“Your fresh shirt has arrived,” she says, indicating the garment in her hand. “And let me just say, if the woman responsible for your change of clothes put that scowl on your face, I’m personally requesting there’s no do-over.”
“The lipstick on my collar isn’t what it looks like,” I say, dropping my Montblanc pen on the desk. “If it was, I’d definitely be in a better mood.”
She hangs the shirt on the back of the door. “Sounds like an interesting story we both know you won’t tell me, so I won’t ask.” She crosses to stand in front of my desk and sets two folders in front of me. “The top one contains the top ten most profitable drugs in the world, along with risk assessments, lawsuits, and drug studies. The bottom contains the profiles of the key players who brought them to market.”
“Ever efficient,” I say. “Good work. Is—”
“Yes. Derek returned to his office just after you did.”
In other words, my father shut him down, which is, at least, a small piece of good news.
“Anna, his new secretary, followed him into his office and shut the door, a recent habit they’ve developed. I’m really quite thankful the walls in this place are thick because, I assume, he too will be in need of a fresh shirt. I guess it’s good to have a full-service assistant. She can do it all. I don’t. I won’t. But I promise you, I’m better than her.”
“Ah, Jessica. Leave it to you to keep things in perspective. I keep waiting for the day my brother tries to hit on you to get to my secrets. I want popcorn and front-row seats.”
“Please give me a reason to go Rocky on that man. I’ll leave you to your work.” She crosses the room, disappearing into the hallway and pulling my door shut without me asking. The woman is a jewel in a sea of stones.
I grab the folders and go to work, looking for our next play in the market, the one where the rest of Brandon Enterprises no longer exists. I start reading and I don’t stop, analyzing alliances I might form, products we might produce. My interests lead me to Internet research and an e-mailed list of prospective hires that I shoot to Seth. I’m deep into the second half of folder number one when I blink and look up to find Jessica setting a coffee on my desk, along with a bag I know has the croissants I favor inside. “It’s seven o’clock.”
I blink and look up at her. “How long have I been sitting here?”
“I believe you stretched your legs and walked to what I assume was the bathroom—I certainly hope so—at about four o’clock. So, three hours, not including the three before that break. What can I do to help?”
“Go home.”
“You’ve been here late every night for a month, Shane. You haven’t even changed your shirt. You need rest.”
“Thank you, Mother. I’m fine. Go home.”
“I’m twenty-nine years old, about to be thirty. For your safety, do not call me ‘mother.’”
“Go home,” I repeat.
“Fine,” she says, turning on her heel and marching toward the exit, disappearing into the hallway and shutting the door behind her. I rotate my chair to face the floor-to-ceiling windows wrapping the room. The city is soon to be aglow in light, but it will never compare to the view from my Manhattan office. Frustrated at myself for going there, I face forward again
It’s time to go home, order a pizza, and just work, but I don’t get up. Instead, for at least the tenth time, my mother’s words replay in my head. Take control and then make changes, followed by my thought of, Not a chance in hell. I need a play, a game changer that forces everyone to follow me if Seth fails on the leverage side. I stand and grab my briefcase, shoving the files inside, and damn it, my gaze catches on the view behind the glass. For almost a year now, I’ve craved my return to New York, but it’s time I face facts. I have to be here and be present to win this war, or give up. I dig my phone from my pants pocket and text the Realtor I’ve been dodging for months: I’m ready. Find me a house. I’ll call you tomorrow.
Shoving my briefcase strap over my shoulder, I cross the room, exiting into the dimly lit outer office and I’ll be damned if Derek doesn’t do the same. We both stop outside our doors, the tension between us damn near makes the floor quake. In unison it seems, we start walking, neither of us stopping until we are toe-to-toe at the hallway, inviting both our departures.
“The company doesn’t need to be saved,” Derek bites out, as if we’re midconversation. “Father might be playing a game with us, but we both know he won’t watch his pride and joy be gutted.”
“Wake up, Derek. He’ll be dead and you’ll be in jail if we don’t make changes. We can make those changes together.”
“We can’t do shit together, Shane.”
“We’re brothers. We used to be inseparable.”