by Julie James
Cade blinked. This. . . from Vaughn. “Huxley sure has a lot to say.”
“Yeah, he’s always been a know-it-all like that.”
That, at least, got a grin out of Cade. “Well, I will take Huxley’s advice into consideration.”
A comfortable silence fell between them.
“And, Vaughn?” Cade looked at his friend, speaking in all earnestness. “Thanks.”
Vaughn tipped his glass in acknowledgement. “Anytime, Morgan.”
Thirty-two
BROOKE STOOD BEFORE her closed office door, taking a few deep breaths before stepping out into the hallway—and the unknown.
She had no idea how this meeting with Ian would go, but since coming back from Charlotte she’d thought a lot about what she wanted, both professionally and personally. And she knew, in her heart of hearts, that it was time for a change.
She steeled herself and opened her door. The office was quiet; she’d deliberately scheduled her meeting with Ian at the end of the day when most of the other employees had already left.
Ian’s door was open, and he sat at his desk reading the evening news on his computer. “Come on in.” He rubbed his hands together eagerly. “I think I know what this is about. Curt Emery called you, right? He’s decided he wants us to take over at Soldier Field.”
Okay . . . this was going be a little awkward. “I haven’t spoken to Curt since our meeting a few weeks ago. But, actually, I need to tell you something about that meeting. When I got to Halas Hall, someone was waiting there: Palmer Green, CEO of Spectrum North America.”
Ian frowned, obviously recognizing the name. “Palmer Green? What did he want?”
“The meeting was just a setup, a way for Palmer to meet me.” Brooke looked Ian directly in the eyes. “So that he could offer me a job at Spectrum.”
Ian’s expression immediately turned somber. He exhaled, taking a moment. “What position?”
“Executive vice president of sales and business development.”
Ian ran his hand over his mouth. “How much?”
“Eight hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. Including stock options and bonus.”
He cocked his head. “This last Friday. Your personal day.”
She nodded. “I flew out to Spectrum’s headquarters in Charlotte.”
Ian said nothing at first in response to that. Then he peered at her across his desk, with sadness in his eyes. “Are you leaving me, Brooke?”
The moment of truth. “Well . . . that depends on you, Ian.”
He sat forward in earnest. “Brooke, I would do anything I could to keep you. I hope you know that. But Sterling isn’t Spectrum North America. I can’t match that kind of package.”
“I know that. And I hope you know that in many ways, I consider Sterling Restaurants to be like family to me. Which is why I’m hoping, Ian, that you can give me something Spectrum can’t. Something that I’ve realized is more important than eight hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars a year.” Brooke paused. She’d practiced this at home, actually saying the words out loud. She could do this.
“I want more balance in my life.”
As soon as the words were out there, she felt . . . good.
Ian stared at her in surprise, as if waiting for another bomb to drop. When that didn’t happen, he nodded eagerly. “Okay. Yes. Absolutely. What can we do to make that happen?”
As a matter of fact, she’d been prepared for just that question. “Glad you asked. I have a few ideas on that front.” Brooke opened up the file folder she’d brought with her and pulled out the report she’d prepared.
“More charts and graphs?”
“Of course.” She handed Ian the report. “The first problem we have is that I’m basically doing two full-time jobs: general counsel and VP of sales. The other problem is that our legal department is still the same size as it was two years ago, before we built the sports and entertainment division. As a result, we’ve been farming out more and more matters to outside counsel—in fact, we paid them over four hundred thousand dollars last year. And as I’m sure you are aware, because I know you always read the monthly summaries and open matter reports I send you,”—she gave him a pointed look, they both knew he never even opened the darned things—“seventy percent of that four hundred thousand was related to employment matters.”
“I see that. Very colorfully illustrated on this pie chart here.”
“What this means, however, is that we could substantially cut back our legal expenses if we brought in an in-house labor and employment lawyer to handle the less complex matters. Do you realize that we pay a Gray & Dallas associate four hundred and fifty dollars an hour every time we need to respond to one of those ridiculously onerous IDHR charges?”
