by Melissa West
Ohhh-kay, Becca thought. So she could normally predict orders, but she never would have expected Kate to order quite that much food. Surely it wouldn’t all fit inside her, but then, Becca had never been pregnant before. Maybe the baby inhaled food the way the rest of us inhaled air. A shudder worked through her, the thought scaring her more than it should. She would have to rethink the whole having-a-baby thing—the insane hunger coupled with hulklike mood swings and then the pain of actually delivering made the whole thing seem this side of crazy. But then, Becca didn’t even have a husband or boyfriend. The last thing she should be worrying about was a baby.
Focusing back on Kate, she said, “We have both. And homemade cherry jam.”
Kate’s face lit. “Cherry jam? That sounds amazing.”
“It’s fantastic on the biscuits.”
“Ooo, biscuits. I’ll take those, too. With the cherry jam.” She placed her hands on her belly, clearly pleased with herself.
The women both looked over at Alex, who appeared both impressed and shocked. “Did you leave anything for the rest of the diner?” But at Kate’s glare, he quickly corrected himself. “Um, I meant to say I’ll have the same thing.” Then he lowered his voice and added to Becca, “And a to-go box or eight.”
Becca laughed and went on her way, but once she was a few steps away, she turned back and caught the couple in a deep conversation, Kate lecturing Alex, forever the teacher, and Alex shrugging her off, forever the free spirit. She started to laugh until she heard Kate say, “This is Nick’s thing. We can’t intervene.”
“Then he needs to do something. You know as well as I do that he wants her, that she’s his match. He needs to tell Becca.”
“Shhh, keep your voice down,” Kate said, just as Becca disappeared behind the counter.
Suddenly the diner was too hot, her skin prickly, her heart too heavy in her chest.
So that was what Alex wanted to tell her, what Kate thought Nick himself should confess. It was inevitable, right, but that didn’t stop the pain.
Nick had met someone.
Chapter Two
Nick stepped off the elevator and waved hello to Violet, the front desk admin. Fresh coffee hit his nose from the open lounge area beside Violet, and he made a note to come back there after setting down his things.
The office had been renovated in the last two months, and where it used to have a rustic feel, everything was now bright. Bright blue, bright white. Too bright, if you asked Nick, which they hadn’t, because they knew what he would say—do whatever you want.
Still, he wished he’d voiced a little opinion on this. For his eyes’ sake, if for no other reason.
He continued on toward his office in the back corner, hoping if he kept his head down no one would approach him. His look had manifested over the years from sleek suits to dress shirt/tie/slacks, to it was a miracle if he wore a tie at all now. His hair, which was once cropped short and gelled into place, now flowed freely—all right, recklessly—around his head in what he’d deemed his new style. But really it was more a product of getting out of the shower and heading to the office without worrying about the state of his hair. Or his clothes. Or his beard, apparently, because he hadn’t taken the time to shave in three days.
The problem, or at least one of them, was that he dreaded going to the office. Like root canal dread. His father had passed away almost five years ago and yet still every time he walked into a room it was like everyone there expected him to be Carter. Then they would realize it was just Nick—again—and sigh heavily before going back to work.
Which was why Nick had started considering other jobs. He needed to feel like he existed again, like he could breathe. Lord knew he couldn’t breathe in that office, with the long looks and sad faces and constant questions about whether he would sell now that his father was gone.
The truth was they’d had offers, but Nick couldn’t imagine selling his father’s company. It would be like watching Carter die all over again, and Nick had barely survived it the first time.
Now, five years later and he still felt like there was a hole in his chest that refused to heal. The hole began with his mother’s death, then Britt’s, and then, when his father died, the hole burst wide open, a disaster left behind, and Nick no longer felt like himself. Sure, he talked to his brothers, Alex and Trip, and tried to find commonality there, but he was always far more like his father than his brothers, and now he didn’t know how to be at all.
But that was the thing about running a business—he had no choice. All these people were counting on him to stand strong, put aside the ache and emptiness, and continue on. To get past it.
If only he could.
Now, the only person he could stand to be around was his best friend, Becca, though he knew he had to be grating on her, too. Thankfully, she’d yet to say it. Becca had a way of being there without feeling like a burden. They would sit outside and stare at the stars, neither of them talking, yet somehow a conversation flowed between them. Everything made sense around Becca, the complicated became simple, the difficult became easy.
Nick felt so much better around her that when Carter had first died, he’d spent a full week at her house, unable to be in his own, unable to take the memories. And she’d allowed it without hesitation, made up her guest room and let him be.
The idea of living his life without her was unimaginable, though by now he’d learned to keep most people at arm’s length. Feelings and trust equaled pain, and though he knew his brothers had opinions about his relationship with Becca, he didn’t care.
Despite the fact that he’d been attracted to her from the moment he first laid eyes on her when they were eight years old and that attraction had only blossomed, they were friends, nothing more. And that’s how it would always be. Even if the question what if swarmed through his mind more often than not when he was around her. Still, it was better this way.
