A Breath of Jasmine (The Merriams Book 6)

by Ava Miles

  “By whom? No one saw this coming.”

  “Her father,” Quinn said, picturing the bastard and imagining him being his personal dartboard.

  “Georges Maroun knew? I suppose that’s no surprise given how tight he is with the Saudi royalty. What exactly did she know?”

  Recounting her side of things had him needing some fresh air, so he crossed and opened the window as he spoke. The gray sea thundered in the background, bashing itself against the cliffs in the distance.

  “She didn’t have enough information to make a different decision on the restructuring in my opinion,” Connor said when he’d finished. “Flynn gave me a copy.”

  He hadn’t known that. Then he thought about how he’d launched himself at his brother and shoved J.T. back. He’d wanted to rip something apart, and he’d gone after them. His brother was right. He was a dick. A total dick.

  “But she didn’t tell me. How can I ever trust her again? She betrayed me. Us. Our family. You should have seen Dad. And everyone else.”

  I failed them too.

  “Ah… Quinn, I love you, so I’m going to be as honest as I can be. As Louisa says, I think you need a different perspective.”

  “Why do I sense this is going to feel like getting kidney punched in an alley?” He leaned his elbows on the windowsill and let the cold wind cruise over his hot face.

  “How you feel about it is up to you. You might ask why she didn’t think she could trust you with the information. What haven’t you given her that allowed for this breach in intimacy? God, you can tell my therapy is working. I sound like a combination of my therapist and Louisa.”

  “You think it’s my fault she didn’t say anything?” Quinn wanted to rip the window off the wall. “Are you fucking kidding me, Con?”

  “You’re pissed, and I get that. And you’re crushed because Merriam probably isn’t going to make it. Oil prices will continue to plunge, and there’s nothing you or anyone else in the industry can do about it. I get what that must feel like. It’s gut-wrenching. But you haven’t let the family down, and Francesca hasn’t let you down. From everything I’ve heard, she’s had your back. Her solution for keeping Caitlyn and Annie’s ventures was brilliant.”

  Hadn’t he thought so too? But it hadn’t worked. Merriam Enterprises was going down, and he couldn’t take that. “You didn’t see Dad walk out today. Hell, Trev couldn’t even respond other than to jerk his head. How am I supposed to live with this?”

  “I felt that way when Corey and our other employees died in the offshore accident in Asia, and the decisions I made out of guilt and grief caused a lot of damage for a lot of people, myself included. Quinn, I’m telling you. Don’t follow that path. And whatever you do, don’t lose your soulmate over this. I’m going to use a non-therapy phrase now. That would be a stupid move, and you’re not stupid.”

  “You sound like Mom,” Quinn said, clenching his eyes shut.

  “Mom has always had the most common sense of any of us,” Connor said. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

  How could he face her? She was likely comforting their father. “I can’t right now.”

  “Don’t cut yourself off from everyone,” Connor said in a hard tone. “I did that, and you almost decked me for it later. Don’t you remember berating me? You’re going down the same path.”

  “So maybe you can deck me when I see you,” Quinn said, rubbing his eyes.

  “Are you hearing me, bro? I can’t up and leave Chicago to come kick your ass right now. We’ve got our hands full with the homeless and this virus. It’s going to hit them particularly hard. Plus, it’s still winter here. Cold as hell for a human being, especially kids.”

  Louisa had been homeless as a kid, and her mother had died on the streets during a Chicago snowstorm. Quinn snapped out of his own tunnel vision and thought of what Flynn had said. There was more at stake here than just Merriam Enterprises. People were being hurt by this virus, both their bank books and their health, and it was going to get a lot worse before it got better.

  “I’m hearing you, Con.” He let out a tortured sigh, one he would never have normally let anyone hear. “How do I take all this and not get crazy or sick or aggressive with everyone?”

  “You have to forgive yourself for any personal responsibility you feel. Then you have to do the same with Francesca. Because the truth is there’s no one to blame here. You’re only mad this went down so badly. Sure, she didn’t tell you about her dad, but why didn’t she? That’s what you need to ask her.”

