with this woman? He’s scheduled to marry the mayor’s youngest daughter in August.
The answer hits me like a ton of bricks; Waylon.
Perhaps it is the alcohol, but her intoxicating blend of innocence and confidence intrigues me. It makes me wonder if she’s hiding anything–other than fear. The goosebumps on her arms are a clear sign she’s on edge.
I nod at her, but say nothing. Disappointment flashes across her face, seemingly taken aback by my demeanor; a sign that she’s used to having men fawn over her.
I wouldn’t blame them. She’s drop-dead beautiful with her full lips covered in deep, red lipstick, her flawless porcelain skin, and high cheekbones coupled with wide, doe-eyes and a bodacious curvy bod. I completely understand why any man would want to take her into his bed.
In the moments I’ve been analyzing her, she and Beau are discussing something in hushed tones. Not that I’m listening. I have no interest in getting involved in case his fiancé ever finds out.
My mind wanders. Maybe she’s a stripper. Maybe he’s discussing his bachelor party.
Which, should be my job as the best man.
Too bad I’d never order him a stripper, and he knows it. I don’t want the wrath of LuAnn Whittaker on me.
“Hey Harris.” Beau turns, facing me full on. “Keep our guest company, will you? I need to make a call at the phone booth.”
I shrug as if I’m unaffected by the lady in red. She seems to be wary of me, so I try to loosen the tension.
“What’s your name?” I ask, gesturing for her to take a seat while trying to spark a conversation out of courtesy.
After what could have been ten heartbeats, she finally opens those full red lips.
“Kat,” she replies quickly as if my question annoys her.
