Declan
Despite Chicago being my hometown, I’ve never had a sense of homecoming when I return. I don’t need a psychologist to analyze that for me. I’ve never developed any type of bonds within the city that would make me nostalgic. Over the last couple of weeks, as I have gotten to know Bailey and have talked about my family more, it has brought about a sharp contrast on how very different my life is from most people’s.
I always knew that, of course. But I had often put that in the context of me being a part of the elite wealthy while others aren’t. Merely spending Thanksgiving with Bailey, her parents, and Leonie made me realize it’s not about money.
It’s about relationships.
As I sit in the waiting room of my father’s executive offices in the Blackwood building, it’s telling how much I already miss Bailey. I’m a man who often travels for his work, and it has never been an issue for me. But from the moment I left Vegas, I started counting down the hours until I could get back to her.
If that doesn’t prove I’m falling hard for this woman, I don’t know what will.
Today’s meeting with my father is to go over the San Francisco project. We are in mutual agreement that this is the best location for the next Blackwood resort. Today, we will go over the strategic plan I have developed. I will let him fill me with his infinite wisdom that he still thinks I need despite this being my sixth project.
But I get it. One day, the man is going to turn over the reins of this empire to me. He loves the Blackwood dynasty more than he loves anything. Marissa and I aren’t really his children. His hotel chain is. I cannot fault the man for wanting to make sure his legacy will continue.
Of course, the legacy is important to me as well. I’ve devoted my entire adult life to it. I’ve been groomed to sit upon the throne, so to speak. It has been the driving force in my life, and all personal decisions I have ever made have revolved around what is best for the Blackwood name.
Another reason I know Bailey is probably the one woman I would take a risk for is I am not in any way looking forward to moving to San Francisco. The thought of leaving her behind is causing quite the conundrum of feelings within me, and I need to do something to reconcile it.
Last night, as we were lying in bed and on the verge of drifting to sleep, I had asked Bailey a question that caused her to bolt upward out of my embrace.
“Would you ever consider leaving Vegas?”
I had yet to turn off the bedside lamp. Her face was aglow with an incredulous expression. “Are you asking me to come to San Francisco with you when you move?” she had asked hesitantly.
For a moment, I had felt foolish for even asking. Our relationship was too new. “I guess. I don’t really know. I know it’s a huge commitment to even ask, yet I am curious as to what you would say.”
Bailey had sunk back down into her pillow, studying me as she pondered it. “I’d have to think about it. My parents are obviously a big factor, but I suppose there are workarounds.”
And now, suddenly, things seem to be moving faster than I intended. Was I making a rash move?
I’d hastened to give her an out. “You don’t have to make a decision right now.”
Bailey nodded. She’d then pointed out, “This could all be moot. You could be sick of me in a few weeks.”
There was no hesitation in voicing my feelings. “I most certainly will not be sick of you in a few weeks.”
Bailey cocked an eyebrow. “You know… you’ve never mentioned going back to The Wicked Horse. Not since we returned from Chicago.”
“I haven’t really thought about it,” I admitted.
“Do you miss it?” she asked.
I really hadn’t. To me, it was a place to spend time. I rolled toward her, putting my mouth against hers. The kiss I gave her had the answer within it, but in case she didn’t quite get it, I said, “I like where I’m spending my time these days much better.”
When I’d lifted my head, Bailey smiled. “You know I will go with you if you want me to. If you ever feel that what we’re doing in this bed is lacking in some way or you want more excitement, you know I am up for that.”
I’d blinked at her in surprise, wondering why she would say that. I don’t believe I’ve given her a reason to doubt my fulfillment with her outside the sex club. My eyes warmed, and I touched her face with my fingertips. “Miss Robbins… I can assure you that I am more than satisfied with what we are doing. I don’t need or want more than this.”
However, her self-doubts are not so easily managed. “I’ll go back with you if you want. I just want you to know that. I know we started there, then this turned into something else but… I’m still willing.”
I didn’t know how to reassure her. And I was not averse to going back with her. It’s a legitimate sexual lifestyle, but I was exploring stuff I never had before. This was more exciting than anything I had ever encountered at The Wicked Horse.
