Wednesday morning, the day after I’ve buried my brother, death isn’t done with us.
I wake with Emily snuggled against my side, and a text message from Seth: Reagan Morgan is dead. I click the link he’s sent me to find an article on Reagan from a local Texas news organization, with a photo of Emily with blonde hair. I read through the detail and discover no real surprises, or mention of suspects—just typical news reporting, though I do find myself staring at the old image of Emily that is not that old at all. Not so long ago, that version of the woman I love aspired to law school and a life in a courtroom, just as not that long ago I had called law my career. The difference though is that I walked away from mine by choice, while hers was stripped away, and today, when she wakes up, it’s official: she will never be Reagan again. I’m not sure how anyone faces something like that and doesn’t feel the blow, even if it’s what they ultimately want.
Beside me, Emily begins to stir, and that moment of revelation for her is about to arrive. She stretches and rises up on her elbow, blinks at me and exhales. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”
I sit up and take her with me, both of us leaning against the headboard as I hand her my phone with the news piece on the screen. For a full minute, maybe two, she studies it, and the only comment she has when she’s done is a question. “Anything on my Rick?”
“Seth would tell us if there were,” I say. My concern is her. “Let’s talk about you right now. How do you feel?”
“I don’t know,” she says, sounding genuinely baffled. “I don’t think I feel anything.” She glances at the phone again, expanding the photo and holding it up by her face. “This isn’t me,” she says, pointing at the image before eyeing it again. “You know, I use to wish I could be blonde again. But now I don’t.”
“Give it some time for all of this to pass,” I say. “But be blonde if you want to be blonde. No one will be looking for you anymore.”
“That’s just it. I don’t want to be blonde again. That’s Reagan. She was the law student who aspired to win every case she fought in a courtroom. She worried about her brother and loved her single-girl apartment. I’m Emily. I want to start a fashion brand. I still worry about my brother, of course. I can’t help that, but I also love our apartment. I love us. So I guess, really, as angry as I am at my brother, I owe him some thanks as well.”
I pull her close and lay us back down, stroking hair from her eyes. “I have a new appreciation for your brother,” I say. “I thought you’d be upset.”
“Why would I be upset?”
“You’re leaving part of yourself behind.”
“My mother and father are gone,” she says. “My brother too, in a different way. Everything I love and need is here now.”
My phone, still in her hand, chooses that moment to buzz with a text message. “That could be about my brother,” she says, bolting upright to check the message herself, followed by a disappointed, “or not.” I sit up next to her and she hands me the phone. “Your father’s already at work.” She glances at the time. “At six in the morning.”
“Of course he is,” I say dryly. “Today’s the day we announce the buyout to Mike. We didn’t talk about him being there, but I should have known he wasn’t going to miss that. I need to get to work before Mike decides to show up and the two of them bump heads.” I throw off the blanket and head to the closet.
“No more black,” Emily says, joining me by the drawer. “The healing has to start, and you can’t dress for a funeral on a day like today.” She studies my selection and reaches for the same gray-and-blue-striped Burberry tie she’s chosen for me before. “I love this one on you,” she adds. “It says power and finesse to me.”
My phone rings from where I’ve left it on the nightstand. “Apparently everyone is early today,” I murmur, exiting the closet to grab my phone. I glance at the number and find Emily anxiously watching me.
“Relax, sweetheart,” I say, letting the call end to focus on her. “It’s one of the investors in the sports center.”
“Right. Sorry. I’m just worried about—”
“Your brother,” I supply, remembering how she jolted upright with the text message a few minutes before. “I can see that, but today is not the day he dies.”
“I hope not,” she says firmly, as is she’s convincing herself that she means it. “Call the investor back and close that deal. I’ll grab what you need and hang it in the bathroom.” She disappears into the closet and I stare after her, wishing like hell I could make that end game we’re after come right now, today, but realistically, it’s going to be at least that week I predicted last night.
