Page 56 of Wildflower
“Today, sir?”
“Every day.”
The answer makes the grey woman even greyer, and I probably shaved a few years off her life with that request.
“And I’ll also aim to finish up at seven most days, so I’ll need my US calls rescheduled.”
I swear she squeaks. Her mouth is open, but no words come out.
“Are you okay?”
“Mark, areyouokay?” She puts a hand on my arm.
“Never been better, Patrice.”
After the meeting, I’m back at my downstairs-office desk for my allotted thirty minutes of emails and various requests. But before I can log in to my computer, my phone rings. I stare at it for a second, not expecting to see my middle sister’s name on a Thursday morning.
Ugh, I hope she hasn’t seen the gossip forum musings about me being Robin Hood, which showed up in the PR report this morning. My family knows better than to read that shit. Luckily, it’s not spread far, and I’m not giving it any attention. I don’t like that the blogger’s eyes are on me, though.
“Silvia? Is everything okay?”
“Morning, Mark,” she chirps. “Yes, of course, everything’s splendid. Can I not call my big brother out of the blue?”
“Is it, though?”
With Silvia, nothing is ever ‘out of the blue’.
“It’s your birthday next Wednesday. Remember?”
I grunt in response. I’d forgotten, and she knows it.
As much as I love my family, I don’t want to do our tradition. And it’s come around too quickly—it feels like it was just last week we did this.
“Let’s do dinner the week after,” I say. “Wednesday is no good for me next week.” No day is good for me, so it’s not a complete lie. Moving the event itself won’t change anything, though, but I need to avoid them starting our family games, at least. It takes up too much time. It doesn’t feel worthwhile anymore.
I’m working less these days because of Alice, but thatdoesfeel worth it. I can’t do a whole evening with them too.
“Nope. It’s our tradition. Everyone’sactualbirthday. Every year. You know the drill.”
I sigh. Being a CEO doesn’t give you a get-out-of-jail-free card in a crowd like the Beckers.
Family first. Always.
Which is what has held them back from their true potential. Everyone except Fern, the youngest but fiercest of my sisters, who left three years ago to study abroad and hasn’t been back since.
“Fine,” I grunt. “Let’s go to Mocco’s by the river. 7pm.”
“Great,” she chimes.
“No Becktionary!” Practically growling, I hang up and continue going through my e-mails.
There are loud voices outside breaking my concentration.
“For fuck’s sake.”
I hate being down here. My upstairs office was perfect for focustime.
My frosted walls shield me from prying eyes, but they don’t keep the sound out. That girl, Rosemary and those new starters are loud. So is that Silas, who’s constantly around them, and, Jesus Christ, are theysinging?
