by Jenna Brandt
After the meeting ended, the men filed out of the room, leaving Conrad and Tiffany alone once again.
“Thank you for the assist earlier,” Tiffany said, as she gathered up her papers to put back in her briefcase. “Not that I needed you to intervene on my behalf. I was just about to say the same thing.”
Conrad grinned. “Of course, you were; I simply beat you to it.”
“Why did you? Was it just because you want to make sure this succeeds for your royalty deal with my father?”
“I can’t say that didn’t factor in, because it did, but I also didn’t like seeing how those men were treating you. I’ve been underestimated my whole life, so I refuse to let it happen to anyone else.”
“They were just trying to put me in my place. They think because I’m a woman, I can’t do my job.”
“They’re fools then, because you’re as good as any of them, maybe better, which is probably why they are acting that way. Most bullies act the way they do because they’re afraid.”
“Dealt with a lot of bullies, have you?” Tiffany questioned, her eyes lifting up to meet his.
He nodded. “I dealt with a lot of them while I grew up in the foster care system. It’s why I don’t like seeing it happen to anyone else and stop it when I see it.”
“I didn’t know that about you,” Tiffany revealed. “That must have been hard.”
“I learned to be self-reliant, and to work hard for everything I have. It hasn’t always made me popular, and I’ve hit some bumps along the way, but I only have myself to blame if I don’t succeed.”
“I look at work the same way. Every victory is a direct result of what I did. It helps to combat the frustration with the men who act like I can’t do what they can simply because I’m a woman. Every success is another step in proving I can handle myself in the energy business.” Glancing at her watch, she let out a little gasp. “I have to get going. I have to take care of a family matter. Thanks for helping me with the meeting today.”
“Let me walk you out,” Conrad offered.
Tiffany looked as if she were debating whether it was a good idea. After a couple of moments, she nodded. “I have a couple of things I want to go over with you anyway.”
They made their way out of the conference room, discussing what the agenda for tomorrow was going to be. As they turned down a new hall, a man came into their view, blocking their path. Conrad didn’t recognize him, but he could tell from the angry look he was giving Tiffany, he had something to say.
Great, Harry Stine, just how Tiffany didn’t want to end her day. He hadn’t taken no for an answer, continuously sending invites to drinks via email and texts. In the beginning, she had politely declined, but as they continued and became more frequent, she opted to ignore them, hoping he would get the point. From the jealous scowl on his face, it appeared he hadn’t.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to see you cozying up with the likes of him, despite the fact he’s your brother’s worst enemy,” Harry commented, a vein along his neck pulsated with anger as he glared at Tiffany and Conrad.
“I have to get along with everyone I work with for the sake of the company,” Tiffany defended, not liking the fact Harry was implying otherwise.
“To think, I actually believed your little speech that you didn’t want to mix business and pleasure, when all along, the truth was, you were simply waiting for a bigger prize,” Harry snarled. “I should have known that’s how someone like you would be.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tiffany maintained, forcing herself to remain calm. She clenched her hands at her side, causing her nails to bite into her own palms.
“Don’t try to deny it. It’s obvious there’s something going on between the two of you,” Harry objected, moving closer until he was only a couple of feet from Tiffany. “It’s been apparent since he started coming into the office.”
“Even if that were true, what is it of your concern?” Conrad asked, moving in between Harry and Tiffany. “She’s a free woman to do as she pleases, and doesn’t need to answer to anyone, least of all you.”
“What do you mean by that? Least of all me, because I don’t have billions like the two of you? Money isn’t everything, but I wouldn’t expect people like you to understand that.”
“You assume way too much about us based off our economic status. I’ll have you know, I wasn’t referring to the number in your bank account, but rather, the bankruptcy in your judgment,” Conrad stated with disdain.
Harry’s lips were pressed together into a white slash, his eyes flashing with rage. For a moment, Tiffany thought he might move to slug Conrad. Instead, he spun around and took off the way he came.
“You should fire him for behaving like that,” Conrad pointed out. “I wouldn’t let that type of conduct stand at my company.”
“Well, we’re not at your company, Mr. Gaines. This is mine, and I don’t go around arbitrarily firing people. I think about my decisions—weigh the pros and cons—and then choose the best option.”
“I think you have a tendency to overthink everything. Sometimes, you just know when something has to be done,” Conrad countered, turning to face her.
Was he still talking about Harry, or was this about something else? She almost got the feeling that he was hinting at something more.
“Who are you to judge how I handle situations? You’re exactly the same way,” she accused in a haughty tone. “I’ve watched you over the past week, and you calculate every decision you make before you make it.”
“When it comes to the matter of business, that’s true,” Conrad agreed, moving closer to her. “But when it has to do with personal choices, I’m capable of making a decision with ease.”
His proximity was making her uncomfortable, not because she didn’t like it, but because she did. She had been fighting her physical attraction to Conrad Gaines all week, constantly reminding herself of all the reasons she couldn’t get involved with him, though she sensed he might be open to the possibility if she let him. The way he was speaking to her right now made it even more clear that she had assumed right. He was looking at her with those penetrating coffee-colored eyes of his, and she knew if she didn’t get away from him that very moment, she’d let him kiss her right there in the hallway if he tried.
