“Let’s get this party started,” Julian purred, walking through the door right into Tristan’s personal space. That cocky, I-want-to-fuck-you grin in place. “It’s my birthday.”
“Happy birthday,” Tristan replied, trying to remember if he’d known that piece of information.
“I’m twenty-eight. And all these guys getting married are seriously cramping my prospect list.” Julian leaned forward to lick across Tristan’s lips. He was a bold one.
“So I’m last choice, huh?” Tristan lifted his brow and gave Julian a smirk before shutting and locking the front door behind him.
“It’s more like I try to forget you, but damn, it’s hard.” Tristan wondered how many times he’d uttered those same words already this week. Julian’s lips met his and that was all the encouragement Tristan needed. Clothes were gone and they were in his bedroom in a matter of minutes.
“Dad, we don’t need a babysitter anymore. I’m sixteen. Chad’s gonna be eighteen in like two weeks. We got this,” Cate announced while helping Dylan put the dinner dishes in the sink.
“I can watch Cate,” Chad piped in, rinsing the dishes and putting them inside the dishwasher.
“I don’t need watching. I’m number one in my class. I’m class president…” Dylan stopped her midsentence so he didn’t have to hear all this again.
“It’s not like that, guys. This time’s different. Your mom’s working and can’t be interrupted, and they’ve scheduled my meetings until late every night. Nanny Laura isn’t coming to watch you, just field any problems for us,” Dylan said, deciding the rest of the salad would never be eaten, and tossed the remainder in the trash.
“When are you gonna be home?” Chad asked, rinsing the salad plate Dylan brought him.
“I’ll be home Sunday,” he informed them as he ran the soapy rag across the granite countertop.
“You know, Dad, none of our other friends have to do the dinner dishes,” Cate said, and Dylan just looked over his shoulder at her.
“Cleaning up after yourself is an important part of being the adult I keep hearing you say you’re becoming. I’m preparing you for life.”
“But we’re rich,” she whined.
So much for her maturity.
“We aren’t rich—” Dylan started to explain, but was immediately cut off by the child who was supposedly the most solid of all his children.
“But if Wilder buys Secret, then we’ll be very rich,” Chad added, closing the lid to the dishwasher. “Are you and Mom gonna move?”
“No! I have a better question! Are we getting trust funds?” Cate asked excitedly. Dylan ignored her completely, focusing on Chad’s question.
“What? You don’t like this house?” Dylan asked, a little confused. They lived in a six bedroom, seven bath home in Highland Park. The kids attended the prestigious Preston Hollow Private School. Every one of them had a brand new car. This, by far, beat the two bedroom home he’d grown up in and the college apartment they’d had when the kids were little. “I think you need a refresher course in the power of appreciation.”
“No, Dad, I love this house. I don’t want you to move. But I’m going to college in a few months, and Cate’s going at mid-semester. You and Mom could get something smaller. That’s all I’m saying,” Chad said, drying his hands.
“You didn’t tell me you decided to graduate early.” Dylan turned to Cate who stared at Chad, giving him the stink eye.
“I decided today. My guidance counselor thinks it’ll look good on my application, and it’s easier to get into Harvard in the spring semester.”
“You decided on Harvard? Why haven’t you told me?” Everything in the room stopped. Dylan had been such a huge part of all of the children’s college planning sessions. They knew this was a big move, and she’d made these decisions without him.
“I just decided today. I was gonna tell you tonight,” she said, dropping her rag into the sink and elbowing Chad in the ribs.
“Hey!” Chad grabbed his midsection, which Dylan ignored completely. Usually that would have been grounds for him to intervene, but he stayed focused on the new graduation development.
“So this time next year, all my kids are gonna be off at college?” Dylan stated the obvious, looking between the both of them.
“Don’t worry, Daddy, we’ll be home all the time,” Cate promised, going to Dylan and giving him a hug. Of course they would think this was all about them. That was part of being a kid, and he’d definitely raised his children to believe they were his whole life. Dylan’s problem, however, was more that he didn’t have a life at all. He was a father of almost-grown children who were doing exactly what they were supposed to do—leave the nest. He was also a business owner in the first stages of a buyout. And he was a gay man buried so deep in the closet he questioned if he would ever find his way out.
He finally forced a smile on his face. “I just needed to catch up. I’m proud all my kids are doing so well.” He took the towel and gave a playful whip toward Chad. That caused Cate to laugh. “You two make me proud while I’m out of town. No problems, and pass that on to your jailbird sister.”
His antics eased the tension in the room and caused both Chad and Cate to laugh, diverting the attention from him.
He normally ran a casual office. His hundred and fifty or so employees weren’t required to have a dress code, as long as they kept their clothing within reason, but today he and his two top executives were professionally outfitted with some of the most stylish and, in Dylan’s opinion, expensive clothing on the market.
When the Wilder weekend itinerary had arrived via email and it became apparent no expense had been spared in flying them to California or in the list of activities planned for the three of them, it sent Secret’s senior management into a frenzy. They easily speculated that WilderNation wouldn’t dare spend that amount of money if they weren’t highly interested in the company. In return, someone not as budget-conscious as Dylan allowed Neimans free rein to help them look the part of ultra-successful businessmen.
