IT WAS Saturday and Dante still had work to do. He sat in his office, reviewing production reports and sales figures, which were all encouraging… with the exception of their artisan line, which had stagnated somewhat. A knock pulled him out of the reports, and Roberts came in with a tray.
“Where did you want to have dinner this evening?” Roberts set the tray on the corner of the desk and waited for an answer.
“He’s coming to discuss business.” Dante looked around the office and back to Roberts just in time to see him roll his eyes. “What is it?”
Roberts cleared his throat, his way of saying that Dante was being stupid without actually saying a word. “Mr. Beau is coming here for dinner at your invitation. I believe the proper thing to do is to prepare the dining room.”
Dante raised his gaze. “It’s business.”
“I don’t think so. It’s a Saturday night. Normal people go out and have some fun because they don’t go to work on Sunday. So my guess is that the business is a ruse.” He met Dante’s gaze for a second and then turned away, heading toward the door. “Shall I call to give you time to get ready?”
Dante picked up the papers, already engrossing his mind in them. “That would be great.” He heard Roberts leave and picked up the cup of tea, then set it back down without drinking. Dante jumped up and left the office a few minutes later, following the sounds of activity through the living room and into the dining room, where the dust sheets had been pulled off all the furniture. Roberts carried them past him, while his housekeeper, Clare, cleaned the room like some sort of tornado. She paused in her work when she saw him, nodded, and continued.
“Roberts?” Dante called. “What’s all this?”
Roberts kept his face neutral as he walked back into the room. “I told you the dining room would be appropriate and you didn’t disagree, so we went ahead. I’m also removing the dust sheets in the living room and library. It’s supposed to be cool this evening, so I’ll have a fire built and serve brandy in there after dinner.”
“Isn’t this a little much?”
“No.” Roberts walked away, leaving him standing near the head of the long walnut table.
Dante followed him into the other room, where Roberts was removing the dustcovers. “Roberts….” He let a growl slip into his voice. None of these rooms had been used since Allison died, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to open them up again.
“We can’t entertain guests in a few rooms with the rest of the house closed up and unused.” Roberts finished removing the covers and turned to survey the space. Dante did the same as a huge wave of regret washed over him. He had made so many mistakes when it came to Allison, and he hadn’t been able to bear them, so he’d shut up most of the house and lived in the rooms that he could stand.
“Roberts, I never want to use these again.”
“And you expect that nice Mr. Beau to eat Harriet’s amazing dinner cooped up in your office?” He shook his head. “All right. I’ll have everything put back the way it was.”
“No.” Dante turned, went back to his office, and closed the door. He needed a chance to breathe.
Allison had loved to entertain, and she’d used those rooms of the house all the time. They were the ones he most closely associated with her energy and vitality. At least those were the qualities she’d had when they’d been friends and had first gotten married. Before everything changed and Dante managed to mess up both their lives.
It had been over two years, and maybe it was time. If it had been up to him, those parts of the house would never have been opened up. But now they were, and apparently he and Beau were using them for their dinner and discussion. Roberts seemed to think this was something more than business. Did Beau think this was a date of some kind? Dante sat back at his desk, intending to return to work, but his mind had other ideas and he wasn’t able to concentrate on anything.
“Sir, he’ll be here in an hour. I laid out some clothes for you on your bed,” Roberts said. Dante hadn’t even heard him knock. “Harriet has made your favorite, beef Wellington. Unless you object, we’ll serve appetizers in the sitting room.” He held the door and stood silently, waiting for Dante.
“Roberts,” Dante said as they began climbing the stairs a few minutes later. “When did you get so pushy?”
“Sir, I am the perfect servant. I know what you want before you do. It’s my job. So I became ‘pushy,’ as you call it, when I realized it was what you needed.” He opened the door to Dante’s room and waited as he went inside.
“Thank you.” Dante turned away and went into the bathroom, hearing Roberts leave. He wasn’t sure if he should have been insulted at Roberts’s answer or not. He wasn’t, which surprised him. Dante also couldn’t deny it. Since Allison’s death he’d largely retreated from his own life, and other than business, he lived in a very small circle. He had everything he thought he wanted, but maybe he hadn’t understood what that was.
Dante started the shower and undressed, ignoring the mirror the entire time. He hated looking in them, always afraid of what he was going to see looking back at him.