Her phone buzzed, drawing her attention to the screen. She looked at it and read the text from her brother, reminding her she was behind schedule.
“I have to go. I’m already late,” she whispered, licking her lips before swiveling around and taking off without looking back. She shouldn’t have stayed alone with Conrad as long as she had. It was a mistake.
A half hour later, the Town Car pulled up in front of her parents’ lavish apartment building, Remington Tower, in the Upper East Side. With its modern architecture inspired by Art Deco and luxury amenities including a full-service health club, screening room, wine cellar and spa, it was one of the most elite buildings in all of Manhattan.
When Tiffany had decided she wanted her own place after university, her parents had tried to persuade her to get one on the same floor as them. She had opted to get one a few blocks away, knowing she needed to establish her own life free from her father’s dominating ways and her mother’s need to insult her choices.
The limo driver came around and opened the door, allowing Tiffany to shimmy out of the vehicle.
“Good evening, Miss Boswell,” the doorman said with a smile as he held the door open for her. “Enjoy your family dinner.”
“Good evening, Wilbur. I’ll try,” she greeted in return, happy to see the veteran employee of the building. As far back as she could remember, he had been there every day after prep school, and later when she returned from university during the holidays.
She entered the elevator and let it take her to the top floor of the building. She exited, then pushed back her shoulders in preparation for the exhausting night that was sure to lay ahead.
Tiffany knocked on the door, know
ing better than to just enter the home she grew up in. It swung open to reveal Alima, the newest Russian maid, who stood woodenly on the other side in her starched black and white uniform.
“Good evening, Miss Boswell,” she stated in her broken Russian accent. “Your parents are waiting in the dining room.”
As Tiffany made her way through the opulent, penthouse apartment, flashes of memories of her childhood came back, but she pushed them away, not wanting to think about how sad it was to be alone for most of it.
Despite the place being pristine and lavish from its oversized windows, to its high ceilings to the gold and crystal dripping from every corner of the place, it didn’t replace the fact her parents were never home, preferring to be out with friends or at social events rather than being bothered by parenting their children. They left that bothersome job up to the endless revolving door of nannies.
Tiffany arrived in the large dining room that was filled with elegant decor. There were two large mahogany buffet tables covered in silver utensils and fine china, a set of three custom curio cabinets that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, and a matching massive table with twelve ornate chairs. The table was already set for dinner, and both her parents along with Roger, Celeste and Marcus sat around the table.
“You’re late,” her platinum blonde mother chastised as Tiffany came into the room. “I hope you know how hard it is on your father to wait to eat. His routine is very important to him these days.”
Tiffany glanced over at her father, irritated that her mother would talk about her father right in front of him like he wasn’t there—and what’s worse—like he was a child. Though it didn’t seem to bother him, as he was starring off into space rather than listening to the scolding Tiffany was receiving.
“I’m sorry, Mom. My meeting at the company went longer than I expected,” Tiffany explained. “I came as quickly as I could.”
“It’s all right, Tiff, we all know how hard you work,” Roger excused away her lateness with a sympathetic smile.
“Don’t defend her, Roger. It’s not acceptable for her to make us all wait on her.”
Tiffany bit back her reply that when her father worked at the company, they often waited up to an hour for him to return home for dinner—when he actually decided to come home at all. She couldn’t count how many times she went to bed without seeing him the entire day.
Tiffany hurried over to her seat across from Celeste and next to Marcus. The little boy reached out and squeezed her hand, a giant grin spread across his face. “Hi, Aunt Tiffany.”
She squeezed his hand in return, his joy erasing the irritation she felt from the earlier rebuke by her mother. “Hello, Marcus. How’s my favorite nephew?”
“I’m great, Aunt Tiffany. School was awesome today.”
Tiffany was glad to hear Marcus was doing better at school. She loved her nephew dearly and wanted him to be happy.
“I’m so glad, Marcus. You’ll have to tell me—”
Before Tiffany could finish, her mother rang the bell, prompting Alima to enter the dining room.
“Alima, go tell Chef Monteu we’re ready for dinner. Hopefully he doesn’t have to re-fire anything due to Tiffany’s tardiness.”
It always amazed her how her mother saved up all her niceness for Roger but treated her with veiled contempt. Tiffany often wondered if it was because she hadn’t wanted a second child and was even less pleased when Tiffany turned out to be a girl.
A few minutes later, Alima, along with a second maid and the butler, entered with plates of food. They placed them down in front of everyone in unison.
“Where’s Artie?” she heard her father inquire from his place at the head of the table. He was glancing around with a confused look on his face. “Shouldn’t we wait for him?”
“No, dear, Artie isn’t with Tiffany anymore,” her mother explained with an exasperated tone. “Their engagement got called off, remember?”
“Why? What happened? What did she do?”