They boarded a private Wilder jet, and for the first time since he’d signed off on their ridiculously expensive clothing, Dylan appreciated the extravagance. Their makeover had also included grooming. While Dylan had always kept his hair on the shorter side, none of his top staff had been this clean-shaven or put together in all the years he’d known them. Making millions of dollars, as well as putting their best foot forward to their potential new employer, had something to do with this GQ-meets-GeekWorld look they now sported.
“Dude, is this how they travel all the time?” David asked Dylan, looking around the private jet’s spacious and plush interior.
“I have no idea,” Dylan said, as blown away as the rest of them. And his kids called themselves rich. He sure wished they could see this plane. He pulled his phone out to snap a picture to text each of them.
“I can take your bags,” a flight attendant offered from behind them. She was already reaching for Rob’s carry-on. Another approached from the other side, taking David’s bags. Dylan watched in interest as his top team turned to putty in the pretty young women’s hands.
“I can take yours too, sir,” one of them said to Dylan. There were three passengers and three flight attendants. Wilder clearly traveled in style. “Please take a seat and fasten your seat belt. We’ll serve cocktails and lunch when we get in the air.” Once everything was locked into place, they made their way to the galley.
“She was into me,” David said, puffing out his chest proudly. He was the youngest of them all at not-quite thirty years old.
“She’s paid to be into you,” Rob said, selecting the seat closest to the window.
“You don’t know that,” David said, tilting his head to watch the flight attendant as she worked. Dylan snapped his fingers between the two, like he used to do with Chloe and Cate when they were little.
“Not appropriate behavior. We talked about this,” Dylan scolded. “Creepy gawking and coming on to the staff’s wr
ong in just about every company’s harassment policy. Not your best foot forward, dickhead.”
“But I’m not employed there yet,” David announced, clearly proud of his argument with the cocked brow he gave Dylan.
“Nor will you be either is the point he’s trying to make, dumbass,” Rob chimed as the attendant walked back to them.
“Gentlemen, I’m going to buckle up. Once the captain gives the go-ahead, we’ll get you guys taken care of.” David’s flight attendant leaned across Dylan’s chair and smiled down at him. She glanced at the others then spoke. “Good. You all figured out how your seat belts work.”
She directed her sweet smile straight at Dylan as she turned away. “Dude, they always fall for you,” David whispered when she was several feet away.
“I’m married. She sees the ring. I’m safe.” Dylan lifted his left hand and wiggled his fingers to make his point.
“Whatever, man. They all fall for you,” Rob murmured, too. The roar of the engine almost drowned out his words as the plane began its taxi down the runway.
“You guys are completely off the mark. Now focus. There are millions of dollars on the table. No more of this thing you two are doing. We’re professionals. I spent fifteen thousand dollars to look the part—now act like it.” When he got the eye roll from his team, he leaned in as far as he could.
“You promised to give me three days.” He eyed both of them, waiting for them to respond.
“All right,” David finally relented. “I’ll ward off her advances, but you owe me, bro!”
Tristan walked into the front doors of his Irvine, California, corporate offices as he’d done a million times over the last ten years, but this time things were different. From day one, his entire corporate culture had been founded on the concept of being open and friendly. For Tristan, cubicles, closed door offices, and departmentalism sucked his will to live. He tried hard to keep that from happening in any of his companies, but he did recognize the difficulties of those core business philosophies with as many employees as he now had. Regardless, even as large as they’d grown, he still managed to maintain a personal touch with free, open spaces. Yet now as he entered the building, he was met with a reception desk in the middle of the atrium with a mid-size clear wall stretched across the length of the lobby on both sides of the desk.
Instead of a friendly face greeting him, now sat three armed security guards. Regardless of Wilder, Inc. being scrawled across the bottom of the reception desk, he’d done an about-face and walked back outside to make sure he’d entered the right building.
Yep, Wilder, Inc. was displayed proudly at the top of the building so he went back inside. He bypassed the desk and tried to enter through one of the half opened walkways in the clear glass wall.
“Excuse me, sir. That’s a restricted area. Only employees are allowed beyond this point.” A security guard stopped him. Although Tristan wore a suit coat and tie today, he never required any of his employees to dress business formal. This security guard, standing in front of him with a serious case of the don’t-fuck-with-me attitude was dressed in the standard issue Men in Black kind of suit and tie. He was burly, big, beefy, and intimidating as hell with his hand on his hip, moving the jacket back enough to expose a gun holstered on the side of his belt.
“I’m an employee here,” Tristan answered with a smile. It actually took him a second to realize they had no idea who he was. Since he didn’t rest on formality, he shouldn’t have been surprised, but surely there was a photo here or there of the founder of the company.
“I need to see your employee badge,” the no-nonsense guard said.
“When did we start needing employee badges?” Tristan asked, pulling his phone from inside his suit pocket. He swiped his finger across the screen until he found his notes app. He typed a quick reminder to ask why and when they had implemented that regulation.
“It’s been that way since I’ve been here, sir,” the man said a little condescendingly.
