Boss of Me

When I look up again, Sandra is grinning, one eyebrow arched. “Sounds like you’d better get busy. Your passwords and everything you need are on the sheet by your computer. If you need anything else, let me know.” She pushes off and leaves me alone in my office, but I hear her last words as she walks away. “This is going to be fun.”

2

Patton

What the fuck? I push my door closed and stalk to my desk, flipping open my laptop and sending a quick text to Taron: Investor meeting in one hour. Don’t be late.

It’s only the tip of what I want to say to him, but I’ll wait until he’s here.

Dropping into my leather chair, I lean back considering this new development. Taron hired a woman to handle our international accounts? I click through my emails to the one I ignored from him on Friday.

Quickly scanning her résumé, I confess, I’m impressed. Raquel Morgan graduated with honors from one of the top MBA schools in the country—and because of the deal my dad struck with Vanderbilt University a million years ago, we get first pick of the graduating class for interviews each year.

If we need someone.

I didn’t know we did, but I let the guys do pretty much what they want. Now we have this very smart, very beautiful young female on our staff… Raquel Morgan. My jaw tightens. Does he seriously want to go down this road again?

Lifting the heavy pen from beside my computer, I tap the end against the desk pad. My eyes move around the room, from the pointer dog statue on the end of my mahogany desk to the heavy brass clock beside it, out to the leather wingback chairs across from me to the leather couch against the wall. Bookshelves are filled with hard-bound editions, some fiction, some reference volumes.

All our offices are this way. Everything in the firm coordinates—dark wood, rich leather, gleaming brass…

All men.

Sandra is the only woman for a reason, the primary one being Dad hired her before he left, and she managed to stick with us through the transition.

When Dad passed the reins of his baby, his commercial real estate firm, to me seven years ago like an Olympic torch, I took it and hit the ground running. I brought in Taron and Marley, and we transformed it to a tech-based company, got rid of all the paper, and started recruiting clients globally.

Fletcher International has become the Air B&B of the commercial real estate market. We match clients who need short-term office space with owners needing to fill them. Our model has been expanding in the smaller markets, until now we’re ready to move into New York, Los Angeles, Chicago—we’re poised to blow up. We just need a bit more up-front capital to secure the high-end properties we want in these markets.

Taron and Marley fit seamlessly here. They know international customs, and I trust them. We have each other’s backs. Sawyer returned to his family’s farm or he’d be here, too, just like always. We’re brothers—nobody left behind. And nobody works for you like family does.

Only, lately it seems nobody takes advantage of you like family either. Marley is becoming more of a liability, showing up late and high or still drunk from the night before. Taron is slowly divesting himself of responsibilities, as if I wouldn’t notice. Handing off international accounts is the latest in his string of downgrades.

I’d be angry, but he’s damn good at locking down new clients. He’s got a natural charm that draws people to us. Hell, he even charms me out of being pissed most of the time. So while I’m willing to accept his decision to hire a new person, what the hell was he thinking hiring her?

The bell on my clock dings, warning we’re ten minutes from our meeting. I’m about to send Taron a pissed off text when my door opens, and he steps inside.

He grips the doorknob with a wince and clears his throat. “Sorry, moving slow this morning. Are we meeting in here?”

“Conference room. Don’t sit.” He nods and turns gingerly, and I know what’s up.

“Trouble with your back?”

That fall in the jungle fucked up his spinal column. He spent a month on pain meds and ended up with two problems. Once he finally managed to get off the narcotics, he swore he’d never take another pain pill, which means he either drinks too much or tries to power through. Looks like today he’s powering through with a slight hangover, but I won’t hassle him about it.

It’s been seven years, and I still feel responsible for what happened in that jungle.

“I can handle it if you need to sit this one out.” I’m behind him, following his limping frame to the conference room.

He responds with a tight laugh. “Leave you alone with Stephen Hastings? We do want their money, right?”

“Remington will be there. He says they’re interested. It’s in the bag.”

“They work in military defense and healthcare. We still have some selling to do to get them into commercial real estate.”

Taron winces as he lowers himself into a cushioned leather seat around the long table. A huge computer screen is at one end and an iPad Pro in the center.