He knew what people called him. He’d heard the comments; it was hard not to, now that he knew what to listen for. But what also ate at his heart was that he knew they were right. Dante had been beastly in the past, and that had cost him the close friend who’d agreed to become his wife. He’d made a bargain with the devil himself, in the form of his own bloody father, and that had cost himself everything—including a part of his soul that he would never be able to retrieve. So sometimes he wondered if the beast he felt inside him, the one who had sold his own and his best friend’s futures out from under them, would glare at him from the glass.
He stepped under the water and pulled the shower door closed. He used the tea tree oil soap from the dish, luxuriating in the lather and mild scent. It soothed him, but he had no idea why. Closing his eyes, he was shocked when it brought up images of Beau. His slightly crooked nose and full lips, the small turn to his eyeteeth—all of it fell to the background when his stunningly deep blue eyes forced their way forward, making Dante wonder what they hid. The water was hot, but Dante shivered for a second at what those eyes might have seen and comprehended.
No one asked him anything unless they wanted something from him. He wasn’t invited to dinner to discuss deals. People made appointments, came, and then left as quickly as their legs and cars could carry them. Beau had asked him to dinner, and for the thousandth time, Dante wondered what it meant.
Without realizing it, he’d slipped back out of the water and had soaped his chest and belly, his hands dipping lower until his fingers wrapped around and slid along his now-throbbing length. As long as he kept his eyes closed, he saw Beau looking back at him, eyes intensely watching his, lips curling upward, parting slightly. Dante wondered what they tasted like, what they’d feel like against his, on his skin, around him, sliding deeper. But it was what they’d be like when Dante took possession of them, sliding his tongue between them, taking Beau in hand, watching his eyes as they turned the color of the deepest water, and the tiniest hint of the word please on his lips, that sent Dante over the edge.
Breathing deeply, he placed one hand on the tile wall to steady himself, water cascading over him, washing away the soap and everything else. Finally, once he could move again, Dante turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He used the luxurious towels to dry his still-tingling skin before entering his bedroom and starting to dress.
The pants Roberts had laid out were dark gray but soft, and the shirt—silk that shimmered over his chest, caressing it like a lover—made him close his eyes once again. He hadn’t been touched in that way in so very long. Dante didn’t deserve it and never would again. He pulled on his socks, woven from bamboo fibers, and then slipped on his shoes.
Roberts knocked and came inside to look him over. “Yes. That will do very nicely.”
“This is a business meeting,” Dante groaned, but Roberts merely cleared his throat and waited. It was so annoying. “Yes?”
“I never thought you were that obtuse.” Roberts left the room, pulling the door closed, and Dante growled into the empty space. If Roberts was going to be matchmaking, Dante was going to have to put him in his place, fast.
He strode to the door, pulled it open with more force than was necessary, and barreled out into the hall toward the stairs. He took them at damn near a run, building up a head of steam, then came to a halt in the entrance hall when he saw Roberts taking Beau’s jacket.
Dante had seen him in that god-awful, ill-fitting tuxedo, as well as those terrible clothes he wore at the Center that looked like they’d been chosen by a blind man feeling his way through a jumbled-up secondhand clothing store. But the plain, light blue button-down that hugged his upper arms just a touch and the light charcoal pants that hugged his hips and accentuated his narrow waist displayed just what Beau had been hiding. He might not have been handsome in the classic way, but he was eye-catching, and when Dante’s gaze reached his eyes, the energy in them, like waves on the water, took his breath away.
“Thank you for coming,” Dante said, extending his arm toward the living room.
Beau clutched a bottle of wine in his hands as though it were a life preserver. “Thank you for having me.” He handed Dante the bottle, and Roberts stepped forward, but Dante shook his head once and carried it with him into the living room. “I wasn’t sure what to bring to….” Beau quieted as he looked around the room. “Holy cow.” He lifted his gaze, mouth hanging open. “I’ve seen things like this in books but never in person.”
“My great-grandfather started the porcelain works, and he built the house as a twenty-fifth anniversary gift for his wife. Well, actually, he let her build it. Apparently my great-grandmother had a love for architecture, and she designed the house. I’m told this room was one of her favorites. She adored rich woods and used them throughout this floor.” The focal point of the room was a grand fireplace, surrounded in hand-painted tiles specifically designed for the house and executed at the works. The surround included a wide mantel that went all the way to the ceiling. Next to it were two pedestals in marble with large bronzes of Greek gods. The walnut display cases on the far end of the room held examples of the decorative porcelains they’d produced over the decades, including some of the earliest and rarest pieces that collectors would kill for now. In short, this room was designed to impress.
