Two days had passed since Morgan had given me the offer. In the moment, we had agreed with a handshake, if not a full contract. Then, bless his heart, a trade happened—Morgan walked out the door, let Stephanie and the other girl whose name I couldn’t remember walk back in, and sexy times ensued. Oh, let me tell you, that may have been the best deal Morgan ever gave me.
It was one thing to wake up next to a beautiful woman, not remember anything from the night before, and take some satisfaction in what had happened. It was another to be sober, see two walk in, and be able to enjoy it to the fullest.
We did just about everything and anything, including sex against the hotel window, one of my favorites after Layla and I had done it. There was just something about presenting the girl to the world of New York that felt so primal—as if saying “she is mine, I have her, and none of you can.”
When I finished, though, I felt a strange feeling that I had not expected.
Yearning.
Even though a large part of me hated Layla for what she had done and wanted to not just never forgive her but to enact revenge, a small voice in my head missed the company. Wild sex like I had just had was fun, but part of me remembered us cuddling up for Netflix and eating tacos. Part of me missed those baby wipe jokes, those looks we’d give each other in the office, the smiles we traded.
Part of me wanted...
No, I couldn’t quite say I wanted Layla back.
Well, there was a part of me that did, but it took no heavy thinking to push that away. Even if my mind stupidly wanted Layla back, an ounce of common sense said she wasn’t worth it.
I think, instead, I just missed having that emotional connection that I had with Layla. Time had proved that connection fake, but it sure as hell felt real in the moment. It sure felt like something that I needed to go back to.
And as fun as a threesome with two busty brunettes was, as much as it seemed like a fantasy out of a porn movie, it just didn’t provide as much satisfaction as being close to a single person.
Not to say I didn’t enjoy the hell out of what had transpired. The only reason we left was because we had to check out of the hotel and the girls had to be somewhere. I didn’t pretend I would ever see them again, which was fine with me. Morgan obviously knew them well enough to contact them for me if need be, and they didn’t pretend to have fallen for me in some mad fashion. It was a mutually pleasurable exchange.
But thinking about Layla had fucked with me.
Nevertheless, as Sunday night approached, I managed to get her out of my mind well enough. I instead was able to consider the deal in more detail, now that I didn’t have the salesmanship of sober Morgan against hungover me. It still felt like a good deal. I appreciated that Morgan was honest about the degree of work I’d have—that alone told me he wasn’t like his father, Mr. Hunt, who never would have uttered a word that might have made someone hesitant.
But there was the reality that if I did this, I was still tied to the Hunts. It was a much better proposition than being tied to Mr. Hunt, but being tied to Morgan meant I could never be Chance Givens. I would always be Chance Hunt, brother of Morgan.
Of all the possibilities, I guess that worked, but...
Then again, what did I really want to be distinct from—did I want to move away from the last name Hunt, or the businessman Edwin Hunt?
Mrs. Melanie Hunt had never steered me wrong. Sure, she had her quirks and her lack of life energy upset me, but she was not a bad person like her husband that she didn’t really love. Morgan was, in many ways, the only true friend I had in this world. They had the last name Hunt, but that was far different than the name Hunt from Edwin.
Just like someone could have a last name associated with an evil world ruler, that did not automatically make them the evil person.
It wasn’t something that I had figured out in my head yet, but it was something that I was getting closer to solving, at least.
I went through the particulars of the deal. We each had a 50-50 split, which also told me Morgan was being honest. We would both be fully vested after two years, with 25 percent becoming available after every six months. If someone left early, the unvested ownership would go to the other person. Morgan had put up $100,000 to help us research, meet, and engage clients; if we gained a client we needed to invest in, he could easily put up the money but swore he would not tilt the investment percentage in his favor. He swore as much in his contract.
We would try not to take outside money, because why the hell would we when we could just slip some of Mrs. Hunt’s allowance in there? If we did, however, we would take the hit equally, and we would discuss it for a period of at least seven days before coming to a mutual conclusion, the better to avoid rash, stupid decisions.
Although we were listed as co-owners and co-CEOs, the job duties made me more of a COO and Morgan more as a CEO. That was fine—I really couldn’t be picky at this point about job titles. Just having something to do besides watch Netflix and sit there depressed until I picked myself up beat that alternative. If nothing else, it would keep me so busy I wouldn’t be able to think of Layla.
Maybe in the future I’d ask for more duties, but if that happened, it was a problem of luxury. I wouldn’t have to fight for scraps on the table—then we’d be asking who had a right to the juicy part of the steak and who got the tender part of the steak.
I got to the section about what would happen if one of us perished when I got a notification on my phone.
Layla.
I had not yet deleted her number... why, I don’t know. Maybe the voice in my head begging to forgive her had some sort of clutch on me.
I sure as hell wasn’t responding here, though.
“Sir!”
I shook out of my slumber in staring at my cell phone to realize I had committed the ultimate faux paus in New York—I had delayed the efficiency of the line.
“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Footlong ham sandwich and a cookie, please.”
