Why now? Why not after we moved and trained new staff? Why fucking now?
I’m supposed to coach soccer, for God’s sake. Two teams.
Helena looks like shit. Her hair hangs limp on her shoulders and her back is stooped like she’s carrying the weight of the world. I have a fleeting hope that her resignation was an impulsive send and that she had a good night’s think on it and sees that this is the best job ever and wants to stay.
Is it the best job ever? Would I recommend working for me?
That thought stops my drum solo at the same time as she answers. “It’s the hours. I might not always be in the office but I’ve been working seventy to eighty-hour weeks. Even before the beginning of June, it was sixty hours a week.”
My forehead crinkles. “Is it the pay?” I’ll double it. Fuck. I’ll triple it. She’s a good employee, and she’s also helping me save my damn marriage.
“It’s not the pay, it’s my son.”
“You have a kid?” Why wouldn’t she tell me she was a mom? As a boss, I can’t ask. She doesn’t even talk about her husband.
There’s a brief smile as she says, “He’s four.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You’re a work-driven boss, and my previous boss was less than considerate when I needed to take a sick day and that was after how affronted he acted about maternity leave.”
“Family comes first, Helena. You never had to worry about that.”
Her glacial blue eyes are dubious. “I missed my vacation in June because you had to be around for your wife.” She holds her hand in a no offense pose. “Which is great. But it’s been like that for the last two months. We canceled our family vacation, I missed the Fourth of July, and really, I haven’t been around much since I started working here. My husband’s been great, but I want to quit before my own marriage is wrecked.”
Her eyes go wide and her back hits her chair. I feel better that she can’t believe she said that, but it also makes her statement sincere. She’s afraid of the toll this job is taking on her personal life.
She was supposed to go on vacation? Shit. I vaguely recall her asking for approval. “Helena—”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Gainesworth, but I need to step back and think about what else I can do with my career. We want to have more kids. I want flexible work, and Gainesworth Equity can’t provide that. I can’t dedicate the next six months to a year training an assistant, and then we have another period of growth and I’m back at square one. Not to mention that your personal assistant is done with his degree soon and will be moving on.”
“Charlie’s going to school?” Why is this the first I’ve heard? Are my employees afraid of me?
“He’s finishing his MBA in December.” She peers at me. “Didn’t you know?”
“He hasn’t mentioned anything.” Charlie and I barely cross paths. Our interaction is mostly through messages.
“I thought I should resign in time for you to replace me before he leaves.”
“No, I understand. I’m sad to see you go. You’re good at what you do.” I just wish she would’ve talked to me.
And then what would’ve changed? I would’ve worked more and my home life would’ve suffered.
The weight of her decision lifts from her shoulders and she’s back to confident professional. “Do you want me to comb through the applicants and see if there’s one who’d be a good fit for this position?”
That means I have to train them. Looks like moving my office is put on hold. “No, I’ll wait on that, but you can start writing up a job description for your position.”
We transition to normal beginning of the day business talk and I try to concentrate on more than wondering what the fuck I’m going to do.
I manage to be mentally present for all my clients, but the day stretches longer than I want. I send Helena home after a normal workday. Her last two weeks with me don’t need to be miserable.
They might be bad for me.
The later I work, the clearer it is: I need an executive assistant and I need one fast.
I know of one.
No, she wouldn’t go for it. We’ve been there before.
But we’ve been there and it really worked—for years.
I close down everything and shuffle my papers into a pile, then lock up the office. I breeze home, thinking about how I’ll approach Natalie with my suggestion. It’s got to be a plan that works for us both. After last night, it’s my priority.
I rush home and get there in time for bedtime. The girls give me hugs and then rush upstairs for storytime.
Natalie lingers behind. “How’d it go?”
I lift a shoulder. “As well as it could’ve. I’ll be there for storytime and we can talk after that.”
The girls con us both into reading a book they’ve each picked out for us. Four books later, Natalie and I emerge from their bedroom.
She floats down the stairs and goes right for the dishwasher. There’s a full load inside and a pile of dishes by the sink. I jump in to help unload.
“What did Helena say?” She sounds tired. With both Abby and Maddy, her first trimesters were ridden with fatigue and stomach issues. This one seems to be no different.
“She’s burned out. Everything you warned me about.”
She nods, but doesn’t throw around an I told you so. “I hope she finds a good fit. Did she give longer than a two-week notice?”
“No.” After seeing how determined she was to be done, I think I’m lucky to get that much time. I take a deep breath. Time to go for it. “So, we were going to hire an assistant for her, but now that she’s done, it’s a higher priority to get a new executive assistant.”
“Makes sense.” She stacks plates and I get the cups and glasses.
I go for the hook, hoping like hell she’ll be receptive. Because if she’s not, I have no idea what I’ll do. There’s only one me and I’d need to clone myself a few times to do everything I want to.
“So, I was thinking that since you’re starting a business similar to what I’m looking for, I can hire you.”
She stills, a pile of plates in her hands. “As an assistant? But you need to hire one full time anyway.”
