“Then what’s the problem?” he said, jumping in. “Or is it the marriage you take issue with? Do you consider it sacred?”
That pulled a smile out of me. “No.”
“So there’s no ideological reason you’re refusing to close the deal of the century?”
Frank and his hyperbole. I had to put a stop to this thing before it gathered steam. “Permission to speak freely?”
“Permission granted.”
“How can I put this nicely…Scott’s a pig. I wouldn’t marry him if I had a gun to my head.”
Frank chuckled. “He’s rough around the edges.”
Understatement of the century. “I’ve always loved your ability to look on the bright side. He’s the worst misogynist I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”
His grin widened. “He’s a man’s man.”
“C’mon, Frank. Even you know––”
“Fine. He’s not your type. I get it.” He leaned forward in his chair. As if everything he was about to say next was going to be of the utmost importance. “He doesn’t have to be, Syd. He only needs to be your husband for enough time to show the board that you’re more than capable of taking charge of this company. And for that to happen without them trying to undermine you every step of the way, you have to have Scott at your back. He’ll be a powerful ally.”
Scott––an ally? He was barely awake during the day, but whatever. I wasn’t about to quibble over details. My resolve was fading fast, however. I didn’t want much. Outside of my career, I didn’t expect anything out of life. My childhood had taught me that the hard way. Wanting led to disappointment and that I’d had plenty of. But this…this I wanted, this made my blood hot and my pulse quicken. Running Blackstone Holdings would be the crowning achievement of my life.
Sinking further into the chair, I tipped my head back and studied the original René Magritte painting on the wall. A business man with a window to a cloudy sky for a face. I was pretty sure there was heavy meaning in there somewhere. “Can I think about it?”
“Sure. You can contemplate it on the way to Wyoming. The Blackstone jet is on standby at Teterboro.”
Frank was railroading me, and I was letting him. He’d had a way of sucking me into his schemes from day one.
“But…”
“Sydney…” Frank’s expression was suddenly grave. “You’re the son I never had. I won’t rest in peace knowing anyone else will take my place.” The heartfelt sentiment wrapped its fingers around my throat and squeezed. “You’ll have status, money, the front cover of Forbes, possibly Time magazine, in exchange for a mere three years of your life.”
If I did this––and it was still a big IF––I wouldn’t be doing it for status (which I didn’t give a flip about) or the cover of Time magazine (which I did) or money (which I had already). I would do it for Frank.
“What’s in Wyoming?” I sourly muttered.
A slow smile spread across Frank’s face. “Your husband.”
“My husband…” I repeated, head shaking at the absurdity of it all. This was shaping up to be a perfectly normal Friday until this. “Does Scott know––about your illness? And this cockamamie plan?”
“Not yet.”
Weighty sigh. My eyes fell shut as I rubbed the throb developing between them. “What makes you think he’d even consider going along? He could be in a serious relationship for all we know.”
A bark of dry laughter shot out of him. “Scott? In a serious relationship?” It was more than a reach. It was a last-ditch attempt to derail this runaway train. “He’ll go along with it or I’ll cut him off without a red cent to his name.”
Scott was married to money. How else could he live the life of a profligate wastrel. The only hope I had of disentangling myself from this arranged fake marriage was if Scott flat-out refused, but under that threat of disinheritance there was no question he’d capitulate––and quickly.
“What about the Wilson & Bosch deal?” I was stalling and we both knew it. Still, I had to try. Every bone in my lawyer’s body told me so. For the first time in my life I felt in over my head.
“Hastings can handle it,” Frank casually replied, not knowing it was anything but casual to me. Damon Hastings was my “arch nemesis” in the company if you will. The one person who had been actively campaigning to steal my job the moment I got it. “You won’t be gone more than a few days anyway. By the time you get to Wyoming, I’ll have everything worked out with Scott.”
“Then why am I going?” I said, already stewing over the Wilson & Bosch deal.
“Proof. Otherwise he’ll think this is one of my pranks.” I had to agree with his logic. “And, Syd?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t mention the cancer. I don’t want him to do this out of some misplaced sense of duty.”
I had no clue what Frank meant by that. And I’d given up trying to make sense of the off-beaten paths his mind took a long time ago. He seemed to think extorting his son was fine but having him act out of duty wasn’t. Whatever. Who was I to argue?
“Anything you want, Frank.”
Chapter Two
Scott
“Scott! Phone call for you!” Laurel screamed at the top of her lungs.
Squinting, I glanced up from the injured calf one of my guys had brought in to be patched up and watched her approach. The sun was out today, and even though winter had set in, on a day like this it could cook you to well-done.
You could see the scowl she was wearing from a mile away. She’d hauled her tiny butt all the way across the football field–sized parking lot to get to the round pen near the stables and looked none too happy about it. Throwing the reins of my buckskin mare to one of my ranch hands, I went to meet her halfway. The farther she had to walk the more she’d complain about it later.
“Are your fingers broken?” she barked. I was almost one hundred percent certain it was a rhetorical question, but one never knew with her.
Laurel Robinson was a large, loud person stuffed into a pint-sized female body, petite all over with the exception of her double Ds. Top heavy would be the best way to describe her. Also, the best office manager anyone could wish for. Without Laurel walking me through the day-to-day of running a cattle ranch when I first bought this place, I wouldn’t have lasted a New York minute.
“…well, are they?”
The shell-covered snaps of her flannel shirt were in imminent danger of bursting wide open. Behind me, I heard some of the ranch hands taking bets on exactly when that would be.
“No, ma’am,” I replied with a half-cocked grin. I’d learned early that a well-placed “ma’am” in addition to one of my dimpled grins went a long way to smoothing her ruffled feminine nerves.
Jogging ahead of her, Romeo and Juliet greeted me with a tail wag, their wet noses nudging my hands. As much as I loved Laurel, having her work for me was sometimes a fate worse than having to work for my old man. She’d raised five boys, the last two still living at home, so maybe that had something to do with her attitude. It was also probably why she ran such a tight ship.