“His initial, and it’s not his initial anymore, it’s—”
Simone cuts off Cade’s rant. See what I mean about being no-nonsense? “Mr. Sebastian is still waiting for you to pick up, Mr. Kincaid.”
“What does he want?” Sabrina’s terse tone proves she’s just as no-nonsense as my secretary. I have a type, it seems. Unfortunately, that type doesn’t seem to like competition in their playground so my wife and my secretary are prone to pissing contests—or whatever the female equivalent is.
“If he’d told me, I would have passed that information on to Mr. Kincaid already, Ms. Lind.”
“Mrs. Kincaid.” I don’t usually insert myself in their banter, but robbing my wife of her married name is not a petty behavior I’ll tolerate.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Kincaid. It’s an honest mistake. I really didn’t expect the name to be relevant for this long.”
Sabrina glowers, but the catfight takes a backseat when Nate shifts to look directly at me. “Do you know why he’d be calling you, Donovan?”
I shrug. “No idea.”
“Does it matter?” Sabrina asks. “You’re not really going to talk to him, are you?”
“It’s the middle of the business day,” Dylan muses over her. “It’s likely not a social invitation. Not if he’s calling personally and demanding to speak to you at once. He’d ask for a call back.”
Weston shakes his head. “I’m telling you, guys. He’s a dick. You can’t guess anything based on his behavior.”
Nate ignores Weston’s assessment. “What business would the Sebastians have with Reach? They have their own advertising division.”
“Maybe he wants to pick D’s brain about something,” Cade offers.
“Or it’s something to do with Raymond.” At least Weston has the decency to look sorry about bringing up my father.
“Mr. Kincaid?” Simone prompts impatiently.
Even with the last suggestion being the most probable—so many of my relationships have started with my father—my interest is piqued.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to come running just because some rich prick said so. “Tell him I truly couldn’t be interrupted and get a better time for me to call him back.”
“You’re seriously going to talk to him?” There’s the Sabrina that isn’t afraid to bicker with me in public.
Simone ignores my wife’s outburst. “Will do, Mr. Kincaid.”
“Thank you, Simone,” but she’s already out the door.
“Oh my God. Really?” Sabrina huffs. “You’re really going to take a meeting with Holt Sebastian?”
I open my palms up in a sort of shrug. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t.”
“Because he’s a Sebastian! They’re the last people we want to be doing business with.”
“We can’t assume he wants to do business,” I say coolly. “And if he does…might as well hear him out. There might be an opportunity there.”
Now I’m not sure what her deal is with the Sebastians or if this is still all about last night, but I do know that she hates it when she gets worked up and I stay calm as a cucumber. This discussion would probably fare better for me if I injected a little passion myself.
But I am who I am, and I’m not interested in playing theatrics when they aren’t warranted.
Needless to say, that only pisses her off more. “An opportunity? With a Sebastian? I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now.”
Next to me, Nate leans toward Weston and says, loud enough that I can hear, “Do you get the feeling this isn’t just about Holt Sebastian?”
“D really doesn’t want to move to Los Angeles,” Weston says.
It’s an opportunity to lighten the mood. I could crack a joke. Divert the conversation. Say I hear her, and I understand, and then meet with Holt behind her back to satisfy my curiosity.
But I’m overly aware of the fact that certain people in the room think I’m withholding too much from her already, and the undercurrent of tension from last night has me in tow. The circumstances are primed for me to behave badly.
And so I do.
I poke at her. I push her buttons. “I didn’t realize the Sebastians were our mortal enemies.”
“Considering who they are and what they stand for? You’re being purposefully obtuse.”
“Pretend it’s not purposeful. Spell it out.” My jaw is set, and under the table my knee is starting to twitch. This can’t be going where I think it’s going.
Except, I know her.
And that means I know exactly where it’s going, and why I’m not surprised when she confirms it. “They’re entitled rich boys, all of them, with no morals and questionable ethics in both business and their personal life. It was bad enough when it was just the five brothers doing dirty deeds at the behest of Irving Sebastian, but now they’ve all multiplied and Daddy Sebastian has an army of terrible people to do his bidding at his fingertips. It’s disgusting, and Reach should want no part of them, financially or otherwise. As part owner, I’d like it on the record right now that I do not support engagement with any of the Sebastians.”
It’s prejudiced and overly simplified to lump all of the Sebastians into one box of good or bad. Irving alone has made several choices that fit squarely in the gray. Perhaps some of his practices have been morally questionable, but they’ve been legal, and he’s made his business into an empire because of it. He made his company money. That was his job.
It was a debate I had with Sabrina back at Harvard, when she was a doe-eyed student in my ethics class, and I tried to teach her what it takes to belong in the world she longed to be part of.
It’s absurd that her viewpoint is still so naïve. But her innocence turns me on, so I can live with it.
What I’m finding harder to live with is what she hasn’t said, what’s beneath her words. The description she’s given for Irving Sebastian could very well be a description applied to Raymond Kincaid.
And if this is how she really feels, what the fuck is she doing with me?
The room is quiet. All eyes are on me, waiting to see how this quarrel will play out. As I’ve said, we’ve fought before in front of the team. Sabrina’s stormed out of many a meeting. Generally all that means is that I’ll have to grovel later, usually with my tongue, and my face between her thighs. It makes for a good marriage, as far as I’m concerned.
Today is the first time that I’m the one to leave.
“I think this is as productive as we’re going to get today,” I say when I reach the door. “We can pick up the discussion about our applicants at our next meeting.”
I don’t bother telling Sabrina not to follow me. She knows by now when it’s best to leave me alone.
FOUR
Nine years ago
I watched as the two men uncrated the painting, careful to keep my expression even when the work of art was revealed. It was a fine enough piece with lots of detail and color, definitely a masterpiece. I’d maybe even love it if I were into dogs and horses and old British landscapes.