But all I had managed to say was, “Maybe we will. But for now, just trust you get me riled up in ways that place never did.”
And to prove my point, I roll on top of her, then start kissing her again. I am no longer tired or ready to go to sleep.
“Mr. Blackwood,” my father’s secretary says from behind her desk. “Your father is ready to see you.”
Jolted out of the memories of being with Bailey last night, I hastily push off my chair and button my suit jacket. I grab my briefcase, nod to the secretary, and move toward the mahogany double doors that lead into my father’s inner sanctum.
He and I have not spoken since the evening I walked out of dinner with Bailey. This was not unusual, though. My father and I rarely talk on the phone. Most of our communications are in the form of company emails, discussing business matters. As I had told Bailey, there were no wishes extended on either side for a happy Thanksgiving. It just wasn’t the way we were.
I find my father behind his massive executive desk, poring over paperwork. He’s one of the hardest-working people I know, and he’s in his favorite spot right now. The trip he took to Paris with my mother this week was probably torture for him. Coming back to the Blackwood office is likely a vacation.
He glances up, curtly saying, “Have a seat.”
It’s the warmest greeting I could expect from him, yet it doesn’t bother me. If he had actually said something warmer, more endearing, it would probably freak me out.
Clasping his hands on his desk, he nods at the documents he’d been looking over. “I’ve gone over the strategic plan you emailed me, and it’s good.”
That’s the highest praise my father can offer, and I am happy to accept it. I worked hard on this project. Frankly, I didn’t expect him to find much fault.
But he’ll have questions. For the next hour, we iron out various details until he is satisfied with what I presented.
With the meeting concluded, I am prepared to head back to the airport and board the Blackwood jet to take me to San Francisco. I don’t expect my father to want extra time to chitchat on a personal level, nor would I expect him to invite me to lunch.
I start to rise from my chair when my father says, “There is one other thing I wish to discuss.”
Automatically, I settle back down into my seat, tilting my head to listen.
My father stares across the desk, his blue eyes boring into mine with such intensity I think he might be trying to intimidate me. “Are you in a relationship with that employee you brought to dinner a few weeks ago?”
My body locks tight over the accusation in his voice, and I’m wholly stunned he would bring this up. He’s never once shown an interest in my personal life. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”
My father’s mouth presses into a grim line of disapproval. “As head of this company, it is absolutely my business. Having a relationship with an employee could be disastrous. Not to mention she’s not the type of woman you should be having relations with.”
I cannot stop the bark of laughter that erupts from deep within my chest. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“I am most certainly not,” he says in offense.
I’m livid with my father, not because he’s expressing genuine concern about me or for the business, but by the mere fact his condescension of the issue is a direct attack at Bailey. He deems her to be unfit for a Blackwood, and that enrages me.
It’s why, for the first time in my life, I speak to my father with utter disrespect. “I don’t believe I should take advice on women from a man who has routinely cheated on his wife.”
My father doesn’t even have the grace to blush or look embarrassed. Merely lifting his chin, he says, “You are of an age where you need to start thinking about continuing the Blackwood legacy. You need to produce an heir, so we have a son to carry on this company.”
I knew my dad was old-fashioned, but that statement borders on the ridiculous.
“I was thinking of only having daughters,” I retort with a sly smile. “No reason a woman can’t run this company.”
I knew that would totally offend my father’s innate misogyny, and it amuses me to see he’s more offended over the notion of a woman at Blackwood’s helm than me pointing out his cheating ways.
I stand from my chair, grabbing my briefcase. “This discussion is over. Who I have a relationship with is my business as long as I do nothing to bring harm to the Blackwood name. I will determine the course of my own fate when it comes to relationships. I certainly won’t be taking advice from you. Unless you have anything else to discuss about the San Francisco project, I will be taking my leave.”
All color drains from my father’s face at my dismissal. It’s simply not done within the hierarchy of power.
His voice is cold and tight. “I don’t have to make you my heir to the Blackwood Empire.”
I smile, acknowledging it is well within his right to do so. “If that is your decision, I will abide by it.”
Calling his bluff, I pivot on my heel and walk out of his office without another word.