“An understatement.” Conrad drained his glass and waved his hand to get the waitress’s attention.
“Where are you living these days? Nearby?”
“For the moment. Should get evicted from my girl’s place as soon as she finds out. The witch only wanted me because I’d pay the rent for services rendered.” Conrad winked.
“You do know that’s not called a girlfriend.”
His friend laughed hard. But over the next hour, it didn’t take long for the downer effects of alcohol to hit. His joviality diminished. “What’s the point of having a business degree if there are no businesses?”
“It’s all about the experience.” Kent had the same business degree as Conrad, but he had been lucky to get apprenticeships with great companies and mentors who had reached out and pulled him along. By the time he’d graduated and landed his first job as a company’s comptroller, he had managed to jump over many of the potholes to climb the corporate ladder. Then he had moved to operations and administration, ending in sales and marketing.
In his last year at that company, he worked two jobs, as a trainer for the corporation’s sales force, and also as an online university teacher of lower-level marketing courses. Then, a very satisfied business owner had translated his appreciation for Kent’s sales-staff training into a low-interest loan to start a coaching business.
“I was in bloody ridiculous marketing. The part of the company that gets cut and outsourced in a heartbeat.” Conrad took a long swig of his fresh mug of Guinness. “Maybe life is telling me to make a change. I should be overjoyed that an opportunity has been shoved up my—”
Kent put a firm hold on Conrad’s drinking hand and pulled it back down to the table. Time to pull the cover over the drinking well for the night. Instead of seeking a female’s company, Kent was now offering rehabilitative services for his recently unemployed, heavily alcohol-sedated college friend.
Kent managed to get Conrad into his car and hoped his friend would not share his stomach contents with him. Now he really was heading for home to his flat in Kensington. Thankfully it wasn’t far away. By the time he got there, Conrad was even more out of it, but managed to hurl his stomach contents onto the sidewalk, as soon as they exited the car. Slowly and with much exertion, Kent hoisted his friend into his house and onto the closest sofa. There was no way that they would make it upstairs. He pulled off Conrad’s shoes, adjusted his legs and placed a sofa cushion under his head.
“And here I thought that I was competing with a young tart for your attention,” a familiar female voice remarked.
Kent twisted around, startled by his visitor.
Agatha, Kent’s girlfriend—and recently turned ex—stood on the stairs in sexy, very revealing lingerie. The silk robe she wore hung open, revealing one long slender leg. She didn’t seem to care that he did have a visitor. She sashayed her way over to the drunken heap in the living room.
“Is that Conrad?” She tilted Conrad’s face toward her with two fingers, as if he was dirty to the touch.
Kent nodded. “Our long-lost friend with unfortunate luck.”
“Looks like he’s not going anywhere.” She looked bored with Conrad and edged closer to Kent. Before he could move, she slipped her hand over his backside and squeezed. “And I’m not going anywhere, either.”
The see-through lingerie revealing her naked, luscious form should have been enough to make Kent hard. Her hand, still caressing his butt, should have stirred his longing to be in her. As he looked at her, trying to grasp what he’d seen in her beyond good, healthy sexual appetite, he could latch onto nothing. His desire had evaporated a long time ago. But that didn’t stop her theatrics, including her descent down the stairs like a starlet, like a siren trying to seduce him, like someone who couldn’t take no for an answer.
He sidestepped out of her hand’s reach. Without a word, Kent continued tending to Conrad, heading off to retrieve a blanket.
“Tired?” Agatha wasn’t giving up.
Kent didn’t respond, tossing the cover over Conrad’s snoring form.
“I could massage your back.”
Kent sighed. He hated to be rude, but he would have to throw her out. He was tired and wanted to get in his bed. Alone.
“You’re tap-dancing.” Agatha smirked. She fluffed out her hair. The motion allowed the soft, clinging fabric to outline her naked body.
“Doing my best Billy Elliot impression as we speak.” Kent averted his eyes.
Agatha wrapped the panels of the robe around her body. She stared at Conrad, but Kent knew that she wasn’t really looking at his incapacitated friend. She nodded, as if she had engaged in a conversation with an unknown person and come to a decision. She headed up the stairs.
“I’ll get my stuff.”
He nodded. Waiting. He listened to her move around the second floor. She stomped between the bedroom and bathroom. Finally, she came down dressed in a blouse and pants, her heels clicking against the wood treads of the stairs. An oversized bag hung over her shoulder. The smoldering expression was now replaced with hostility.
“I’ll need the key.” Kent didn’t like loose ends, and he didn’t like when a hint wasn’t taken. Granted, his breakups weren’t reality TV–worthy. But he had made it clear that their brief fling had ended and expected that she would demonstrate her acceptance by handing back his key.
“I guess we’ve moved from needing time to think to jumping off this bloody ride.”
The problem was, Kent didn’t know what he wanted. As he felt Agatha’s hurt and anger, he knew, and he’d always known, that she wasn’t The One. Agatha wanted him to take a break to rethink their situation. That meant holding on for no good reason. She was right—it was time for her to jump off.