Dante set the wine on the coffee table and motioned Beau to one of the large, overstuffed club chairs. His great-grandmother had them custom-made for this room, and they had been reupholstered over the years. And as Dante sat down, he remembered how much he loved them.
“I appreciate you having me over.” Beau sat stiffly, his back straight and hands clenched. “I have some ideas for some new programs…. We offer counseling and treatment at the Center, working with two local doctors, but I’d really like to be able to have a doctor—a psychiatrist—on staff. The programs we have are ones to support people’s treatment and recovery. I’d like to be able to offer access to quality primary mental health to people who can’t afford it.”
Dante raised an eyebrow. “That’s very ambitious.”
“Yes, and it would take the support required to hire a staff doctor, which is expensive. I’d like to look to Baltimore or Washington to recruit someone, along with a psychiatric nurse and even a medical practitioner to act as support. I have a feeling that once these services become available, they will be in great demand.” Beau cleared his throat. “I want to say that I’m not asking you to write a check for this. A free ride isn’t what I’m talking about. You’re the town’s most prominent citizen, though, so your support would be invaluable.”
Dante cleared his throat, trying to remove the lump that wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t say how much it pleased him that Beau wasn’t simply asking him to write a check, like so many others thought he should. “I don’t know what the town would think about that.” As soon as he’d said it, he wished he’d kept his thought to himself. “The Foundation could certainly provide you with help. We have people who could work with you to write grant applications, and we could pledge some startup funds that would boost your applications.”
“That would be great. I believe in the ‘teach a man to fish’ philosophy.”
“I wish others did.” Dante looked up as Roberts came in with a tray and set it on the table.
“Would you like me to chill the wine?” Roberts asked, and Dante nodded, his attention on Beau. Roberts left the room, and Dante lifted the plate of bruschetta, sprinkled with a touch of Parmesan, offering one to Beau.
“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” Dante asked. He got the idea there was more to it. Beau’s eyes were a dead giveaway, telling him so much. “I suppose you’re wondering about me. Everyone does.”
The mirth that filled Beau’s eyes was priceless and something Dante hadn’t seen in anyone in a long time. “Full of yourself much?” Beau teased, and Dante tried to remember the last time anyone had done that… and failed. Beau took a bite, humming under his breath. He took the second bite and used one of the napkins to wipe his fingers, watching him, stripping Dante naked under that intense gaze. Beau must see something in him others didn’t, and it scared the shit out of him. He didn’t ask anything, just continued to watch, and Dante squirmed in his chair. It was so unnerving, and he hadn’t acted that way since that fatefully awful conversation with his father.
“Where did you move from?” Dante asked, figuring it was better to get the focus off him.
“Silver Spring. My stepmom and dad live there. He works for the Interior Department, and my mom is an economist for the Congressional Budget Office. They’re pretty cool, given all they’ve been through. I have an older sister who is a doctor in Bethesda.”
“Is she who you had in mind with this new position?”
“Good God, no. She’s an orthopedist. And I love my family, but they tend to get too much into my life. So if my sister decided to move here, I’d probably need my own counseling services because I’d develop a drinking problem.” Beau chuckled. “Don’t get me wrong, I love her, but in smaller doses. She’s a big sister and thinks she has to look out for me… for that matter, so do my mom and dad.”
There was a story there; Dante could feel Beau skirting around it. He didn’t want to ask what it was because he had plenty of stories himself that he had every intention of taking to his grave.
“Do you have any siblings?” Beau asked.
“No. My parents only had me. Dad worked a lot, and my mom… let’s just say she could have used your services. I think she was lonely a lot of the time, and she decided to ease some of that with a bottle. She was a sneaky drinker, hiding it and slipping away to get what she wanted. I was fourteen when her system gave out. I wasn’t told what happened in any detail, and I nearly had to browbeat my father into telling me, but he finally did.” Dante shook his head. “I know this probably isn’t the best time, but would you like something to drink?”
“The white wine I brought would be nice.” Beau seemed nervous and once again looked around the room. “I don’t drink a great deal, but I like a glass of wine every once in a while.”
“Of course.”
Roberts’s timing was impeccable, and he entered with glasses and two bottles, which he placed on the side table.
