He pushed open the door to the office where his father had ruled as king. Yes, this is where they belonged now. In a room filled with intimidating leather, high bookcases, and framed awards battling for space. The sprawling desk held two computers and the faint scent of tobacco from Christian’s cigars. The discreet bar held a variety of high-end liquor, but Cal still couldn’t break his habit of stashing his favorite bourbon in the kitchen. Maybe that was his way of separating himself from his father.
His brothers stared at him. Not like they had years ago. Not anymore. Now it was about pure survival, with eleven months to go until they could disband and go back to not dealing with each other. So many old wounds simmered beneath the Band-Aids.
God, they were so fucked-up.
“What’s wrong now?” he asked.
Tristan spoke. “I stopped by to see Sydney. She gave me the profits for the month.”
“Yeah?”
“We made no profits, Cal. In fact, we’re starting at a serious deficit.”
Caleb plowed his fingers through his hair and grunted. “I’m handling it. Why are you having Sydney pull figures? Don’t you trust me?”
Dalton made a rude noise from the leather couch. “More like you don’t trust us. This is a bunch of bullshit, and you know it. At this point, no matter what we do, we’ll end up losing the business. I’m thinking of pulling out, Cal. Maybe going someplace new. Start fresh.”
“Convenient. Barely five weeks in, and you’re running again.”
Tristan held up his hand as Dalton let out a blistering curse. “This isn’t helping. If we can’t even get through a simple meeting, we’re never going to make this work. We have to change our tactic.” He yanked a fat folder open and held up a bunch of papers. “We lost three big clients last week.”
Cal glowered at his youngest brother. “Ask Mr. Tigerwood over there. They walked when they heard about the little go-around on the cabinets with their neighbors. We were putting in an addition, but they went to Farell’s.”
Tristan groaned. “Are you kidding me? Farell’s Construction is the damn Walmart of the contracting business. Their quality sucks, and everyone knows it.”
“But they don’t argue, and they put up the shit fast. Some people don’t like waiting for perfection.”
“What about the deck for the Peabody restaurant? That’ll get us cash quick.”
“They decided to wait till next year. Their profits took a dive over the winter, and they’re struggling.”
“Other than finishing up the last two jobs, I haven’t been able to book anything. I thought you said you were turning down jobs the past few years.”
Caleb swore. “I was! Ever since Dad passed, people have gotten spooked. Gossip has been spreading about losing the business and us not able to get along. Even though no one knows about the will, people are suspicious.”
Tristan studied the file as if it held all the answers. His brother liked numbers and order, so he’d inherited the job of inventory and helping Sydney with the accounting. Cal would rather be out with the guys putting up houses, so he was grateful, but having his middle brother worried about a business he’d been running for the past years made him itch to prove he didn’t need him.
“I guess the McCarthy project will keep the wolves from the door a bit,” Tristan grumbled.
Fuck.
“We don’t have that job anymore.”
Dalton and Tristan stared. “What do you mean? You went out to see him this morning, right?”
Caleb turned away, not wanting to admit failure. “He hired his own team to come in and build it. I just found out.”
Silence filled the room.
“Well, then. Maybe we should have a serious conversation about letting Pierce Brothers go.”
Cal shot a fierce glare at Dalton. “I’m not giving up until the year is up, and I won’t let you, either. We talked about this. We committed. Why don’t you get your ass out there and find some woodworking jobs?”
Dalton jumped up from the couch. “You think the type of work I do is built for cold-calling? I’m an artist. You’re such an asshole. Just like Dad.”
“This isn’t helping,” Tristan interrupted. “I’m tired of you boneheads. Cut the crap and let’s figure out what we can do. I made some property sales and took on a renovation project. We still have the last payment coming in from the Weatherspoons. That’ll count toward this year’s profits. What about the senator? That’s a fat payment due in three months, right?”
“The senator pulled out when Dad died. I tried to get him back, but he hired a bunch of his personal friends to take the job.”
Tristan raised a brow. “Mob?”
Caleb shrugged. “Probably. Another reason I didn’t want to touch it in the first place. Seems the crew gets a lot of lunch breaks.”
Dalton laughed. “Remember how Dad used to screw with them when they tried to encroach on our territory?”
Tristan snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah, that time he dipped the baseball bat in ketchup and left it at the site with a note?”
“ ‘We’re watching. Always watching,’ ” Caleb recited. “They got so paranoid, it was like being trapped in The Godfather.”
“Or the time he hung up the dead deer skins?” Dalton jumped in. “They scurried out of here fast like the rats they were.”
“They’re definitely city boys,” Tristan said. “Dad knew just how to spook them. He knew we’d never get completely rid of them, but they disappeared from many of the big jobs for a while.”
Memories of his father haunted him. So many were bad that the few good ones they had were sacred, ready to be pulled out and dusted off with the only people who got it. His brothers. Damn, he wished things were different. Wished they could be closer instead of consistently battling this distance and simmering resentment.
Things had been strained between his family even before the car crash. His mother and father had grown even more distant with one another, barely speaking unless they were all together during a meal. Tristan butted heads with his father on real estate. Dalton tried to carve out his own specialty in woodworking against Christian’s wishes. But once Mom was taken from them, it all went to shit. They held on for six months, but the grief tore them apart instead of bonding them together. Christian became a cold son of a bitch, and Caleb ended up rushing into marriage to try to fix something that was too broken. It was like the perfect storm broke and scattered them across the globe.
Tristan was still pissed about Cal’s decision to cut him out of the business by taking Dad’s side. Cal was pissed at Dalton for sleeping with his fiancée and denying it. Dalton was pissed at both of them for ignoring his part in the business and the fallout from their mom’s death.
It was just one big pissed-off contest with no winner.
But Cal didn’t know how to fix it anymore.
As if they followed his thoughts, the smiles died from their lips, and once again they were looking at each other as strangers.
“Then what’s the new plan, Cal?” Tristan asked. “At this rate, we need a big job with a completion date of about eight months max. Where are we going to pull that from the magic hat?”