“Wherever you’ve retreated to in your mind, I know it’s a solo trip. But I stupidly thought you’d remember that I was here, in the flesh, and have always been here.”
“I never made promises.” Kent wasn’t in the mood for a breakup fight. That had already happened a week ago.
“That’s right. You have a ridiculous aversion to commitment.”
“And you want to change the rules that you were fine with in the beginning.”
“That’s what lovers do. Are you capable of loving, Kent?” Her voice’s tremor was more about rage than grief. Another tidbit he’d learned during their fling.
Kent remained silent.
“I don’t think that you’ve faced the truth that you can’t love. Can’t ever be vulnerable.” Her eyes glistened with tears, but there was no mistaking their frosty glare. “Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
Kent could have stopped this train wreck with a few apologetic words and a lustful glance. Tonight could have been like their other nights: eat dinner with his family, come home, get snogged and wake up to a brand-new day. Even now, as Agatha railed, he could put out a detour sign and find his way back to where they had started. But his voice remained muted. His hands remained tucked in his trouser pockets. His heart remained off-limits.
Agatha opened her purse and took out the key. “Here. It’s been an interesting six months in your world.”
Kent didn’t know whether to respond with gratitude or continued silence. In the end, he reached out and took the key. He could tell from her pained expression that she’d hoped there would be a last-minute reprieve, a cease-fire.
Now, he did move and opened the door. He’d had breakups before, some messier than others. This was quiet, refined, but still heart-wrenching, for her, he’d imagine. He leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek, one that he hoped let her know that he wished her well and hoped for good things and good boyfriends to come her way.
Instead, Agatha maintained her dignity by avoiding his lips, and went out into the night. He waited until she got in her car and pulled off, before stepping in and closing the door
.
Kent normally did the pursuing and managed the relationships he was in, keeping them all brief. Kind words and regret were all he could offer. No way was he ever going to follow in his father’s footsteps, to repeatedly offer his heart to every woman who bothered to pay him attention. The price of being too quick to fall in love was steep.
Years ago, when his parents were still married, an angry husband came to the house with his children in tow to tell Kent’s father what he thought of him, except his father wasn’t home. Instead, the sordid details of an affair were revealed to his mum. Kent had stayed in his bedroom, listening to the pain that betrayal caused. His mum somehow could heal and believe again. For Kent, he preferred to stay in a separate bubble with the belief that relationships were like a minefield. Unless he was careful every step of the way, a careless foot was bound to set off a calamity. He’d never regretted his decisions to end a relationship. But he didn’t relish rehashing them, either.
He sighed. What else could go wrong?
The sound of Conrad coughing and then throwing up in his sitting room made him wish that he hadn’t asked the question.
Kent looked up at nothing in particular. “Please, can I get a sign that my life isn’t heading for the toilet!”
His phone chirped with an incoming email from his assistant. It read: Meadows Media has accepted the contract bid. Please call at your earliest convenience.
Chapter 2
“Wake up, sleepyhead.”
Dana brushed away the offending hand that latched onto her shoulder. The familiar voice of its owner was more irritating than frightening.
“You’ve got to get up. Your grandmother is on the warpath.”
Her grandmother, Grace Meadows, always had a startling effect on the nervous system when she harbored a bad mood, a semipermanent condition.
With that piece of intel, Dana was wide awake. Yet, she still rebelled by keeping her eyes shut.
“Stop goofing. You shouldn’t make it worse.”
“Or what? She’s going to spank me?” Dana shielded her eyes as the curtains were snapped back. Leona, her grandmother’s loyal personal assistant, had added waking Dana up to her list of duties.
“Shouldn’t have had that party last night. For heaven’s sake, it’s the middle of the week.”
Dana got up and headed for the bathroom. While she washed up, she knew that Leona would wait to ensure her obedience. Loyal to a fault. Dana saw no need to rush toward the eye of the hurricane. She’d get her butt chewed out whether she was one minute late or an hour late.
“Okay, I’m presentable.” Dana spun around and modeled as if she was in an exclusive boutique. These days, her outfit was one black or navy pantsuit after another, with an occasional dress or skirt tossed on when she got bored.
“That’s better. As usual, you clean up well.” Leona sighed. “Thank goodness for that small gem. Time to survey the damage of your festivities.” The middle-aged woman even dressed like her boss, in a tailored dark skirt suit and polished black pumps.
Dana saluted Leona, who led the way down the hallway and then marched down the stairs. Since last night’s party, the guests had dwindled, but a few sleeping hangers-on were still slumped over wherever they’d crashed. It didn’t take much for her small cottage to feel overrun.
Her housekeeper would sweep them out as she did her midweek cleanup. The woman had no patience for “lazy young people.” Dana was sure that she was included under that tab, but her leverage was that she paid her housekeeper a salary, and a darn good one.
“Why is Grace up so early?” Dana asked, as Leona continued toward the main house. Her grandmother hadn’t wanted Dana to refer to her as “Grandma” once Dana had begun working at Meadows Media and quickly moved up into the higher ranks of the company. The rule was in place—unless Dana knew that she’d crossed the line with a major screwup. Then, she’d slip back to the safety of their unique relationship and call her “Grandma.”