  He thought again of the reasons she’d given him. They’d been a combination of personal and professional, but maybe Connor was right. Maybe some other current writhed underneath. He’d have to ask her.

  “I’m going to go figure this out,” Quinn said. “Try to do what you said. But one last thing. Do you have any ideas how we can save Merriam Enterprises from bankruptcy?”

  “I’ve been racking my brain since the news broke.” His brother paused, and there was a death knell in the silence before he said, “No, I don’t. God, I wish I did. Does Dad have any ideas?”

  His dad’s haggard face swam into his consciousness, and his throat knotted with emotion. “No, I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone knows.”

  “What about Francesca?” Connor asked.

  His mind flashed to the moment she’d told him she couldn’t fix this. She’d been ashen, her voice strained with a hurt he hadn’t heard since she’d turned down his proposal. “No, she doesn’t have any ideas either.”

  “Well… You know what you need to do then.”

  How could he give up? It wasn’t in his nature. Francesca had left him, and he’d spent fifteen long years hoping she’d come back. No, he wouldn’t give up so easily. He had to give it a few days. Surely someone would challenge the Saudis. He almost laughed at himself. Hadn’t the Russians done that? The Russians were as feared an entity in the oil market as they came, and look at what had happened there. Flynn had said they were collateral damage, and while Quinn had snapped his head off, he was right.

  God, he was going to need to apologize to a whole bunch of people, Francesca first among them.

  “All right. On that fucking depressing note, I’ll let you go. Promise me you and Louisa are being safe. Jesus, I don’t like knowing you two are on the streets most days, but with this virus out there…” He shuddered.

  “We’re implementing strict safety protocols, but I’ve finally learned there is only so much you can control in life,” Connor said. “The rest you have to lean into with courage and love. My parting words, bro. I love you, Quinn.”

  Jesus. His eyes burned. They’d worked together for years, side by side, but they’d never talked like this. They weren’t the kind of men who did. And yet, his chest was tight with emotion from it. “I love you too, Con. Don’t make me deck you for stupidity either. Got it?”

  “Got it. You tell everyone I love them. I know the whole family is going to need a lot of comfort in the coming months. I wish I could be there, but I need to be here. See ya, bro.”

  Quinn wanted to hurl the phone at the wall. Comfort? How was he supposed to provide that? Patting people on the backs and telling them everything would be all right in the end wasn’t his schtick.

  Besides, it was total bullshit, and he couldn’t lie. Their beloved family company was going to be wrenched away from them. He’d worried about cutting jobs, but now hundreds of thousands of their employees would be out of work. Many wouldn’t find anything new for some time in this market.

  What in the hell was he supposed to do? He’d be a failed CEO, just like Connor, in the industry’s eyes. There was no coming back from that.

  And Francesca? This was her first defeat. Would her reputation as the most sought-after consultant to the Fortune 500 take a hit?

  God, the future depressed him.

  Francesca’s phone started ringing, and he crossed to her bedside table to see who it was. The name on the display was simple: Father.

&nbs
p; He knew he should let the call ring through. But rage pumped through his system, giving him a kick of adrenaline. Georges Maroun deserved an ass kicking, and Quinn Merriam was just the man to do it.

  “Georges, you bastard,” he answered.

  The man didn’t laugh. He gave a rumbling cough instead. “Answering my daughter’s phone. How surprising.”

  He went for blood. “It shouldn’t be. It was lying next to our bed.”

  “You’re angry with me, and who could blame you? I was calling my daughter to give her my condolences. I thought about her reaction all day. Did you blame her as I’ve been imagining?”

  Dammit, he hated being predictable. “Is that what you wanted all along? Why else give her the vaguest snippet of nothing? You wanted to drive a wedge between us. Did you even think about her reputation in the market? Or all of the people Merriam Enterprises employs?”

  It struck Quinn that it might serves Georges’ purposes for Francesca to suddenly lose street cred as a consultant. Maybe he hoped it would drive her back to the family company.