At least that was what he told himself.
He had just reached for his office’s door handle when a small voice said, “Nick?”
Closing his eyes, Nick attempted to ignore his assistant, Tracy—not because he was a jerk but because he hadn’t had his morning coffee, and he didn’t feel he could have a conversation without his tone showing every bit of the aggravation he felt.
Maybe he was a jerk.
“I’m sorry, but there’s someone here to see you. In the conference room?”
Adjusting his glasses, Nick ran a hand through his hair, then over the three-day-old scruff on his jaw, which was less scruff and more beard by this point.
“Who is it?” His eyes fell on Tracy, her curly hair a mess around her head like always, her brown eyes wide with barely contained fear. Nick sighed.
Was he really that bad? Years ago, Tracy was all smiles and laughs. She’d pop into his office without hesitation, but something had changed, and now she tiptoed around him like he’d blow up at a moment’s notice. Which he’d never done—not once. He never yelled at his staff, never raised his voice much at all. But while he could control his voice, he couldn’t control his demeanor, and clearly he was scaring his staff by his brooding attitude alone.
“Never mind, I’ll go.” He opened his door, set his laptop bag in a chair inside, then closed it again without bothering to turn the light on and set off for the conference room at the opposite end of the floor from his office. That gave him a solid fifteen seconds to throw on a half smile and try for pleasantries.
He tried to remind himself that his family had connections all over the world, his father had friends all over the world, and those people deserved his attention and respect, even if he didn’t feel like giving it. That was the least he could do for his father’s memory.
Drawing a long breath, Nick pushed through the door of the conference room, and immediately a memory of his first time walking into that room hit him. His father had been at the head of the table, the board filling the rest of the chairs, and Carter had glanced over with nothing but pride. That pri
de had given Nick the courage to go in there and stand tall while Carter announced that he would be stepping down and Nick would be taking over. Talk about large shoes to fill. There was only one Carter Hamilton.
Still, Nick had all the credentials—double bachelors in business and management from Northwestern, an MBA from Harvard. Then he and Britt had spent the better part of a year traveling around the world, him learning everything he could about business along the way. He’d worked odd end jobs before settling back home in Triple Run, and it had taken a surprisingly small amount of time for Carter to ask Nick to take over Hamilton Industries. It was a natural move, and Nick was ready.
He always knew his father was there to answer questions, provide guidance, and they had met every Wednesday for years to go over business. It was a comfortable move, all of management still in place, so Nick’s job was less doing anything substantial and more not screwing up what everyone else was doing. In the end, he helped the business continue to grow. He’d bought three smaller companies since he took over and absorbed them within Industries without any problem. Until finally Industries hit a wall, and sales began to slowly but surely decline.
Soon larger businesses or competitors were eager to do to Hamilton Industries what Industries had done to those three other companies. He’d received pitches from various companies on and off for the last year. And as Nick took in the three suits seated in his conference room around the long rectangular table, he knew he was in for yet another pitch.
They stood the moment Nick entered, and immediately he wished he’d kept to asking Tracy who was waiting for him. Then he could have had her show them out, made up some excuse that he had an emergency meeting come up, something. Now there was no getting out of this without being an ass, and while Nick wanted to take on that role, and internally he had, externally he was still the good Hamilton brother, unable to piss anyone off. Forever concerned with family image.
“Gentlemen,” Nick said, holding out a hand to each of them. “What can I do for you today?”
“Mr. Hamilton—”
“Nick.” There was a lot Nick could take. Coming here unannounced and then standing in his conference room and calling him what would always be Carter’s name wasn’t one of them. Add to that the casual expression on the man’s face and the way he stood there wearing a polo shirt and khakis instead of a suit, and already Nick wasn’t a fan of the guy.
“My apologies. Nick, my name is William Compton, and I’m the president of First Star Investing. These are Dean and Wyatt, my sons.” Nick eyed the other two men, and it wasn’t lost on him why William had brought them. Clearly, they were a family business, just like the Hamiltons, and William was hoping that singular similarity would sway Nick.
He hoped in vain. And though the man seemed like a nice guy, it still rubbed Nick the wrong way that he’d shown up unannounced.
“Okay, I’m assuming you aren’t here to talk about diversifying my portfolio, so what can I do for you?”
“We would like to discuss our interest in Hamilton Industries.”
Nick remained standing. “I appreciate your time, gentlemen, but we aren’t for sale.”
The men eyed one another, a quizzical expression on each of their faces. “Um, well, we are prepared to offer you a generous sum for the business,” William said, continuing his pitch.
He had balls, Nick could give him that, but the idea of money being of interest to Nick did little more than cause him to laugh.
People came here and assumed that money meant something to him, when nothing could be further from the truth. His employees, his family’s legacy, all his father’s work over the years, those were the things that mattered to him.
He had enough money to buy a small island. Or maybe a large island. He wasn’t sure, but plenty, and the last thing he needed was more money. Between his role in Industries, his share of earnings at Stables, and his inheritance from his father’s death, he was a very, very wealthy man.