She’s cautious, but it’s not a no. I can work with not a no. “Right. I can do that, but if you work as my executive assistant for a while, it’d give me time to hire one properly.”
The plates get set down. She presses her fingers to her forehead. “I’d be your executive assistant?”
“Yes.” I tighten my grip around the girls’ red plastic Lego cups. Please. This would solve so many issues for me.
She levels me with a steady gaze. “No.”
* * *
Natalie
“No?” Confusion clogs Simon’s dark gaze. He really thought I’d do it.
Anger mounts with old resentments trailing not far behind. Did he think I’d jump up and down, clap my hands together, and rejoice that I got my first client? No. Just, no. “I know how this ends.”
“I only need a little help. It’d be temporary.”
I plant my hands on my hips, trying not to take out the brunt of my irritation on him. My hormones are on a roller coaster ride, I’m tired, and just when I thought we turned a corner, the path is leading us back to the beginning. And he doesn’t see it.
“We’ve done temporary,” I say. “It lasted for years.”
He cocks his head like he didn’t hear me correctly. “I’ve made a concentrated effort to change. We won’t make the same mistakes.”
“Meanwhile, what? I turn down other clients because Gainesworth Equity is dominating my time? And I’m basically your employee again? Then the baby’s born and I’m back to answering your messages while I’m rocking a newborn? Working all through naptime because you don’t set boundaries for your clients?”
“That’s not fair, Natalie. That’s the past.”
“That’s the present,” I snap. Just because he learned to set autoresponders doesn’t mean
he wasn’t up half the night answering messages when we came back from the lake. Who knows how much of that weekend Helena sacrificed. “That’s exactly why Helena quit.”
“I get it,” he says from between clenched teeth. “I’ve been telling you for two months that I get it. I’ve been proving it. Natalie. A few months is all I’m asking.”
“No, you’re asking me to use what I’m building for me for you, to turn my identity back to revolving around you.”
He thumps down the plastic cups and I flinch. “That’s not what I’m asking. I gave up my parents for you.”
My jaw drops. Did he go there? “I didn’t ask you to.” My index finger has a mind of its own as I wave it around. “But let’s talk about that. I put up with their shit for ten years. Ten years of being belittled, dismissed, and standing by while your mother tries to set you up with someone else. And you finally have a two-minute talk with them and think it’s all better?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look… I’m sorry. I’m sorry about them, I’m sorry about working too much. But I’ve built this from the ground up. I worked that hard for us, for the girls.”
And there it is. The excuse he falls back on. When he says it, he thinks the argument’s done, all is explained. “You don’t do this for us.”
His jaw clenches. “How can you say that? Of course I do. There’s no other reason.”
I’ve been quiet about this too long. He asked for straightforward, then he’s going to get it. It’s not just his work hours that affected our marriage—it’s the real motivation behind it. “You have something to prove, and it’s not to me and it’s not to your kids. You’re so stuck on not living up to your brother’s reputation and trying to do something that’ll make your parents say ‘atta boy’ that you couldn’t see what it’s doing to you. Or your family. And you’re doing it again. Do you know how many times I wished Liam never left us that money?”
He braces one arm on the counter, the other on his hip, and gives me a hard look. “Don’t bring Liam into this.”
“He’s been in it from the beginning. You were so driven in college because when you accomplished something your parents pointed out how Liam accomplished more. When he passed away, that money was supposed to be his last gift to you, but it’s like a curse. You want the glory for yourself. That’s why you didn’t expand and hire someone when I first started telling you that it’s too much. It was too much for me, it was too much for you, and it was too much for us. Now you want to go back to that?”
We lock gazes for a few long moments. If the girls can hear us, they haven’t come looking yet. They’ve never witnessed us arguing like this.
He works his jaw before he asks, “Are you asking me to choose between work and you?”
“No, Simon.” Defeat rings in my voice. “I’m not asking you to choose. I’m saying that I’m tired, and I don’t know if I’m willing to do the last few years all over again.” I inhale a long breath and stroke my gaze over his strong jaw and his perfectly combed hair. I miss tousled Simon.
His voice gets thick. “Then what are you saying?”
I roll my lips in and close my eyes. Last night, we connected on a deeper level than ever before. And yet here we are. “I don’t know what I’m saying. I have a lot to think about.”
I leave the dishes and go to the bedroom. It’s early, but I don’t care to rehash the same exhausted discussion with my ex-husband.
But escaping to the bedroom backfires. I see us on the bed, naked and entwined. I see him holding me. I see my hopes for our future crash back to reality.
I cross to the dresser and grab my night shorts and cami. I’m too exhausted to cry. Too afraid to look back on what I said to Simon in the kitchen and wonder if I went too far. Too afraid to think that Simon is going to make a choice and it won’t include me.
Chapter 23
Simon
I glower out the window of the plane. Helena spent the morning calling and messaging all of my appointments for the day. Canceling them.
When I land, I’ll start on tomorrow’s schedule.