  “You flatter me. Your company was in dire straits already. Do you think Chevron or Exxon won’t make it through these dark days? Please, Quinn, at least show enough honor to admit responsibility for your actions. My daughter did an admirable job, all things considered. It was only an old man’s fancy that led me to warn her in the first place.”

  “Now who’s flattering himself? You don’t give a fuck about your daughter and her wishes. If you did, you’d have supported her wish to be with me—then and now. All you care about is your own agenda.”

  More coughing sounded over the line before he managed, “I do care about my daughter. I work like a dog every day for her. She’s my heart, my legacy.”

  “She’s a woman who wants to live her own life. I don’t know why I’m wasting time on you anyway. I have more pressing concerns than your bullshit. I have to find a way out of this.” Part of Quinn hoped Francesca’s father might drop more information, like breadcrumbs, and he hated himself for it.

  “You won’t,” Georges said, coughing again. “No one can stop what’s coming. Not even my daughter. Tell her to come back to Beirut. Her father, Maroun Industries, and her country need her.”

  There it was…

  Quinn knew the trouble Lebanon was facing right now. The economic picture grew worse daily. Of course Francesca was upset. She loved her country.

  “Like the Irish say, ‘I’ll tell her when pigs fly.’ Goodbye, Georges.”

  He hung up, and the rudeness relieved some of his anger. No one treated Georges Maroun like that, and he just had.

  Still, her father’s words sounded like the proverbial nails in the Merriam Enterprises’ coffin.

  Somehow it didn’t matter. He couldn’t give up.

  Chapter 25

  The Wild Irish Rose Inn may as well have been a funeral parlor to Arthur’s mind.

  Sure, there were none of those cloying lilies that seemed to pile up around the dead, but it stunk to high heaven all the same. Not even the nonstop batches of scones Aileen was pulling from the oven and setting out in baskets in the gloomy dining room lifted the mood.

  As the older Irish woman passed his table, he gently snagged her arm. “You’re a dear to bake for them, but I think they have enough scones.”

  She clutched the basket. “I didn’t know what else to do for them.”

  The resident Merriam brothers save Quinn were huddled at a table, their faces grave. Caitlyn was sitting next to Beau, her face buried into his shoulder. Annie had taken the girls out to play with the rabbits. Shawn and Assumpta had gone for a long walk on the cliffs despite the cold wind rattling the windows. Clara was knitting up an inferno in their room after talking to Michaela and Boyd, who were still holed up in Wyoming. No one on their honeymoon should be bombarded with this kind of news, but that was the way of it, Arthur supposed.

  Bad news waited for no man or woman.

  As a journalist, he knew that firsthand.

  Alice had gone off in search of Francesca, and Arthur was glad the woman had such a good friend. How in the hell could anyone think this was her fault? That was ridiculous. J.T. had filled him in on the latest developments before leaving him alone with his ever-present tablet, the headlines screaming up at him.

  “It’s horrible,” Aileen said, patting his shoulder after placing the basket of scones in front of him. “There’s nothing worse than losing something you love, and their company was built on the blood and sweat of generations, much like our beautiful inn here.”

  Everyone was acting as though bankruptcy was inevitable, and while Arthur was no expert, he had never been one to accept defeat.

  “It’s not over yet, Aileen. I’ll be back in a bit. If they start singing some funeral song, come find me.”

  The corner of her mouth tipped up. “If I hear even the beginnings of ‘Down By the Salley Gardens,’ I’ll find you straight away.”

  “That’s Yeats, right?” he asked, making her eyes sparkle momentarily.

  “You know your Irish poets.”

  “I know good writing. Be back in a jiff. I’m still a matchmaker, and this whole situation is bollocks, as you Irish say.”

  Clara might have forgotten their task in the thick of her grief. He’d give her time to get her head back on straight or he’d help straighten it for her, but he wasn’t straying from their goal. Quinn needed to get his head out of his ass, and Francesca needed to know she had allies.

  He closed the tablet he hadn’t been reading and strode off to Alice’s room. She was in the Queen Maeve suite next to Hargreaves, who was in the Kings of Connacht suite. Usually Arthur enjoyed brushing up on local mythology and history, but current events occupied his every brain cell these days.