Tiffany clenched her teeth in anger as her eyes dropped to the plate in front of her. The last thing she wanted to see was her mother’s look of disappointment and her father’s confused anger. Why did they always assume everything was her fault? She had been embarrassed enough to find out Artie had been cheating on her, especially when she had only started to date him in order to please her parents. The idea of telling the truth to anyone else, let alone her judgmental parents, had been more than she could stomach. Her mother would have asked her why she couldn’t keep Artie from straying, and her father would have told her to ignore it. She didn’t need that on top of how bad she already felt about the situation.
“Believe me, I wish I knew. At least then I would have something to tell everyone at the club,” her mother lamented. “I sometimes wish arranged marriages were still an option. Then maybe we could get Tiffany to finally settle down with a proper match. Artie was the first one that actually would have been right, but she had to—”
“Mom, why don’t we talk about something else?” Roger coaxed. “It’s been a long day.”
Their mother shrugged, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. “You two always were thick-as-thieves, plotting together and taking each other’s sides as children. It doesn’t feel right to be outnumbered by your own children.”
The rest of the meal passed with relative ease. They talked about the upcoming wedding, how plans at the company were going, and Marcus’s school.
“Is Marcus learning Mandarin Chinese at his school?” their mother asked with curiosity.
“No, Mom, they’re focusing on math and reading. He’s only in preschool,” Roger explained.
“My friends at the club said it’s so important for children to be learning it as early as possible. Kitty’s grandson is learning it over at Talenstay. Perhaps we should consider sending him there instead,” their mother suggested in a way that made it less of a suggestion and more of a demand.
“I don’t want to go to another school,” Marcus whined. “I just started making friends at my new one.”
“You won’t have to, Buddy,” Roger promised his son. Then turning his attention back to his mother, he added, “I appreciate your interest, Mom, but his schooling decisions will be made by Celeste and myself.”
“I just think you should want the best for him. His first couple of years already put him at a disadvantage. You need to think about his future. With everything going on, it’s important—”
“That’s enough, Mom,” Roger demanded with a raised voice. “Can’t you see you’re upsetting Marcus? If you don’t drop this right now, we’re going to leave.”
Their mother pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes as she clicked her perfectly manicured nails against the edge of her wine glass. She didn’t say a word, but it was obvious she wasn’t pleased with how Roger just treated her.
Something must be off with her mother tonight. It was normal for her to be harsh with Tiffany, but she never acted that way with Roger. This mandated dinner was in the middle of the week, unusual to say the least, which made Tiffany wonder if something was wrong with their father.
After dessert, their mother ushered everyone into the parlor for drinks. “What can Alima make for you, Tiffany?”
“I have an early morning, Mom. Can I just have a sparkling water?”
A flick of her mother’s wrist made it clear Alima could start on her task. A couple of moments later, she handed Tiffany the glass filled with the bubbly liquid. Next, Alima made drinks for everyone else, handing them to each of them before stepping back.
“That’s all we need for now, Alima. Do you mind taking Marcus into the other room and setting up a puzzle for him?” their mother stated dismissively. “We have a sensitive matter to discuss.”
Once the maid and Marcus had left the room, their mother began. “We wanted to have all of you here when we told you about your father’s doctor’s visit this week. Unfortunately, the disease has progressed faster than they had expected.”
“What does that mean?” Roger probed. “What do we need to do to fix it?’
“There’s nothing to be fixed,” their father interjected. “Nothing can be done. I only have two months left, three if I’m lucky.”
“What?” Tiffany cried out in shock. “That can’t be right.”
“There has to be something we can do,” Roger added, equally distraught over the unexpected news. Celeste reached out and grabbed Roger’s hand, trying to comfort him.
As quickly as their father spoke, his eyes transfixed on something far away and he was gone again.
“I wish there was something we could do,” their mother lamented, sniffing and swiping at the tears in the corner of her eyes. “He still has good days right now, but it will only get worse, and rapidly from this point on. I’m sure you’ve already noticed how despondent he’s been recently. They told me he will drift away, more and more, until he’s completely gone. Then, he won’t be able to take care of himself, and eventually he won’t be able to…to….”
Her mother couldn’t finish the words, but Tiffany knew what their mother was trying to say. He would forget how to take care of himself, including eating. Eventually he would be unable to swallow, which meant in order to live, he would need a feeding tube, but her father had given each of them a copy of his advanced care directive. He didn’t want any prolonging of life interventions, making it very clear that he wanted to go on his own terms, and not be a shell of himself tied to machines.
Tiffany had known this was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier. Though her relationship with her father had always been difficult, she loved him dearly and couldn’t imagine life without him.
The family spent the rest of the evening going over how a team of hospice nurses would be moving into the penthouse to help with Boswell Senior’s round-the-clock care. The siblings agreed to make regular visits, along with Celeste and Marcus. By the time they left, Tiffany knew her father would be comfortable during his final days, but it didn’t help her accept what was coming. The world would be left with a gigantic hole once her father wasn’t in it.