“And how long has that been?” Tristan asked, looking at the guy’s name badge and typing that into his phone too.
“Sir, you need to show your ID or move on back to the reception area and explain your business here,” the guard said, his tone turning hard.
“I don’t have an I. D.” Tristan pronounced each letter very clearly. He texted Landry to get his ass down there and fix this problem. “I do have a question for you. Is this how all guests are treated when they enter this building?”
“Sir, please step this way.” The guard took Tristan by the elbow, and he let the manhandling happen as they guided him to a small office behind the desk, escorted now by two of the guards. “If you’ll write your name, job title, and direct supervisor down on this piece of paper, we’ll contact someone in that department, but you get only one free pass. Next time comes with a written warning,” the guard stated, holding a hand over the weapon at his hip.
Was he freaking for real?
Tristan did what the guard asked. Signed his name, gave the title of president and CEO, and marked himself down as his own direct supervisor. He pushed the paper toward the guy, who reached for it, never looked at the written words, and left the room. “Stay here.”
Tristan got up and tried the door, finding he was actually locked inside. The whole experience was so different than anything he’d ever had happen in his business that he scanned the room to see if there was a hidden camera. Surely Ashton Kutcher or whoever was about to pop out and laugh at the ridiculousness of all this.
Two minutes later, Landry and the guard were back through the door.
“I’m sorry, sir. I was just doing my job,” the guard apologized the second the door opened. Unmistakable fear was written all over his face and showed in his actions. Probably concerned about losing his job, which seemed reasonable to Tristan given the circumstances, but instead of acknowledging the excuses, he turned to Landry.
“This setup has to go. I don’t like this. It should have never been approved.” Tristan stepped out of the room, making sure everyone in the area heard him.
“It’s because of the proprietary nature of our—” Landry started, but Tristan shook his head.
“There’re better ways. We need to review this policy by the end of the day.” Tristan walked toward the elevators directly behind the reception desk. “People should be greeted by a friendly face when they walk in. And why don’t I have an employee badge? Do you have one?”
“Who would have thought you needed one to step inside your own building. Everyone knows who you are,” Landry quipped, pushing the up button to call the elevator.
“Apparently not. What’s the status of our guests’ arrival? I don’t want them coming in to this.” Tristan typed another note into his phone as a reminder to go over the front desk policy before he left the office today, and then stepped through the doors as they swished open. Landry looked down at his watch as Tristan hit the administrative floor on the keypad inside the elevator.
“They should be landing right about now. A driver will bring them straight here.” Tristan punched the top floor button again as the doors shut, but they didn’t move. He punched it again, and then again.
“Hell, are we having maintenance issues, too? This is so not the time for all this bullshit.” Tristan pressed the button again.
“No, you need your badge and authorization to get to the top floor,” Landry explained, sliding his badge through the card reader and pressing the button. They were off.
“But I don’t have a badge and why do we even need badges?” Tristan repeated, doing air quotes over the word badge.
How did he not have access to his own building?
“It’s been a while since you’ve been here. I’m sure it’s sitting on your desk.”
“I want this all discussed by the end of this day. You need to do whatever needs to be done before they get here to make sure they aren’t greeted like I was. I liked the old days when you walked in a place and normal people were sitting behind a
desk ready to greet you, without guns being shoved in your face,” Tristan stated, walking off the elevator.
“Lookin’ good, boss man.” That deep voice caught Tristan’s attention so he looked over, seeing an intern he’d hired a year ago grinning at him, extending a hand to give Tristan a fist bump as he walked past. He obliged and smiled. This guy needed to be downstairs greeting the people walking into his building. Tristan caught the apparently strict new Landry reaching out to give the intern a fist bump too. The intern looked confused but followed through, not leaving Landry hanging too long.
It was clear his company motivator had turned into a stern businessman. This was turning into a day of many new revelations.
“You should dress up more. You’re dashing.” Tristan couldn’t let Landry’s obvious attempt in leading him a different direction slip. “Dashing? Really. That might have worked from the intern, but it’s not gonna work for you. We’re talking about the whole security thing as soon as these guys leave tonight. Are we ready for them?” he asked. Since he didn’t believe in offices, but worked with proprietary information, he required some form of privacy on the administration floors. That came by the way of half walls, windows, and large glass double doors he kept open most of the time. Well, most of the time he was actually there. He found his underground lair was the best at keeping his work private.
“The itinerary’s on your desk. We have meetings, tours, and dinner plans every night,” Landry supplied.
“Good. I want to speed this along. Their asking price is fair. I don’t want to nickel and dime them,” Tristan repeated for about the tenth time over the last two days since they’d decided this was the one they wanted. Sometimes with his group of senior executives, he had to say specific words over and over, especially about the money. They watched Wilder’s dollars closely, no doubt because they liked their year-end bonuses.
“For me, the deciding factor lies in their current staff. We don’t need them. Especially that senior executive team,” Landry started. He’d done background reports on them all, going over each one in length with Tristan. Landry hadn’t been impressed with any of them. Tristan was fine giving them honorary jobs to get the market share they built so quickly, but nothing substantial or long-term.
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