  He knocked on Alice’s door and did his best to smile when the woman cracked it open, her sweetheart face devoid of its normal smile. “I’m looking for Francesca. Any ideas?”

  Alice opened the door the whole way. Francesca was discreetly wiping tears, sitting on the mustard-colored sofa against the wall in the small anteroom. Hell, he thought. Of course she was crying.

  “These Merriams can be real jerks sometimes,” he said without heat. “Can I have a moment? I wanted to say something.”

  Her oval face was so strained her high cheekbones made it almost gaunt-looking. “Of course. You’re always welcome, Arthur.”

  “That’s sweet of you,” he said, coming in and sitting next to her as Alice closed the door. “Then again, you’re a sweetheart.”

  Alice perched on the couch’s arm beside her friend. When Arthur rose to give her his seat, she waved him off. He let her. He was feeling every day of his eighty years.

  “I’m sorry you’re hurt,” he continued, “and it’s understandable given some people’s actions. Quinn’s being a complete butthead, as my granddaughter Jill would say.”

  Thoughts of Jill pained his heart. She was starting to worry about the virus now that cases had been reported in Colorado, and being pregnant wasn’t helping. He needed to call her more often.

  “Butthead is right,” Alice said. “Hargreaves said I would love Jill.”

  “She’s as bright as they come and completely immune to bullshit,” Arthur said, “but we’re straying from my point. Francesca, you need to know I have your back. Anything you need, say the word. I might not be at my fittest, but I imagine I could sneak a punch in on Quinn. If he’s asleep.”

  She let out a shaky laugh and then leaned over and kissed his cheek, delighting him. “You really are the dearest man. But it’s Quinn’s right to feel betrayed and angry. That isn’t in anyone else’s control.”

  “Love always wins,” Arthur said, grabbing her hand. “You need to trust in that.”

  “I’m a bit weak on it at the moment.” She combed back her black hair. “Maybe love isn’t enough.”

  “Bullshit! Excuse me. At my age, my opinions spurt out like nobody’s business. Only hear me out.”

  Alice put her han
d on her friend’s shoulder, and they shared a glance. Yes, she was a good friend.

  “You shovel the shit in the way. Love always wins when you do it. I expect you know Quinn’s a handful sometimes.”

  “Stubborn. Grouchy. Completely unreasonable.” Her violet eyes flashed.

  “Yes,” Arthur said, “but there has to be some reason he’s your soulmate. Didn’t you know it when you met him?”

  Her scowl was fearsome. “Maybe I was dropped on my head as a baby.”

  “Or the doctors used forceps to pull you out,” Alice added. “Oops, sorry. Continue, Arthur.”

  “Thank you.” He worried the button on his cardigan, wanting to say his piece right. “It’s only… In times like this we need to remember why we love the people in our lives. Because when things get rough, it can be hard to remember.”

  “I’ll have to make a list—in a week or so—when I’m calm.”

  When her lashes were dry again, Arthur thought. He didn’t imagine she was a woman often brought to tears. “Now, with the soulmate reminder behind us, there’s something else I wanted to ask you. About the business.”

  Her eyes narrowed, the wariness evident in her stiffened frame. “Shoot, as you Americans say.”

  “My newspaper fell into some debt this past summer, and I worried about going bankrupt.” He wouldn’t bother her with the details. “Someone decided to bail me out, and while it chapped my hide, I let them. I couldn’t allow my pride to stand in the way. That would have been stupid, and I don’t do stupid.”

  “I like that phrase,” Alice said. “I might have to borrow it.”

  “It’s not trademarked,” Arthur responded. “Assumpta is fond of it too. Let’s talk about Merriam Enterprises. Everyone thinks the company is finished. Isn’t there a bank that could bail them out?” Hell. Didn’t he remember Lee Iacocca’s bailout in 1979?

  She shook her head. “Merriam Enterprises isn’t the only company impacted by this, Arthur. The entire oil industry took huge losses, and this Saudi-Russian price war is only going to worsen. Add in the news around the virus—”