“I did not realize that,” Ian said indignantly. He held up a finger. “Question: what’s an IDHR charge?”
“Seriously, if you would just read the summaries I send you . . .” Moving on, Brooke gestured to the report. “Now turn to page two. From what I’ve estimated, bringing in an in-house employment lawyer will save us roughly ninety thousand dollars.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“I would then like to apply that ninety thousand toward hiring a second in-house lawyer who will take on some of my responsibilities,” Brooke continued. “Routine matters like reviewing our lease agreements, drafting the vendor contracts, et cetera, which will obviously lessen my workload. Given what I expect we’ll have to pay to get two quality in-house counsel, this should cost Sterling, in total, about seventy thousand dollars more this year.”
Ian stared at her. “That’s . . . it? Seventy thousand a year is all it will take to keep you here? Done. So done. Where do I sign?”
“Actually, if you turn to page three, you’ll see that I project, given the way the company is expanding, that by next year we’ll nearly break even and in the year after that this will actually save us money.”
Ian folded his arms over his chest, looking happy as a clam. “Sounds perfect.”
“I also want my job title changed to executive vice president and general counsel.”
Ian considered this. “I see no problem with that.”
“And . . . there’s one last thing.”
Of course there was one last thing. This deal she’d struck with Ian, to hire two in-house counsel, would help her get back the balance she’d been missing in her personal life. But she’d also spent the last few days thinking about what she wanted, professionally speaking.
And there was just one thing.
Ian must’ve seen the gleam in her eyes. He put his hands on the desk, as if bracing himself. “This one’s going to hurt, isn’t it?”
“It might sting a little.” Brooke met his gaze. “I want equity in the company.”
Ian exhaled heavily and steepled his fingers, remaining silent. He was, and always had been, the sole owner of Sterling Restaurants.
“I could give you a long speech about what I’ve brought to Sterling Restaurants over the last two years, Ian. But I’m hoping you already know. So instead I’ll just tell you that I believe in this company, and I know what I can do to continue building it. And I want to do that not as an employee, but as your partner.”
She sat there, sweating it out while he said nothing.
“What percentage?” he finally asked.
Brooke exhaled. Yes! In her head, she was doing an imaginary dance in the end zone. “I’ll tell you what. I’ve hit you with a lot of information this evening.” She smiled charmingly. “Why don’t you think everything over for a couple of days and get back to me with what you think is fair?”
“Always a negotiator,” Ian muttered under his breath, shaking his head. But when he looked at her, there was a hint of a smile curling at the edges of his lips. “I should fire you for making me panic like that, you know.”
Brooke smiled. “Well, seeing how you make me do all the firing, I’ll be sure to get on that one right quick.”
* * *
>
LATER THAT EVENING at Firelight, a bar Brooke had been meaning to check out for ages, Ford raised his glass of champagne in a toast. “Congratulations to the new executive vice president and general counsel and part owner of Sterling Restaurants.”
Brooke grinned. “It’ll be a long time before I get tired of hearing that.” She clinked her glass to his and took a sip.
“So this means the job at Spectrum, the whole moving to Charlotte deal, is officially out of the running, right?” Ford asked.
“Yep. As soon as my meeting with Ian was over, I called Spectrum’s CEO and let him know that I was declining the offer,” she said. Palmer had been surprised, and disappointed, but the conversation had ended as amicably as one could hope given the circumstances.
“Any regrets?” Ford asked.
Brooke thought about that, then shook her head. “Not a one.” In fact, she’d already begun step two of her plan to have more balance in her life. She’d e-mailed Rachel to say that, yes, she’d love to meet for lunch any day next week, and she’d also called her parents while walking home from work to tell them her news. She’d caught up with them for over an hour, undoubtedly the longest non-work-related phone conversation she’d had in about two years.