Refocusing on my call, I redial the investor and talk out the new sports center offer with him. Ten minutes later I disconnect, only to realize that Emily has yet to emerge from the closet. Walking in that direction, I step through the archway to find her removing a black dress from the rack. “I thought today wasn’t a day to wear black?”
“I know, but Reagan died today. And that woman they identified as me. She died two weeks ago, and no one seems to care. So I care.”
I close the small space between us and take the black dress from her, hanging it back on the rack and retrieving a pale pink one. And now it’s my turn to say, “This one suits you. You said no black today,” I remind her. “I say no more death today.”
“Unless today really is the day my brother dies.”
My hand cups her cheek. “He isn’t going to die today, sweetheart.”
“If only you could promise that.”
“I can’t promise,” I agree, “but we have one hell of a team making sure he doesn’t. We have to trust them.”
“And so we’re back to waiting.”
“Not waiting. Acting. We make it happen.”
“But we wait to find out if my brother will show up.”
“Our team is not waiting. They’re looking for him.”
“While I wait,” she says. “Feeling helpless.” She blows out air. “At least I have your father today.”
My brow furrows. “Why is that?”
“He’s a beast of a distraction considering it’s all about him and his wants and needs, both of which are always immediate. He won’t give me time to think about anything but his demands.”
“Well, buckle up, sweetheart. You’ll get your distraction for sure. He’s up to something or he wouldn’t be at the office already. And while I contained myself yesterday with him because of Derek’s funeral, I won’t be doing so today.”
* * *
Thanks to another phone call by the same investor I’d spoken to earlier, it’s nearly eight, two hours after my father’s arrival at the office, when Emily and I exit the elevator and head to one place: my father’s office. For her, it’s to claim her desk outside his office. For me, it’s to ensure that he doesn’t get the chance to cause a problem I don’t need on the day we announce the sale to Mike. We enter the alcove that is my father’s private lobby, and his closed door is no obstacle to me. I walk straight to the door, and I don’t bother to knock. I walk right in.
My father looks up from a file he’s studying, an amused smirk on his lips, and tosses his pen down. “Glad you’re finally at work, son. I haven’t seen a copy of the press release on the sale to Mike, and I’ve made it clear to Jessica I need to see it before it’s distributed.”
I shut the door and walk to his desk. “Today’s your last day.”
His gray eyes sharpen. “I’m in remission.” He runs his hand over his bald scalp. “I didn’t lose my hair to lose my company. I’m not retiring, and we both know you don’t have anyone to take over my role.”
“I’m managing the existing projects and hiring an expert hedge funder to take over your role, one who won’t land us all in jail.”
“No one does what I do as well as I do it. And we both know you don’t need a distraction from high-heeled shoes and fancy dresses with the Brandon name on them. That is your plan, right? To turn us into some sort of beauty parlor of products?” I have no intention of being baited, and he must sense that in me, because he doesn’t wait for a reply, even spinning it as if I might offer one. “Don’t waste your breath defending your choice. I’m not going anywhere.”
“And when your cancer comes back? Who will take over for you then?”
“You will, Shane.”
“If you stay, I leave. And if I leave, I won’t come back.”
“But you will. Because you’ll inherit it, and it hardly seems logical for you to leave your vision behind and start over when I’m gone. I’m running the hedge fund division. I’ll allow you to play with your little fashion fantasies, undisturbed.”
“Leave it to your wife, as it should be,” I say. “If I inherit it, I’ll sell it off.”
He laughs. “No, you won’t. You’re invested in the company now, which, by the way, was my plan all along.”
I press my hands to the desk. “I’ll get the board to vote you out.”
“The deal you’re brokering for that sports center was my brainchild. No one is going to vote me out when I just made them a small fortune.”
“Let me be clear,” I bite out. “I still have full control of this company, and I didn’t save this division for you or because I felt it was a solid part of our operations.”