But through death and death and more death, he’d learned that money couldn’t buy you a damn thing. Not really. Not the important stuff. So his money was tied up in different places, earning him still more money. It was such a trivial thing to him that there were moments when he grew frustrated and would log on to some charity, donate ten or twenty thousand dollars, whatever made him feel better in that moment, only to do it all over again a month later.
Money was nothing to Nick. William, however, appeared genuinely offended at Nick’s response. “You haven’t heard the offer yet.”
“I don’t need to. There is no amount of money you can offer me to make me consider selling. None.”
“But—”
“Look, I have a very busy day ahead of me, and you showed up without calling, which tells me that you neither respect my time nor my wishes for my family’s business. Even if I decided to sell, I wouldn’t sell to you.”
Nick started away when William called out, “But, Mr. Hamilton—Nick—we didn’t show up unannounced. Your brothers planned this meeting.”
Nick stopped short and pivoted back around. “Excuse me?”
“Trip and Alex scheduled this meeting with us.” William’s confusion was enough to send Nick over the edge.
Trip. It had to be Trip. His youngest brother Alex would never go behind his back this way without eldest brother Trip leading the way. But reacting in front of the Comptons wouldn’t fix the issue between him and his brothers, and besides, he was already dangling so close to crazy that he didn’t need to risk losing it.
Instead he swallowed hard and set his jaw. “Well, they were mistaken. I have no interest in selling Hamilton Industries, and as I’m sure you’re aware, I’m the president. Not Trip. And not Alex. Me. Now, we’re done here.”
He stormed out, his head throbbing more and more with each step.
Tracy stood quickly when she saw him. “Are you okay?”
“Get Trip on the phone.” And he slammed his office door.
So much for image.
His phone buzzed and Tracy’s shaky voice said, “Line one.”
“Thank you.”
Then Nick hit line one, swiveled in his chair to try to keep the rest of the office from seeing what was happening. He hated this, every bit of it. The animosity between the brothers, the tension whenever they saw one another. When had it gotten this bad? And while Nick wanted to correct it, find a way to talk without yelling, today wasn’t going to be the day.
“Nick,” Trip said.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Alex and I agreed that it was time you consider a solid offer. Compton’s is a solid offer.”
Nick reached for his stress ball, clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing, until finally he clenched so tight the thing burst. He tossed the ball across the room, where it hit a frame, which then crashed to the floor.
Fantastic.
“It isn’t your decision to make,” Nick said, once he could trust himself to speak without yelling. “And this is the first and last time you involve yourself with my business. Understand? I’m the one traveling all over, maintaining Industries. I’m the one who has run this thing for the last nine years. Not you. You know nothing about this side of our business. Nothing. And you will have no say in selling it. We have more than a thousand employees across the country. They are scared out of their minds that we’re going to sell and they will lose their jobs and I’ve assured every one of them that it isn’t going to happen. Because it isn’t. My company, my call.”
Nick drew a breath that rattled more than he’d like. He sounded like Carter and he knew it, and he knew Trip would call him out on it.
Instead, Trip sighed into the phone. “Look, we know Dad’s death hit you the hardest, that you carried it for a long time.”
“You have no idea. You and Alex were able to live that last year in peace, while I had to watch him slowly die, had to plan out every element of his death and burial. You didn’t do a damn thing. You had no righ
t to throw this at me. You should have called. Asked. We should have had a conversation about this. Numerous conversations.”
“We’ve had conversations.”
“You should have tried again.”
“You would have said no.”
“Damn straight.”
“You are being ridiculous. When are you going to see that?”
“It’s my decision.”
“It’s time,” Trip said, softer this time. “The business is declining. It’s a great time to sell. And you’re . . .”
“I’m what?”
He could hear Trip’s hesitation.
“I’m what?”
“You’re over it. You’ve lost whatever it was that drove you to succeed. Now you’re a vessel there, you’re miserable, and you’re making the staff miserable. Look out into the office. Look at the faces of the people working for you. For us. And be honest—do they look happy?”
A chill worked down Nick’s spine. “It’s expected after a death.”
“He didn’t just die, Nick. Dad’s been dead for five years now, and I know it’s hard—”
“You don’t!” So much for not yelling.
“I do! And so does Alex. He was our dad, too, and we miss him, too. But we have to move on. We have to continue our lives.”
Nick wanted to scream that it was easy for them to move on, to continue their lives. They had lives, had wives and kids and a future. Nick had nobody, and if they took Industries, then he’d lose the last thing he had keeping him from falling apart.
“You can’t sell without my signature.”
“You’re right. But we’re hoping eventually you’ll see reason. It’s time, man. When are you going to see that?”
Never, Nick thought.
“You shouldn’t have thrown this at me.”
Trip sighed again. “Fine, I’ll give you that. We shouldn’t have. And I’m sorry. But we’re worried about you.”