Bossy Grump

“Thanks for your wishes. She’s recovering well and soon she’ll have all the time she always wanted to travel,” I say.

“Thank God. Losing Beatrice Nightingale Brandt is truly the end of an era. Godfrey’s passing was bad enough. The way she picked up and kept going after her husband died was amazing. No one wants to see her out to pasture. She’s a wonderful lady. I looked forward to working with her. I truly wish I hadn’t dragged my feet so long without having a Brandt designed property, and now I fear it might be too late.”

My gut bottoms out.

“Mr. Winthrope, there’s no need to lament her retirement or worry you’ve missed out on anything. We still have the same outstanding opportunity to build Chicago’s finest hotel.” I pause, dreading the silence on the other end. “That’s what we wanted to talk to you about today, sir. She’s formally handed over operations to my brother and me. We wanted to assure you that you can still expect Brandt quality, Brandt perfection, and Brandt ideas. We’ll meet our previously discussed timeline. Everything will work just as it would if Beatrice—” It’s weird calling my grandma by her first name, but this guy already thinks we’re kids. I can’t refer to her as Grandma. “—hadn’t retired. I assure you, Mr. Winthrope, Nick and I are already down to brass tacks with the design phase, supply quotes, and schematics—”

“Hold on, son. Before you get too far in, you have to know your grandmother’s departure from Brandt Ideas was rather unexpected. We’re on a tentative contract, I’ll remind you. I think it’s best if we allow a certain grace period for everyone to reassess before going any further. Don’t you?”

No, I fucking don’t.

I hit the mute button on the phone and stare across my desk. Nick wipes sweat from his forehead. Paige’s mouth twists in horror.

Again, I’m surprised she feels our pain.

This isn’t her dream to derail, but her sympathy stabs me in the chest.

If I don’t nail this, I’m not just letting down my family. I’m letting down Paige Holly.

For the first time since Iraq, I hope there’s a hero in me somewhere, and I’ve got to find him fast.

“Of course, Mr. Winthrope. I want you to be completely comfortable moving forward,” I say, unmuting. “If you need a few days to think it over, no worries. You won’t find anything better than Brandt Ideas in this industry. No matter what happens, I’ll prove to you the finest Winthrope hotel ever built was always meant to be a Brandt design. I’ll check back in two weeks, and if you have any questions in the meantime, feel free to give me a call.”

“You talk with confidence, I’ll give you that,” he says. “It’s the experience factor I have to wrestle with, but I’ll do my due diligence. Have a nice day, Ward.”

“You too.”

Dial tone.

I turn the speaker off.

“Fuck,” Nick says.

A perfect summary.

“What do we do now?” he asks.

“I need a Coke,” Paige says.

“There’s one in the mini fridge,” I tell her.

She grabs one and pops the top. “Should I pour you guys some scotch?”

“No. This isn’t the time for drinking,” I say.

Nick raises an eyebrow. “She knows about the scotch in your bottom drawer now?”

“I don’t make it a habit,” I say with a shrug. “Yesterday was brutal, and it’s not like you had to be the one to write the memo to the whole company.”

He nods. “Any chance you want to be the one to tell Grandma the deal’s toast?”

Damn, maybe it is time to start day drinking.

“There isn’t anything to tell, Nick. We have a tentative acceptance. No signature before all hell broke loose. He asked for a grace period, and he’ll get it.”

Nick sits up taller, finger-raking his hair. “He didn’t sound sold. You really think he’ll actually commit in a few weeks?”

“Right now? No, but it buys us time to figure something out.”

“I really don’t get his concerns. We’re the same people doing the same work we were when he agreed to it. Grandma’s drafts are done, just minor adjustments left. What does he want?”

“He wants us to be seventy, straitlaced, and English,” I say. “Or at least a world-renowned artist like Grandma.”

“On second thought...” Nick gives me a wolfish grin. “Ward, you are straitlaced. You act ninety. You should just start faking an English accent and coming into the office looking like a candy cane.”

He’s only exaggerating a little. Last year at this charity gala, Winthrope showed up in red-and-white pinstripes.

“Thanks, ass. You threw in every punch except for my broken—” I cut myself off.

“Maria? That was two years ago, man...and the tabloids forgot.” Nick leans against the wall. “Osprey and his muckrakers barely touched you. Nothing like me and Carmen Seraphina. He dragged me over the coals for a month.”