“The profits are clear,” he says. “It’s as solid as it gets.”
“It’s soiled with dirty money, which you’ve created. I saved it for Derek, not you. He’s gone, and now that I’m past the funeral, I’m clear-minded enough to know that we’re better off without it.” I push off the desk. “I’m delaying the announcement. You can sign an agreement to buy out this division by Monday at fair market value or I’ll sell it to Mike.” And because I need my mother to stop playing footsie with Mike Rogers, before I set Mike up with Adrian, I add, “And since you don’t seem to care about your wife, I assume he’ll have your pet project portion of the company at the office and your woman in his bed.”
“Mike won’t be fucking my wife again. And you won’t be fucking my company. An announcement of my departure on top of Derek’s death will create alarm among the clients, stockholders, and staff, which puts our stability at risk.”
“You’re worried about stability.” I give a humorless laugh. “That’s comical. I can handle any alarm created by your departure, I assure you.” I turn and walk toward the door.
“You’re really a prick off the old block,” he says, no doubt looking to hit a nerve, and while he succeeds, I don’t react.
“I’ll email you the new paperwork,” is all I say. I exit the office and shut him inside as Emily steps in front of me.
“Well?” she asks anxiously. “How did it go?”
“You don’t work for him anymore. Come with me.” I settle my hand at her lower back, guiding her forward, toward the lobby.
“I thought today I was with him?”
“You’re not,” I say. “And you will not ever take his abuse again.”
We reach the reception area, greeting Kelly before continuing on down the hallway leading to the alcove where my office and Derek’s are located. Once at the end of the walkway, I have the option of going left to my office, where a glance confirms that Jessica is sitting at her desk, but I go right, to Derek’s office. Guiding Emily to his closed door, I open it and motion her forward. She hesitates, looking uncomfortable, but she enters the office.
I follow her, shutting us inside, and while I’ve struggled to recall Derek’s face or voice, the faint smell of my brother’s cologne is here now. And that scent, his presence even in his death, takes me by surprise and punches me hard in the chest.
“What are we doing, Shane?” Emily asks, her hand on one of the visitor chairs, her long, brown hair a striking contrast to the pale pink of her dress. Her nervous energy is something I want to replace with excitement.
“This is your new office,” I tell her.
She blanches. “What? No. I can’t take his office.”
“You can. You will. You know that Derek wanted me to save the company my way, and my way is with your brainchild, our new fashion brand. There’s no better place to make that happen than here, in his presence. I’ve already signed the paperwork. The deal is done.”
“I knew you made the offer,” she says. “But it’s really, completely done?”
“It is,” I confirm. “We just need to make a cautious transition of power and smart financial choices. I’m going to email you some files and the contacts for the acquisition when I get to my office. Talk to the major players. Find the major players you want close to you, but do this your way.”
The phone on the desk buzzes. “Shane?”
“Yes, Jessica?” I say.
“I have at least three calls you need to take or make right now,” she says.
“I’ll be right there,” I reply, returning my focus to Emily. “Speaking of Jessica. I need her to stay focused on the big picture until I get past this transition period. Unless you really feel you need her now, I’d like to tell her about the ‘Jessica’ line of clothing and her stock options a few weeks out.”
“Of course,” she says, but her arms are still folded in front of her. I snag her waist and walk her to me.
“What’s bothering you?”
“His office,” she says, her hands settling on my chest. “I feel like he needs to be here, not me, but I know he can’t be here.”
“You’re here to do what he wanted. Save this company from my father, and there is no better place than here, in his office. Your office. Be excited, Emily. You have no idea how much I want that for you.”
“I am. Very. I’m also nervous. I have never handled a major acquisition like this before.”
“I’ll help you navigate it,” I say, “but at the same time, I want this to be yours. Just like the hedge fund operation was my father’s.”
“Was? So he’s officially retiring?”
