Page 6 of Denying Davis
“No, you can’t.” I felt myself involuntarily stiffen at Irene’s last comment. I didn’t like it, and I didn’t like her much either, not in the way she wanted. She might have been the usual type I went for—a rail-thin blonde with an unnatural tan—but she was also boring in a you-know-you’re-supposed-to-end-up-with-a-woman-like-me way.
And I was growing tired of boring.
“So, are you making some good connections tonight?” my grandfather asked just as a server approached with a round of pâté. The three of us took selections before I gave him my answer.
“I’ve met a few new people and had a conversation with Hugh Kensington, the app developer,” I said. “But I can always do more.”
My grandfather never viewed any of the parties he attended as fun. They were always work, and he always had an ulterior motive—to shore up any connections that might advance our family in the future. To that end, he had several rules he expected me, as his sole heir, to follow. While in Palm Beach, I could never drink more than two alcoholic drinks at an event, I had to accept at least three invites a week, and at least seventy percent of the evening event had to be spent in conversation with someone who could expand our network. Armstrongs also never showed up underdressed. That night, I’d obliged the last rule by wearing a black tuxedo, white shirt, and black bow tie with a small gray pattern woven through the fabric.
“Good, son,” Grandfather said. He’d referred to me that way ever since my father’s suicide, and while it bothered me at first, in the last year or so, I’d grown to appreciate it. Calling me “son” meant he trusted me, and he didn’t trust many people.
His eyes brightened at something over my shoulder, and I turned to find Ainsley approaching us. “Ah, here is the happy bride now.”
“So good to see you,” Ainsley said, as she embraced him. “Glad you could attend tonight.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it,” my grandfather replied after they finished their hug. “George would have thought you looked beautiful tonight.”
She smiled at the mention of her father. “He’d probably marvel at all of this, right?”
“Times change. People change. I think your families were due for a reconciliation,” I said. “And it was a beautiful wedding.”
It was the kind of thing everyone said to each other on a night like this, although it was also true.
“How’s life after Harvard?” Ainsley asked.
“Spend the last few months traveling.”
“Well, he worked so hard over the last few years. First undergrad, and now his MBA, summa cum laude each time,” my grandfather added.
Ainsley turned to me. “He told me last week when I saw him at dinner he’s very proud. And I can see why.”
“Still am. Davis has turned into an impressive young man.” Grandad clapped me on the back with a rough hand and let out a gruff laugh. “But now the wanderlust has to come to an end. Time to get serious.”
“Absolutely true. You can only stay in school for so long,” Irene chided, and I resisted shooting her a glare. “Time to join the dynasty.”
Dynasty.I bristled at the word. It would have been easy for people to call it that after several generations of family success, but the word came loaded with layers. Expectation about maintaining things “the way they had always been done.” Personally, I thought our holdings could use a shakeup. Some new ideas. Some innovative thinking. What we did in the last century wouldn’t necessarily work in the next one.
“I gave Davis until the first of the year to decide how he wants to enter the company, and where he feels his talents will be most effective,” my grandad said. “So, three weeks.”
We all answered in a collective laugh, but mine was forced. I’d dogged the fate that awaited me for the last few years—four at MIT and two at Harvard, but that time was dwindling, and fast. The new year would bring a whole new phase in my life.
“Please excuse me,” I told the group. “I’d like to get some water. Does anyone else need anything?”
They shook their heads, and I walked away, threading myself though the well-dressed crowd once again. I decided I’d head to the bar farthest from my grandfather. Besides, I was hungry, so along the way, I plucked a few pieces of shrimp and a bite-sized lobster roll off passing trays. Soon, we’d adjourn from the pool deck and have dinner in the large ballroom, but that didn’t stop me from taking my fill of canapes.
When I reached the bar, I took my place at the end of the short line and decided I’d ask the bartender to spike my glass of water with some vodka. What my grandfather didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, I was only on drink three. I was a six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound, twenty-six-year-old male, for Christ’s sake. I could more than hold my liquor.
“I’ll have a club soda with a shot of vodka and a lime, please,” I told the bartender once it was my turn to order.
“Coming straight up,” he replied and gestured to an array of bottles behind the bar. Trevor and Ainsley hadn’t scrimped on their bar offerings for this wedding, so he had a large selection. “Any particular type of vodka, sir?”
“No, I—”
Is that who I think it is? No, no it couldn’t be. Impossible.
I shook my head and stared at the woman about twenty-five yards away, who stood at the edge of a large circle of wedding guests. She balanced a silver tray of shrimp skewers on one hand and a stack of napkins in the other. Like the other staffers, she wore a dark apron, a crisp white button-down shirt, and a small bow tie. A halo of blonde hair cascaded down her back.
And I knew her. It was undeniable.