“White for both of us,” Dante said.
“Does he always do that?” Beau asked in a whisper, glancing at Roberts, who brought over the glasses of wine, handing one to each of them.
“Dinner will be in an hour,” Roberts said softly and then left the room.
“Is he going to come back again?”
Dante shook his head. “He’s done for a while. Sometimes I swear he has ESP or something.” He sipped the wine. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
Beau’s eyes lit up. “Yes.”
Dante stood and waited for Beau. “This is the public portion of the house. The other side of the hall has my private office, then a family room, the breakfast room, and solarium at the back. My mother used to keep that room full of tropical plants, but now it’s largely empty.” He motioned to the door at the back of the room. “This is the library. When the house was built, this was the men’s domain after dinner—the ladies would use the living room—then after cigars and brandy, maybe some business, they’d rejoin the ladies.”
Beau went into the room, lined with bookshelves on three walls, all behind glass doors. “Are all these…?” His voice faded to a whisper as though he were in church.
“Yes. All four generations of Bartholomew men collected books. My great-grandfather bought a library from England and had the books shipped over here. There are illuminated manuscripts and an early Shakespeare volume. The three empty cases are ones we have yet to fill.” He let Beau wander the room while he sipped his wine and wondered why he’d gone this long and let this much of his history and past be shut away. He knew the answer, but he never should have let it go on for so long.
“What’s over there?” Beau asked, pointing to the other door when they stepped out.
“The dining room.” The space glittered with crystal and gold doré centerpieces. The light was low and glowed off the chandelier, shining on the table surface, warming the already rich, polished wood. Roberts had clearly gone all out to impress tonight. “Through there is the kitchen, but Harriet will not be pleased if we get underfoot.”
“Holy cow. This is beautiful.” Beau ran his fingers lightly over the table surface. “This is a beautiful home.”
“There’s more. Great-grandmother really liked to entertain. She apparently believed that in order to get ahead in business, you needed to wine and dine.” Dante unlatched one of the wood panels and pulled the hidden door open, then swung the second panel into the room.
“What’s this?” Beau slowly moved into the large space.
“The ballroom.” Sheets covered the chandeliers, like fat ghosts hanging upside down from the ceiling. The furniture along the walls was also covered, and a layer of dust lay on the floor. The walls were frescoes of garden scenes that would shimmer under the lights at night between floor-to-ceiling windows. “As you can see, this hasn’t been used in quite a long time.”
“I bet she had live music over there, with tables for food and a dance floor.” Beau wandered through the room.
“There’s more than that.” Dante opened the grand doors at the end of the room. “When she had larger parties, she’d have them in here. This table is in three sections, with leaves that will connect to one another to a length of twenty-four feet. My mother never entertained that many people, so basically this has been the least used room in the house recently. My dad had a sound system installed with the intention of having conferences for the business here. That didn’t work out either.”
Dante’s footsteps echoed in the empty room as he walked back toward the dining room door. He waited for Beau and closed the room off once more, then headed back to the living room. They had a few more appetizers and enjoyed their wine, talking a little until Roberts called them in for dinner.
Dante stood near his seat, waiting for Beau to sit before he took his own. Roberts served each of them and then left the room once again.
“Is there something going on with him? He keeps looking at me funny.” Beau seemed slightly nervous.
Dante shook his head. “Roberts has this idea that this is some sort of date.” He smiled as though to laugh the idea off, but Beau stared seriously at him. Dante groaned softly, seeing what everyone else had already caught on to.
“I didn’t mean this as a date-date I guess. But I didn’t ask you to dinner just to pitch you my idea.” Beau cut a bite of his Wellington, eyes downcast.
“Then why?” It wasn’t as though people were beating a path to the Beast of St. Giles’s door to ask him dancing, not in this town. When he was away and no one knew the reputation he had in town, things were different, at least somewhat. It wasn’t like Dante was a party-type guy. Most of his travel was for business, which he took very seriously.
Beau shrugged. “I don’t understand you,” he finally answered, then took a bite. “You have this reputation in the town, and everyone talks about you all the time. The things they say are as cruel and judgmental as I’ve ever heard. They made up a name for you.”
“Yes… I know.” Dante narrowed his eyes, trying to keep his temper in check.
“I saw you rip the mayor to shreds and heard you on the phone when you were in the Center. You weren’t very nice. But then, with Bobby at the dinner and the kids at the Center, you were patient and kind, even going out of your way to be caring. So what’s the real you?”
