Page 13 of The Estate
Cal stood outside the room, listening to the rapid clicking of Rachel’s heels as she retreated down the hall. When he caught his gaze roving over her, his eyes inexplicably drawn to how well she filled out that pencil skirt, he made himself turn away.
He found it unbelievable that she was assigned to his parents’ damn project. He’d worked hard to get mentally prepared for this meeting and seeing her had thrown him.
He’d thought of her in the last few months, more often than he was willing to admit. Thinking he might apologize, he’d sought her out at the reception. When he entered the ballroom, his eyes had immediately found her. She was sitting with her friends, or he assumed they were. Her head thrown back as they enjoyed a good laugh. Hearing her laugh as it rolled through the room filled him with warmth.
When a guy approached and placed a drink before her, Cal forgot to breathe. Was she here with someone? He hadn’t considered that. He only relaxed when the guy moved off to the dance floor with a different woman.
Calling himself seven times a fool, Cal made himself leave the reception. She’d obviously forgotten about their argument and was having a great night. He should leave her to it.
It was her laugh he’d thought about most. That and the fiery look in her eye when she called him an ass. Seeing her here todayhad made it clear Rachel hadn’t forgotten their argument. Not even close. And now, thanks to his parents, they’d be working closely in the coming weeks. Rubbing his hand down his face, he wondered what could possibly make this day any worse.
“Alaric,” his mom called from the elevator. “Are you coming?” Signaling he’d heard, he walked down and joined them. He preferred not to have the discussion they needed to have while in the building, so he followed them out and into the attached parking garage.
Before he had a chance to open his mouth, his mother turned to him. “Is there a problem with Rachel we should know about?”
Cal didn’t need to think twice. He automatically answered, “No.”
Under no circumstances would he tell his parents about any issues concerning an event. By all accounts, the wedding and reception were a success, but if he told them the story of his encounter with Rachel, his parents would use it as a perfect example of why the event business was a mistake. He’d long since gotten used to disappointing them. He just didn’t want to hear it again.
He had to protect White Hall and fervently wanted to see it thrive again. He would do it for the grandfather who loved him and because all of his best memories happened there. “There’s no issue with Rachel,” he reiterated.
His mother searched his face, trying no doubt to see if he was lying. “Alaric, I realize you don’t agree with the plans we have for the property or with bringing in an outside consultant, but we expect you to cooperate fully with this company.”
Cal’s jaw tightened, but he responded calmly, “I promised I would, so I will. Although, I hope you’re still considering givingme more time with the estate,” he couldn’t resist adding. If it had been solely for himself, he never would have begged. But for Pops and his legacy, he would walk on his knees, if that’s what it took.
“While the business hasn’t brought in as much money as you wanted, it is still profitable.”
“Then I’m sure the report Connor & Associates creates for us will bear that out,” his father responded in his typically gruff manner. “That’s why we’re considering using the trust funds to build out the commercial kitchen.”
Cal knew his father was anxious to leave. They always made it into the office before the stock market opened. You could set your clock by them, but he wouldn’t let them leave until he made his point.
“I understand that’s what you’re doing, but spending those funds on the kitchen will tie my hands. I won’t be able to get the distillery operational for years. If you were open to using some funds for the distillery and my other projects on the estate, I think you’d be happy with the outcome.”
“Oh, the distillery,” his mother sighed, exasperation coloring her tone. “I know you think opening that serves to honor your grandfather, but you’re wrong. First, that old story about your great-grandfather was just that. A story. And even if his illegal distillery was real, this is a matter of business. Can you understand that?” Her disapproval was evident.
Cal felt the punch of grief that always came when he talked about his grandfather. Pops had been gone almost seven years now, but some days it was if he’d lost him just yesterday. He inhaled deeply. Grieving wouldn’t help him save the estate.
“I understand this is a business decision,” he replied evenly.
“Do you?” his father challenged.
Cal felt that comment land. Hard. It was always the same story with them.
His parents had always envisioned their two boys taking over the family stock brokerage firm. James’ career path seemed to solidify that dream, validating it so thoroughly that it left no room for Cal to change his own trajectory. His opinion and feelings about the plan were never solicited.
His parents expected him to follow in his brother’s financial protégé footsteps. During his exemplary college years, James had worked at their parents’ firm during holiday breaks and summers. He was now working on Wall Street, getting experience and doing time in the trenches as his parents were prone to point out frequently.
After his first semester in college, Cal spoke with his parents about majoring in something other than finance. Words were exchanged and tempers flared. No matter how many years passed, Cal still relived his father demanding he major in a ‘proper course of study.’ It was a finance degree or nothing. The crowning moment was when his father had finally snapped.
“If you wish to be a member of this family, you will do as I say,” he’d roared.
Cal couldn’t accept what he was hearing. Would they really kick him out of the family? He didn’t think the pain could be worse, but his father kept going.
“Why can’t you be more like your brother? Why do you insist on continually being such a disappointment to your mother and me?”
Cal had snapped his gaze to his mother. Hoping she would stand up for him, interject something, anything. Instead, she satsilently briefly before asking, “We’ve given you every advantage and this is how you repay us? I have no idea where we went wrong with you that you’d disappoint us so.”
Cal sensed the old anger and ever-present pain bubbling up at his father’s challenge about business decisions. If it hadn’t been for Pops, Cal would have walked away from college and, most likely, the family. Pops had intervened and Cal was unsure what had happened between Pops and his parents, but they’d eventually come to a compromise. Cal would major in business and be allowed the freedom to choose any electives or coursework he chose to outside of the required curriculum.