For five years, Grace had raised Dana when her mother, Grace’s youngest daughter, Elaine, stayed true to her bohemian lifestyle and dumped Dana off to run away on a self-improvement jaunt.
“Business reports are in. The board of directors’ annual meeting is in a couple months.” Leona glanced over her shoulder to drive home the point.
“I know that much. Is that what’s bugging her?”
“She’s been agitated about everything ever since she made the decision to celebrate her milestone birthday with a blowout party. It’s like she’s obsessing about getting her house in order. Getting you in order.”
“Why doesn’t she wait to see if someone will plan the party? That’s how it usually works.” Dana ignored the rest of the message.
Leona shrugged, but her expression spoke volumes. Waiting for the other Meadows family members to do anything in a united fashion would be a waste of energy. The Meadows women were known for high drama.
“I have an important meeting later today, so this can’t be a walk to the executioner, right?”
Leona threw Dana an amused glance before opening the door to the Meadows mansion.
Dana entered feeling like a gladiator stepping into the Colosseum. The house had been a major part of her childhood and remained an anchor in her adulthood. It also served as her prison when she’d gotten uppity and had been grounded.
Her grandmother was frugal with certain things. No matter what decorated the walls and each room, the overall atmosphere was the same: it was a stately home to invited guests, but for several years, it had been a place of refuge for Dana. When her life had felt out of control, these walls added needed stability.
“Good to see that you look decent.” Grace had entered her office, where Dana had waited for her.
“Good morning, Grandma,” Dana greeted in as perky a voice as she could muster before she had had her morning coffee.
“When are you going to stop these silly parties? You’re getting too old to keep playing at being the popular girl.” Her grandmother motioned for her to sit as she pulled out her own chair behind the large desk.
Dana shrugged. “I felt the need to celebrate. Like you with your eightieth birthday.”
“I’m celebrating a milestone. What exactly is yours? How many tequila shots you’ve consumed? Notches on the bedpost?”
“Grandma, that’s not nice! And I certainly don’t want to talk to you about that last one.” Dana’s ears flamed over the not-too-subtle criticism. “I’ll be ready for the directors’ meeting. I promise.”
“I’m sure you will, because you have a habit of waiting until the last minute to make an impression. Then, once you squeak by to catch up and ready to work, you’re all smiles and witty comebacks, as if you had it under control. You’re not fooling me. I want to see you working beyond what’s necessary. And stop with the shortcuts and half-assed attitude. The company won’t survive with that approach.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dana couldn’t argue with the obvious. Her grandmother had watched her every move ever since Dana had moved from a general management position a year ago and started the upward climb to her current acting CEO post.
Many observers and industry analysts had thought the creator of Meadows Media would never retire. She was going to be eighty and, until recently, still clocked in a full day’s work.
Grace’s passion for her company was never in doubt. So it was a shock when she announced her plans, citing family reasons. Despite the retirement announcement, the landscape of Meadows Media sometimes looked as if Grace was still working full time at the company. According to Grace, she wasn’t leaving unless certain conditions were in place, namely making Dana, her youngest granddaughter, capable of running the company.
Dana hadn’t ever held any doubts about her own future. From the time she started high school, Dana had been coaxed and encouraged to think of
Meadows Media as hers one day. Her bachelor’s degree in business administration and master’s in media management solidified where she would intern and eventually work. While some of her peers worried about finding a job after graduate school, Dana didn’t have that burden. Maybe she took it for granted, she’d admit to that, but working for her grandmother hadn’t been an easy feat. If anything, she had to work harder and prove herself even more. Her grandmother had mountain-high standards. But the bar was also set by others who measured Dana’s few successes and many failures against Grace’s iconic accomplishments.
“Now, I will do something that I should have done from the beginning of your term as acting CEO.” Grace lightly fingered the pin that she wore on her lapel. The gold feathered pin had no real significance, except to serve as a calming tool when her grandmother had reached that annoyed-to-angry stage. For Dana, the pin was an important signal.
“What’s that?” Dana was a bit afraid of her grandmother’s solutions. They tended to feel like punishment.
“I’m not sure whether to make it a surprise or if I should tell you in advance. Of course, knowing you, I suspect that you’d find ways to sabotage these learning opportunities.”
“With that introduction, could you blame me?” Dana wracked her brain for a clue from the information she knew.
The older woman’s face remained impassive. Time, just shy of eighty years, had been kind to Grace’s face. Not that her grandmother didn’t look like a senior citizen. She didn’t try to hide her age or the natural lines and folds along her features with thick makeup. Her hair, which she wore in her trademark, pinned-up bun, had a healthy helping of gray along the temples, but there was still a significant amount of raven-black color.
Her once erect posture had now bowed at the shoulders. Yet her physique still had a quiet power which she bore with her chin held high, while peering down her nose with strong disdain for people’s B.S. Generally, being in Grace’s presence tended to keep people on their toes.
“Remember the name Kent Fraser. And that’s all I’m going to say. Now, let’s go eat breakfast. Then we’ll go to the office. I’m meeting with the lifestyle editor and I want your input.”
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