I said yes to all of the vegetables and dressings that they had, in part because as much as I hated to admit it, I was curious to see what Layla had said. I hadn’t spoken to her since that Thursday night humiliation, and I had not had any intentions on reaching to her for anything.
As soon as I got the sandwich, which I paid for using some of the cash Morgan had given me, I checked my phone. To my surprise, it was not a particularly short message.
“Chance, I need to start by saying how sorry I am. If you read nothing else, know that what I did was inexcusable. I am sorry.”
Well, it’s a start. I don’t know why she’s so sorry if she felt she had no choice to it.
“There is so much more to me than I ever told you, and I couldn’t tell it to you at the time. There’s so much more to my uncle and me than what I let on. I should have never let you get close. To do so was a disservice to you, but now it’s an even greater disservice because I can’t tell you what’s going on.”
I rolled my eyes. It was a petty reaction, even though Layla wasn’t there. I knew I had to give her a chance to speak and discuss whatever she wanted to, but boy was it hard not to feel toyed with.
“I put myself in this spot and as a result, I fucked you over. If you’re still reading, you should know that I really did care for you. I still care for you. I did what I did because I literally had no choice. The only choice was to do what I did or have everything in my life end. I’m sorry you got caught in the crossfire. I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”
I found myself staring at that text for a far longer time than even I had anticipated if I had been overly sappy and sentimental. Perhaps she was being serious. Perhaps there was something to it.
Or maybe this was another trick, another lie, another game she was playing to try and fuck with me some more.
But then again, if she wanted to fuck with me, what would she gain? Her uncle had gotten the best investment deal possible. If she wanted money, she knew I was a Hunt. She just had to go after Morgan. She knew
I was adopted. She knew I didn’t have access to a pipeline of money, especially now that I was unemployed and getting supporting income from the Hunts would require more deception and appearances.
Maybe she was genuine... maybe...
But even if she was, for the kind of situation that she was hinting at, did I really want to get involved? Did I really want to stay connected to something that fraught with apparent peril and drama?
I hovered my fingers over the keyboard on my phone, deciding whether or not to respond. More than once, my fingers hit some letters, and I could only hope Layla didn’t see me writing and assume I was going to respond.
By the same token, I multiple times considered just deleting the message entirely and using this as an excuse to end my fraught and unnecessarily dramatic relationship with her. It would suck; it would mean the girl I thought I would fall in love with would be no more.
Instead, in the end, once I had finally finished my sandwich, I did nothing.
If I responded, I didn’t trust myself to stay out of her hair for good and to not say anything hurtful.
If I deleted it, that was closing the door on something that I truly did not want to shut out forever.
So I just said nothing, even though I thought of everything.
Chapter Two
The next day, it being a Monday, I decided to treat it like a workday. Without a proper office to go to, I found the nearest coffeehouse and set up my laptop to do work.
First, I went through the contract Morgan had sent me much more carefully. I trusted my brother, but you could never be too sure with these contracts. Trust today could just as easily turn into disdain and disgust tomorrow; even if I loved him now, emotions and feelings could change—as Layla had proved. A contract, however, was largely immutable and not subject to human emotions.
Fortunately, everything looked good. I thought of every worst-case scenario, from lawsuits to deaths to hostile takeovers and everything in between, and I could not find a way that Morgan might screw me over. For once in my life, it seemed as if I had not gotten taken advantage of or set up by someone else.
As soon as everything looked good, I signed it electronically and sent it back to Morgan.
Next, I looked in my next email, a potential lead from Morgan.
“Friend of mine looking to receive $250k for 10 percent of the company. Will help her hire a developer team. Number is 212-555-5555. Reach out to her as soon as you can—she’s a star, will have multiple competitors, but we have an in being her friend.”
Right off the bat and we’re going at it, huh? I didn’t even think Morgan had registered Morgan and Chance Holdings yet; we sure as hell didn’t even have a logo or emails yet. This was truly building a space shuttle while the rocket fuel began to ignite beneath us.
I liked it, though. I didn’t even have any time off from quitting Burnson Investments and I already had much higher-level work just the following Monday. No time to waste, I thought as I picked up my phone. I dialed the number and waited for an answer.
“Hello?”
Oh, she’s got a nice voice.
Chance! This is business. Need I remind you what happened the last time you mixed business and pleasure?
“Hi, is this Claire McLendon?”
“Yes, who am I speaking with?”
Direct and to the point. It’s going to be hard to do something stupid when someone is this to the point and professional.
“Hi Claire, my name is Chance... er, Hunt, and I’m Morgan’s younger brother.”
“Oh!” she said, her voice immediately levitating, albeit returning to normal with her next words. “And how can I help you today, Chance?”
“I understand that you are looking for outside investors to help grow your business, Rising Sun. Morgan and I have just started an... investment firm.”
It sounds better than acquisitions. We’ll build our way to the top and then we can call ourselves an acquisition firm.
“We would love the opportunity to invest in Rising Sun and help grow your business from the ground up.”