She looked around the bar, the part owner in her unable to resist checking out the competition. “So this is the place you, Charlie, and Tucker are always raving about.” She gestured teasingly to the appetizer in front of her. “Must be the crab cakes.” Actually, she was pretty sure it had a lot more to do with the all the attractive women dressed in jeans, heels, and camisole tops that showed lots of tanned skin.
Ford grinned mischievously. “Sure is. Love the crab cakes here.”
Brooke could certainly see why. About a dozen of those “crab cakes” had been subtly checking out Ford since they’d sat down. She was about to make a joke about cramping his style, when something—or someone, rather—caught her eye. “This really is the happening place. Even the Twitter Terrorist is here.”
She easily recognized Kyle Rhodes, an extremely wealthy computer genius turned businessman who’d originally shot to fame after hacking into Twitter when his then-girlfriend, a Victoria’s Secret model, tweeted a video of herself cheating on him with a movie star. Like most Chicagoans, Brooke had followed all the media drama surrounding his arrest and conviction—not realizing that one day she would have a personal connection, of sorts, to the case.
Ford glanced over, then shrugged. “I’ve seen him here a few times. I think his friend owns the bar or something.”
“And that must be Rylann,” Brooke said, referring to the woman with long, raven-colored hair having dinner with him. She watched as Rylann shook her head at something Kyle said, and then laughed at whatever he said next.
Hold on. You’re friends with a woman whose fiancé you sent to prison?
“You might want to stop drooling, Brooke,” Ford said. “I’m pretty sure the Twitter Terrorist is already taken.”
She blinked. “What? Oh, no—I was looking at her.”
Ford raised an eyebrow. “Now this is getting intriguing.”
Men. “I wasn’t checking her out, Ford. I know her. Or at least, I know of her. She’s friends with Cade. I was thinking about how he once told me that it’s a weird situation since he’s the one who prosecuted her fiancé.” She smiled, remembering their conversation that night. “I asked if he thought they would invite him to their wedding, and we were laughing about whether they made a card that said, ‘So glad we’ve all gotten past the time I called one of you a terrorist in open court.’” She smiled, and then shrugged at Ford. “You probably had to be there.”
“Another inside joke.”
“Yes.” She felt her smile falter a bit, and exhaled. She forced herself not to dwell on negative thoughts—this was a celebration, after all. “Let’s talk about something else. Like the blonde in the pink shimmery shirt who’s been eying you all evening.”
“Brooke.” Ford looked at her in all seriousness. “Why don’t you call Cade? I get that you were holding back before because of your work situation. But that’s not a problem anymore.”
She nodded, having realized this, too. And a part of her was tempted to do just that.
But.
“I just . . . I don’t know what he’s thinking. When I told him about the job offer from Spectrum, he wasn’t exactly begging me to stay in Chicago.” To the contrary, really. Knock ’em dead in Charlotte, Brooke.
“Well, did you say anything that indicated that you were considering him in your decision?”
Brooke took a moment, thinking through every word of their last conversation. “Okay, no. Fair enough. But that’s just it. I’ve suddenly had this epiphany, this new outlook on what I want in my life, but that’s me. What if I go to him and tell him everything that I’ve been feeling and he doesn’t feel the same way?” Potentially the one thing worse than having Cade tell her she wasn’t a big-picture girl, she’d decided, would be having him tell her that she’d never been in any picture.
“That would suck balls.”
She laughed, then realized Ford wasn’t joking. “Wait, that’s your answer?”
“Yes, because it’s the truth,” he said.
“Well, I don’t want the truth. I want to be pumped up, given a pep talk, the whole you-go-girl, you-can-do-this shebang. I want you to say, ‘That’s just crazy talk, Brooke. Of course Cade wants to be with you. You two are great together. In fact, I bet he’s been moping around for the last two weeks, unshowered and barely able to leave his apartment because he’s so depressed you haven’t called.’ Or something—anything—that gives me hope that I won’t end up crashing and burning if I do this.”
“That’s what I was supposed to say?”
“Yes, that is what you were supposed to say, Ford Dixon,” she said, all worked up now.