Dante sighed. “All of them—both. I like kids. They aren’t demanding and they don’t have agendas. What you see is what you get. Secrets never stay that way for very long with them. They don’t generally hide who they are, and they don’t look at me as though I’m the devil himself.” He wasn’t sure how much to say, but he didn’t want Beau to have any illusions either. “When I’m with kids, I can forget what I’ve done and just be myself, the person I want to be.” He set down his fork.
“Are you saying the rumors are right?” Beau was clearly shocked, judging by the way his eyes widened and his sharp intake of breath.
“I suppose in every rumor, there’s a nugget of truth at the core of it.” Dante waved his hand because he wasn’t going to dissect each and every one of the stories. “There are things that I’ve done in my life, decisions I made that I have to pay for.”
“But you were married?” Beau asked. “Maybe I’m dumb, but I thought, with the way you were looking at me, that you’re gay… the way I am.” He lowered his gaze to the table but not before his cheeks turned cherry red.
“I was married, and….” Dante’s thoughts turned to Allison and his throat constricted. He reached for his water and took a sip. “I made some decisions that caused people close to me a great deal of pain.” Suddenly his defenses rose. “I have to live with that and pay for it. As for any details, I will not talk about it. Those decisions led to my wife’s death.” He picked up his knife and fork and returned to his dinner, needing something to do. He could feel Beau’s gaze on him like a blowtorch. He’d invited Beau to the house because he hadn’t wanted to go out in town and have people talking about him. He’d thought this would be a safe environment, except at the moment he felt uncomfortable in his own house.
Dante ate without talking, the dishes and glasses tinkling occasionally.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” Beau set his silverware on his plate with a sour note. “Everyone has secrets and things that they aren’t proud of. You say that kids don’t have any hidden agendas. But maybe you can’t be happy until you start to give up your own hidden agenda and try to live your life honestly.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “Thank you for the tour and for dinner. I appreciate the invitation and the talk, but I think it’s best—”
Dante stood as well. “It’s been a long time since I entertained anyone, and if I was rude, I apologize.” He waited until Beau slowly sat back down. “It’s also been a long time since I talked about myself, and as you can tell, I’m not my favorite subject.” He’d been abrupt, and clearly his social skills needed some improvement. “Is the food all right?” When in doubt, change the subject… at almost all costs.
“It’s delicious.” Beau took another bite and sipped his wine. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but maybe you should. I’m not necessarily saying you should with me, though I’d be willing to listen, but you definitely should with someone. Secrets and pain have a way of growing and becoming bigger over time unless we deal with them.”
“Is that the counselor talking?” Dante finished his beef and cut his green beans into smaller pieces, eating them slowly.
“No. I’m saying that as a friend.”
Dante didn’t know what to think of that. He hadn’t had a friend in a long time. After getting married and with the relationship falling apart, most of his friends had drifted away for one reason or another. Then after Allison died and the rumors began, those few who had stuck by him up till then had basically run for the hills. Not that he’d done anything to keep them. “Then I’ll think about it.” Dante knew there was little to think about. Nothing could change the past. It was written in stone. “Would you like some more?” He stood and brought the dishes over from the server, then returned to his seat. “Harriet will be disappointed if we don’t make a dent in this.”
“How long has she worked here?”
“My mother found her ten years ago when she was working at a restaurant in St. Michaels. Mom used to go in once a week, and she was impressed enough to offer her the job here. Harriet and Allison didn’t get along, and she nearly quit.” He didn’t go into the fact that she only stayed because Allison was no longer in the picture. “After dinner, I’ll brave the kitchen and introduce you. She’s a very nice lady. She just guards her kitchen as her private domain and has everything in its place.”
“It seems like everyone here….” Beau stumbled. “They’re different and they seem to care about you.”
“I like to think so.”
“See. That’s another thing that’s perplexing. If you were as bad a person as the rumors say or as you think you are, then why does your staff act like they do?” Beau raised his eyebrows. “Do you want to know what I think?”
Dante honestly wasn’t sure, but he nodded anyway.
“I think there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, and….” He paused. “I think you get along with your staff because you’re basically a good person.”