“Interesting,” Claire said. “Morgan did mention something to this effect the other day. Tell you what. I’m supposed to be interviewing multiple investors later this afternoon, but as a favor to Morgan, if you come over now, I can get this done. My address is 44 East 22nd Street.”
“Done,” I said.
“Great,” she said, and then, without another word, she hung up.
It was... it was definitely abrupt, even by New York standards. Goodbye was a word than many New Yorkers didn’t know existed, or if they did, it was often muttered as a throwaway for people who might have valued it more. I didn’t even get that from Claire.
But hey, business was business, and she was now supplying that to me in a way that I had not gotten yet. I had a chance to atone for what had happened with Layla Taylor. I swore to myself that even if Claire looked like Jennifer Lopez or Jennifer Aniston, I would not so much as compliment her watch. I would treat this as a professional meeting and nothing more.
I closed my laptop, pulled up my phone, and mapped the directions. I would need to take a couple of trains over, but the whole trip wouldn’t take more than 15 minutes. I could be there before 9 a.m. I could start my business investment career before many people on the West Coast had even woken up.
Huh, I guess maybe I do owe you some thanks, Morgan, I thought with a sly grin.
On the walk over, I began to research Rising Sun as much as I could. The company, which worked in virtual reality for patients who needed to reconnect with nature, had already gotten some press and signed some contracts with hardware VR distributors, seemed to be on the up and up. Though only two years older than Morgan and I, Claire McLendon had graduated from Columbia at the age of 20 and had started the business just two years after working in Morgan Stanley.
To say that she would be successful someday was an extraordinary understatement. If Morgan had an entire network of people like this, then there was absolutely no reason we couldn’t also be successful with investments and acquisitions.
I didn’t want to say this out loud, but it also helped that Claire was not some incredibly sexually attractive woman. She was cute, took care of herself, and pretty, but she was not so overwhelmingly gorgeous that I would not be able to control myself. She was exactly what I needed for my first business deal recovering from the horrible mistake with Layla.
I didn’t want to say it too loudly, but I was beginning to think maybe things were looking up. Morgan had found quite the opportunity.
In fact, I almost began to wonder if he would have proposed this to me even if all the bullshit of the last couple of weeks had not happened. It seemed too good of a chance for me not to jump at.
So, strangely, maybe getting fucked over as I had was the best thing that could have happened to me.
I just wished it hadn’t caused so much emotional turmoil and heartache.
And I also wished that if I could have some business success, maybe I could have some peace of mind and a strong relationship someday.
Someday.
I came out of the station and found the address. It looked like a typical, tiny NYC office—it was at the bottom of some stairs, looking like a former apartment that had been repurposed into an office. Three people were in the open, typing away and staring at their screens, while in the back, an open door led the way to the person I presumed was Claire.
“Hi,” a man in his mid-20’s who looked like one of the computer programmers said. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, my name is Chance Hunt, and I’m here to meet Claire McLendon?”
As if on cue, Claire stood in the doorway of her office, beckoning me in. Admittedly, she was cuter than the photos had shown—as weird as it was for someone who was just 24 years old, she had aged well, looking much more mature and together than the college photos the news releases had cobbled together. She wore a black suit, a white button down, and pants, but her long, curly red hair and her
polite smile suggested someone more akin to a southern belle.
“How are you?” she said.
Her voice sounded much nicer than it had on the phone. I began to suspect that she might be charming me with her kindness to procure proper deals of an investment, but at least now I was aware of it and wouldn’t fall for it like I had with Layla. Plus, two could play that game.
“I’m great, now that I’m here,” I said with a smile.
“Oh, you are too kind, come on,” she said, quickly shifting from sweet to focused as she closed the door behind us. “Have a seat.”
I sat in a rather outdated and uncomfortable chair, which I suppose made sense. Claire had apparently had some seed money, but otherwise, she was looking to save as much money as she could. She would give chairs to her employees, but not to guests who wouldn’t be visiting for more than an hour or so.
“So, what’s your pitch?”
Boy, direct and to the point, huh.
“I guess you want to get right down to it, huh?” I said, cracking a smile.
Claire smiled, but only out of politeness. She was not a time waster—it was easy to see why she was going to be so successful.
“You know our last name is Hunt. We have the kinds of connections that can get you with anyone in a matter of days, if not hours. Our funds are practically limitless—Morgan and I are doing this because we want the ground floor experience, but as you grow, we can get you access to Hunt Industries.”
Left unsaid, of course, was that we were going to use Rising Sun’s growth to take the place of Hunt Industries. It probably wasn’t a closely guarded secret, but it was the plan nevertheless.
“You have two very smart people in Morgan and me who can help you with any strategy you want. We will, admittedly, take a hands-off role after the investing, but you can always turn to us if you’d like.”
That was not something Morgan and I had discussed, but I felt it was important to be honest in clear defiance of what Edwin Hunt liked to preach. I would not be spreading lies or telling bullshit that would make a deal happen, only to vanish at the first sign of anything that wouldn’t make me or Morgan money. We wanted to invest not just our finances into any business we invested in or acquired.
Bruised (Hunt Brothers Saga) Page 2