“Oh.” He mulled this over. “On the upside, I do think there’s at least a good forty to fifty percent chance that what you said is true. Well, not the part about him not showering and unable to leave his apartment. Guys don’t do that. We avoid issues, we get drunk, sometimes we pick up another chick to forget the old one—” he must’ve seen the look of panic in her face—“not suggesting that’s the situation here, I’m just talking, you know, about the gender in general, and . . . I’m thinking I should probably shut up now.”
Brooke covered her face. “Thank you, Ford. And here I’d been worried before.” She stared down, hands rubbing her temples as she tried really, really hard not to imagine Cade with another woman. Then something slid across the table and into her view.
Ford’s iPhone.
With a photo of a bare-chested Ryan Gosling.
Despite everything, she smiled.
“Sorry,” Ford said with a sheepish grin. “Clearly, we’ve established that I’m not the best at the motivational pep talks. But can I say one more thing?”
“Just, please, try not to freak me out anymore, okay? I’m already far out of my wheelhouse just by considering this whole lay-everything-on-the-line scenario.”
“The only way you’ll know for certain what Cade is thinking is if you ask him.”
Brooke considered this, and then nodded.
Reluctantly, she had to admit that her “best friend with the penis attached” had gotten that part right.
Thirty-three
CADE ASKED THE cabdriver to drop him off a few blocks from his apartment, thinking some fresh air would do him good. He wasn’t drunk, but he’d had a few drinks and wanted to clear his head—especially after his talk with Vaughn.
The main issue he had with Vaughn’s surprisingly non-terrible advice was that it didn’t address the real problem. Brooke moving to Charlotte was not the real problem. Sure, it didn’t make the situation any easier, but lots of couples dealt with job relocations and transfers, they made sacrifices for each other or they had long-distance relationships, and they figured it out.
The real problem was him.
The moment he’d heard from Charlie about Brooke’s job offer, and he’d felt that stab of disappointment, he’d closed himself off emotionally. He’d gone into his hey-it-doesn’t-matter mode, and had put on his nothing-fazes-me grin, and he’d told himself—and, essentially, Brooke, too—that it didn’t matter if she left.
That was what he did. That was what he’d always done. He pushed things away that hurt, and then he moved on. His father? Don’t want to think about the asshole. Football? Yeah, that was great back in the day, but let’s talk about something else. Move on.
He remembered that very first morning with Brooke, watching her sleep in his bed and wondering if he could allow himself to get close to her. And slowly, he’d been doing that, whether he’d realized it at the time or not, but as soon as the other shoe had dropped and he’d felt foolish for thinking they were on the same page, he’d thrown on an easy smile and had walked away.
Typically, that was a good play for him. One that had always worked in the past. Noah’s rejection had hurt, so he took all that anger and negative energy and he’d channeled it, positively, onto the football field. Then when fate had yanked football away from him, he’d gone to law school, and had funneled his ambition and drive into a successful legal career.
And he’d been doing just fine since then. Until everything had upended like the damn Titanic when a sixteen-year-old kid and a sassy lawyer had waltzed into his life. After that, it had suddenly become all Oh, let’s open up and share and Oh, isn’t it cool having a brother and Oh, Brooke, it’s so perfect with you and there’d been voices in his head, and all these weird feelings, and now, for the first time in his life, he was a mess.
Cade took a moment to let that sink in as he turned onto his block.
Huh. Zach had been right.
It really wasn’t that much fun being a mess.
He was in uncharted waters here, and he had a decision to make. He could keep doing his self-protective thing, and let Brooke walk out of his life, and continue on with his string of unfulfilling four-month relationships with women who didn’t challenge him, didn’t make him laugh over a simple text message, and didn’t push him to be better. Or he could go find Brooke—a woman moving halfway across the country, a woman who’d specifically told him, in their very last conversation, that they’d both known from the beginning their relationship wasn’t anything permanent—and lay it all on the line, and hope that he didn’t look like a complete jackass in the process.