Dante rolled his eyes and nearly snorted. “I get along with my staff because I treat them well, reward them, and let them do their jobs. There isn’t a whole lot more to it than that.” He wasn’t going to allow this particular line of inquiry and intended to cut it off. He was who he was and didn’t like people analyzing him. He had his motives for behaving the way he did and they were his own. Period. He set his jaw and was seconds from folding his arms over his chest to signal this particular conversation was over. But Beau either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he seemed intent on plowing forward.
“I also think you get along with those kids because you have a lot in common with them.” Beau’s voice grew softer and gentle, and Dante’s spine relaxed back in the chair. “I assume that you had more than one person in your life who was a substance abuser.” Beau swallowed and gazed at him with sympathy and understanding rather than an accusation or pity, the way he would have expected.
Dante was at a complete loss how to respond. Thankfully he didn’t have to. Roberts entered and efficiently cleared the dishes, then returned with coffee and two plates of dessert before leaving them alone once again. The apple tartlets smelled as cinnamon-sweet as Dante could have imagined. He inhaled and closed his eyes, letting the scent bring back happier memories. “My mother used to make apple pies,” he said softly.
“Scent memories are very strong,” Beau agreed and also inhaled. “This reminds me of the fall, when my mother would drive us to the orchards and she and I would pick apples. She was into locally grown food decades before other people. We used to pick berries, peaches, cherries, apples, pears—all of it.” Beau smiled. “Never pick cherries. Worst thing on earth. After a while, they’re juicy enough and it runs down your hands and arms.” He may have been complaining, but there was an upturn to his lips.
“Sir….” Roberts bustled into the room again, which was highly unusual behavior. He had one efficient pace and stuck to it. “There are people out by the front drive, and they have signs.”
Dante set down his fork. “Excuse me.”
“I think they’re picketers of some sort.” Roberts stepped back, giving him room. Dante stood, placing his napkin on the table, and turned to stride into the hall. He pulled open the front door and stepped out into the night. He didn’t hear anything, but flashes of white near the drive entrance caught his eye. He walked down the driveway toward the small group of people on the sidewalk, who did indeed have signs, proclaiming: “Bartholomew Unfair Employment Practices,” “Wrongful Termination,” and “Sink the Beast.” Dante barely paused before strolling to the first woman he recognized.
“We’re on public property,” she said quickly… too quickly.
“That may be, but I know you and I know your husband,” he said loudly enough for all of them to hear as he stopped, pulling himself to his full height, hands on his hips. “I suggest you all go home before other employment needs are evaluated.” He met the gaze of each person. “Now!” The snap in his voice echoed off the house and rolled back to him, like a roar into the night. If they were going to call him a beast, he’d sure as hell act like it.
They looked at one another, doubt creeping in. “This is peaceful, and we’re entitled to our opinion,” another of the women said, the wife of another of his employees.
“True, but I am entitled to employ who I wish and you know it.” He met her eyes with a glare he knew would test her resolve. “And you’d better get your facts straight before you come at me in the night with your signs. Now go!” He pointed down the road, glaring at each of them in turn. Dante didn’t turn away as their resolve crumbled before his eyes. Without waiting around any longer, he strode back to the house and went inside, pushing the door closed with a thud that rang through the hall. Then he turned back toward the dining room and nearly ran into Beau, who was as white as a sheet.
“What was that about?” Beau asked in the same gentle tone he’d used earlier.
Dante ground his teeth. “Misled busybodies who don’t have a clue about anything deciding they’re going to stick their noses where they don’t belong.” He sat at the table and waited for Beau. “I’m the head of Bartholomew Porcelain, and I’m the one who makes the decisions. Good or bad, I do what’s best for the company.” He snatched up his fork and turned, waiting for Beau, who came in more slowly and stood next to his chair. “Right or wrong I take responsibility for my actions. It’s part of running the company so it will be around in a year, a decade, and maybe longer.”
“I don’t understand all this,” Beau said, still pale.
“What’s there to understand? They weren’t happy with my decision and thought they could bully me into getting something that’s impossible… and ridiculous. Besides, it’s not my life’s goal to make them happy.” Dante dropped his fork to the table. “I don’t owe them anything. Not one single solitary thing. I keep the factory running, do good work for the town, give back all the time… and I’m vilified. Well, they can take a flying leap, and I do intend to speak to the supervisors on Monday, make sure they know that this sort of thing will not be tolerated.” His heart rate finally began returning to normal, and by the time he picked up his fork once more, he realized Beau wasn’t in the room just before he heard the front door close.