“He’s officially out, just as the hedge fund operation will be soon. With a new day’s clarity, I’ve decided to dump it. I gave my father until Monday to make an offer or I’ll sell it to Mike.”
“In other words, it got really dirty in there and you want all ties to your father gone.”
“Yes. It got dirty. And yes, I want all ties to him gone. It’s all part of that end game, sweetheart. I’m going to work. You need to get to work too.”
She smiles. “Yes, boss.”
“No. I’m not your boss. This is your baby.” My lips curve. “Unless we’re naked. Then I’m the boss.”
She rewards me with a soft, sexy laugh. “I think I want to be the boss.”
“Never happening,” I promise, walking to the door, but when my hand touches the knob, that scent of Derek is suddenly stronger again, and his lingering presence has me glancing toward his desk to the empty chair that now leaves part of my life empty as well. And yet, in ways, it’s fuller than it has ever been. Inhaling, I exit the office and shut Emily inside, heading toward Jessica’s desk.
She’s on her feet in an instant; her dress so red, it damn near glows, and she rounds her desk and is on my heels. By the time I’m behind my desk, she’s standing in front of me. “You’re glowing,” I say.
“I just got a facial,” she says. “So thank you, because it was really brutal.”
“I mean your dress.”
“Oh. Right. It’s a power statement. You’re the new king and I’m the king’s gatekeeper. Why is Emily in Derek’s office?”
“It’s her office now. We’ve officially bought the fashion brand we were eyeing and she’s going to run it. More on that later. Don’t ask now.”
Unfazed by that order, she simply says, “I’ll ask her,” and holds up a stack of messages. “The top three are related to the acquisition in progress and need your personal attention. The bottom three are random situations I’m capable of handling, but in each case, the parties involved are misinformed enough to believe that you’re better, smarter, and in possession of a bigger set of balls than me.”
“Convince them yours are big enough to handle what needs to be handled,” I say.
“Will do,” she says, setting three of the messages in front of me. “I just needed your thumbs-up, boss. Moving on to the announcement. Do you want to call members of the management before we send out the press release?”
“We’re holding on the announcement.”
“Which … means what exactly? What happened?”
“My father happened. Track down Mike Rogers for me. I need to talk to him. And before you start asking more questions, I’ll explain once I’ve put on the brakes with him.”
My phone buzzes and my father’s voice comes over the line. “Pick up,” he orders.
I motion for Jessica to leave and shut the door before I pick up the receiver. “I’m here.”
“There’s no need to cancel your announcement,” he says. “Consider this an offer.”
“At what price?”
“Ten million,” he says, “which turns this into profit for the board and I assume is acceptable.”
“It is,” I confirm. “When I have a formal offer, in writing, that is.”
“A letter of intent is in your email, but there are conditions.”
“Of course there are,” I say dryly.
“I have investors who need to be convinced that I’m alive and well. They need stability, which means I need my office to remain as is. I work here, as usual, and we make no formal announcement.”
As much as I want to decline, getting this done sheds liability and expedites pairing Mike with Martina sooner than later. “You show up once a week for appearances,” I state. “You can hold meetings here if needed and if scheduled in advance with Jessica. And you pay rent.”
“I work here twice a week and I have a conference room assigned to me that doesn’t require me coordinating with your bitch of a secretary.”
“Agreed,” I say. “You get twice a week and the conference room, but you’ll sign paperwork that designates you as a tenant, and our liability and involvement in your business at level zero.”
“Agreed,” he confirms. “Make your announcement and get me your paperwork.”
“We don’t tell Mike about this new development until after the announcement.”
“Agreed,” he says again, and hangs up.
I stare at the phone, processing how fast and easy that deal was to make with him. And then I laugh. The man’s a master manipulator. This is what he was after and I just gave it to him, which means he’s got a big money deal in the works. But what he doesn’t seem to understand is that I’m happy to give him his deal. I don’t want, or need, his dirty money.