I whipped out of the parking lot and barreled down the road, bypassing every single joint I knew Christian would’ve dropped into. Business tactics not only required intelligence and knowledge, but they also required a certain amount of psychological posturing.
And I was wonderful at that.
I watched my father run a business my entire life. I sat at his feet while he talked me through his day and all the things he had to do. He introduced me to things like invoices and talked me through how meetings with clients went. He taught me about finances and expansions, how warehouses worked and how salaries were negotiated. The whole of my childhood was spun around my father and the business he had built, and I knew all I had to do was bide my time until it was time for me to take over.
I obtained my two-year degree to become a paramedic so I could help others. That’s all I wanted to do. My father’s business helped people in this community in ways I could’ve never dreamed, but he always encouraged me to find my own path. He always encouraged me to find my own way and go my own route. So, I got a two-year degree, became a paramedic, and started saving up to get my Bachelor’s in health and nutrition. I already knew the business side of it. I was raised in it. Steeped in it. What I needed was a degree that solidified my intelligence in the health and wellness community.
And then he handed over the fucking company to him.
I pulled into my favorite restaurant, one that Christian couldn’t stand from the time we were children, and I got out of the car and went to go get us a booth. I’d ordered us both glasses of water by the time he scooted into the seat in front of me, but he didn’t pull out any papers when he sat down.
“Where are the documents?” I asked.
“Let’s just talk first,” he said.
“I’m good, you’re good. My job’s going well; I’m sure you’re in the middle of finding another one. My house is great; your apartment is probably all good and well. Small talk over,” I said.
“Stella, take a breath,” he said.
“I’ve taken several since you sat down.”
“Then take another one,” he said.
“What would you like to order?” the waiter asked.
“I’ll have a small Caesar salad and a cup of your French onion soup,” I said.
“And I’ll have a cheeseburger with bacon and a double order of fries,” he said.
“You’ll croak before you’re 40,” I said.
“You’d probably like that, too,” he said.
“So, tell me,” I said.
“Tell you what?”
“I know you know,” I said.
“Know what?” he asked.
“Why my father is making us go through all this before I take over the company. He and I agreed when I first started my schooling that I would take over the business when he passed. Did you and he concoct this somehow to try and draw us closer?” I asked.
“I don’t want to be any closer to you than I have to. Why would I come up with something like that?” he asked.
“Then tell me why the hell my father just handed over his entire legacy to someone who isn’t even his child,” I said.
Christian held my gaze for quite some time before he grabbed his water. I eyed him carefully while he took a sip of it, his mind obviously debating on how to respond. It was harsh but true. Christian wasn’t his son, nor was he my brother. His intelligence didn?
?t make up for his incompetence and his lack of drive to better himself in life, and he was going to single-handedly run my father’s company into the ground.
There had to be another reason why this was happening, because I refused to believe the end result was Christian running Harte To Heart.
“I was very much your father’s son, whether you want to believe that or not,” he said coolly.
“Believe all you want, but my father promised me his company,” I said.
“I think what you remember is your father telling you he approved of your degree as long as it was something you wanted to pursue. I don’t recall anything in that conversation about him giving you Harte To Heart,” he said.