My yawn can’t be stifled. I got almost no sleep. After putting away dishes, I gave Natalie time, deliberating whether I was allowed in the bedroom to sleep or if I should retire to the guest room.
I didn’t want to sleep in the fucking guest room so I went to sleep in my own bed, but sleep is a strong word for what happened. While Natalie tossed and turned next to me, I stared at the ceiling, replaying everything that happened before I went to bed and moving back in time.
The night before when she needed me to comfort her. The baby news. Further back to our fishing trip. The Fourth of July. Our time apart during the divorce. My sterile, boring condo. Sleeping alone. Last year to a pale, withdrawn but determined Natalie and her lawyer, filing the papers I signed.
I let my mind wander the timeline of my life all the way back to the day I met Natalie. When I laid eyes on her, my world exploded in technicolor. The first time I made her smile and laugh, I was a man addicted to everything she offered.
Is it still like that?
The trip down memory lane was enlightening and I rolled out of bed and left before Natalie woke.
I rub my eyes. The only open seat was in first class, which I don’t mind. More space to poach myself in my thoughts and feelings. Because, after I reviewed my life with Natalie and the kids, my brain focused on Liam.
We weren’t as close as I wanted to be. As a kid, he was always involved in an activity and since he was older, I could do nothing but spectate. Then he went off to college and he was closer to Graham Morgan than he’d ever be with me. After that, it was marriage and his work in holdings—with his wife.
Am I trying to mimic his life? Am I working only to prove I’m as good as he is?
Because if that’s the case, then when my brother left me all that money, I attached a metric ton of expectation to it.
You were so driven in college because when you accomplished something your parents pointed out how Liam accomplished more. When he passed away, that money was supposed to be his last gift to you, but it’s like a curse.
A curse. I saw it as nothing but an answered prayer, but that money destroyed my family. I received it and I doubled down. Tripled down. I grew Gainesworth Equity past my capabilities.
Because that’s what Liam did.
And he died of a heart attack.
If I’m determined to follow in his footsteps… well, I’ve seen the finish line.
I swallow hard and look out the window. Skyscrapers tower over shorter buildings. Cars bustle through the streets.
It took a while for my last conversation in NYC to make sense, but I think I’ve worked it out.
The plane lands and I make my way to the exit. My phone lights up with messages and notifications, but one name sticks out.
Graham Morgan. My driver will pick you up.
I follow the directions in the message. A driver is indeed waiting.
All the way to Graham’s office, I make calls. My clients are confused. I don’t have many answers. I should’ve waited, spared them any panic, until I know how this meeting turns out. But I can’t.
The car stops. I get out and stare up at the offices while horns and sirens blare around the city. No matter what happens in the next hour, nothing but resolve fills me.
I make it to his office. I couldn’t give him a definite time I’d be in, just told him that I had to talk to him about my brother and he opened a spot for me.
His assistant, a different one than last time, ushers me into the same boardroom we were in before. Graham greets me, his expression calm, but curious.
He wastes no time once we’re settled at the large boardroom table. “You wanted to talk about Liam?”
I ask the question that’s risen to the top of the many I have about him. “What was he like?”
Graham’s brows rise. “You’re his brother.”
“He might’ve been my brother, but he was my idol. My hero. An im
possible goal to attain, according to my parents. Which I believed. I didn’t really know him.”
“I see.” He settles back, his fingers lightly tapping the table. “He was driven. Wild, but dependable. We went into business together and killed it. So yes, I can see why you’d want to live up to him.”
I don’t know what I hoped to hear. More confirmation that I can’t live up to Liam isn’t it.
Graham continues. “He also had an affair with my fiancée, married her, and then raised my daughter suspecting that she wasn’t his and didn’t tell me. So he was as flawed as the rest of us.”
I blow out a breath. Having it laid out like that drives the point home. Yes, he was flawed. Any ideals of perfection are my own. I focused on the fact that he loved a kid he knew wasn’t his like his own. But ignored that he stole his best friend’s fiancée and daughter.
Just like the time he totaled the car. I kept that secret because he was Liam. Untouchable. But he’d caused a horrible accident that he was lucky didn’t hurt anyone.
Light glints off Graham’s watch and he reclines. He’s less commanding and more conversational. “I can tell you stories and stuff from college, but I don’t think that’s what you’re here for.”
I shake my head. “Remember our last conversation. You were trying to gain control of businesses I was interested in. I thought it was because you had it out for me.”
“Making you pay for your brother’s crimes?” His tone is wry.
“Something like that. But that’s not why.”
“No. Liam talked about you. A lot. And since he’s been gone, I’ve kept an eye on you. You’ve done well, married your college sweetheart, had a family, and built Gainesworth Equity.”
“And you knew I was trying to be just like him?”
He lifts a shoulder. “He thought so. Didn’t want you to end up like him—tied to a bottom-line and separated from his wife when he died too young.”
That hit close to home. He couldn’t help my brother, but he could help me. And when I got divorced, he rightly assumed the reason why and meddled until I came to him.
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