I glared at Marcel out of the corner of my eye. “I am nothing if not generous with severance packages.”
He sighed. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. It just seems like the only time I see that fire in your eyes anymore is when you’re telling someone you’ve ruined their life.”
A lanky teen with giant headphones almost clipped me on a skateboard. I grunted and stepped to the side, trying not to bark out a complaint about him not watching where he was going. “When did I ever have fire in my eyes for something besides work?”
Marcel skipped to catch up with me. His shorter legs often had to work harder to keep up with my pace, but the younger man had boundless energy, so I didn’t worry too much about it.
“When you helped those kids in Queens find a place to practice their music. When you donated a truck to the family rescue group. When you visited your mom for her—”
I cut him off. “Stop. If this is your way of buttering me up for some other do-good project, it’s unnecessary. I told you to go ahead and fund whatever causes you want. That’s the purpose of the Blackwood Giving Program. Just submit your request to Dara, and she’ll assess it.”
“You’re deliberately misunderstanding me, which is incredibly uncharming.” He grabbed my elbow to stop me from walking into a moving car, but as soon as the car passed, we continued. “You’ve become so focused on building the business, I feel like you’ve forgotten how to have fun.”
“I’ve never been fun,” I corrected.
He fisted his hands and shook them in the air while letting out a sound of frustration. “That’s what I’m trying to say! God, Grey. You’re going to die of a heart attack before you’re forty. What’s the point of all this financial success if you don’t have some fun? Take a break, for god’s sake. You did it. You finally finished the corporate acquisitions you’ve been working on for a decade. Go to the Mediterranean, ride a camel in the desert. Hike the Appalachian Trail. Do something. Something other than studying the market and jumping at every opportunity that comes your way.”
“The point of financial success is to ensure I never have to worry about money ever again,” I informed him. “To make sure my mother doesn’t have to clean up another puddle of vomit or get groped by a patient on pain meds. To make sure everyone who ever doubted me, ever stood in my damned way, knows I succeeded despite the obstacles. To help others. That’s the point.”
“Yes, fine. I know. I get it. But it’s done now.” He grabbed my arm again to stop my forward progress. “Let me book you into that resort I told you about in the Caribbean. Just for a week. You can get massages, drink umbrella cocktails, and maybe find an island man in a tiny bathing suit to keep you company.”
“Remind me again why I keep your bossy self around?” I grumbled.
“Because my charming smile lights up your life. Also, because my very rich, very muscular husband would frown on you firing me.”
I rolled my eyes. We both knew that wasn’t why.
His suggestion did sound good, and after the satisfaction of seeing the look on Warren York’s face today when he realized he no longer owned his family business, it might be nice to go revel in it with a quasi celebration.
“Hypothetically speaking… is there Wi-Fi at this resort?” I asked.
Marcel rolled his eyes. “Even if there wasn’t, I know you have a sat phone and a satellite hotspot. Remember when I thought you were out of service on that safari and you still managed to send me a week’s worth of contract work that needed to be done overnight?”
“That contract couldn’t wait. If I hadn’t gotten the necessary signatures before leaving Tanzania, the deal would have fallen through.”
“Tell that to my husband,” he muttered. “It was his birthday.”
I shot him a look. “Pretty sure Luca didn’t mind when I made up for it by buying him a motorcycle.”
He snorted. “It was an electric scooter. Hardly a motorcycle. And I’m not complaining. Much. You know I enjoy working for you, otherwise I wouldn’t. I’m only saying there’s no such thing as you being completely off the grid. No matter where I send you to relax, you’re still going to do work. Even more reason to go ahead and let me make the reservations. You can work and relax.”
“I’m not sure those things are as compatible as you think,” I grumbled. “If I’m working, by definition, I’m not relaxing.”
“Well, at least work in a place with a view,” he snapped. “Jesus. I’ve never heard of someone griping at the idea of a week on a private island.”
“Bring Luca and come with me,” I said, realizing I could get more work done if Marcel was there. “You can even force me to swim every once in a while. You’d enjoy being able to boss me around like that. Admit it.”
He tapped his lips. “True. But I can’t. Luca’s mom is having a baby shower for Luca’s sister, and it’s a command performance.”
“Then let’s put a pin in the resort idea until I see how today goes. I may need to stick around and supervise the transition. I’m still not sure if we’ve found the right person to install here, and I might want to transfer some of the company’s holdings out before handing management over to someone else anyway.”
Marcel made a note in his phone. “How did I know you were going to come up with an excuse?”
I ignored him. “Contact Lita Henley and arrange a dinner. Maybe I can lure her away from Eastmann and Secura. Even if she doesn’t want to jump ship, I can ask her opinion about the European realty holdings.”
He continued to tap his phone until we arrived at the entrance to the building. “Showtime,” I said under my breath.
Marcel looked up and up and up at the shining tower. “You always sound so gleeful on takeover days. It’s a little creepy.”
“If you’d worked as hard as I have to acquire one of the world’s largest privately held investment holdings, you’d be gleeful too.” And, honestly, “hard work” didn’t even begin to describe it. After the shit that had gone down that night in the Crosbie Golf and Country Club, everything had changed. Every single contact in this business I’d been carefully cultivating for five summers on the golf course had ghosted me, and the coveted first-year associate job at Heath and Kelty Investments had disappeared in a puff of smoke. After losing my job at the club, I’d almost lost the ability to afford returning to Yale for my final year, even with the scholarships.
But I’d done it. I’d worked as many jobs as I could manage and barely slept. I’d developed relationships with my business professors and had managed to turn one of them into a longer-term advisory role, so I had someone to help guide me through that first year of starting my own investment company.
I glanced from the shiny exterior of the building down to my nearly pristine Tom Ford brogues. It wasn’t that long ago I hadn’t known what the hell brogues even were. I’d grown up calling them “fancy men’s shoes.” It was one of a million examples of how I still never felt like one of them.
Like the old money families who owned this city and managed all of its money.