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It’s admirable when people who have no support boldly forge their way through the world on their own despite their adversities. Staring into the eyes of a practical stranger who has faith in you, however, is a pretty great feeling.
Grinning, I think I finally understand the significance of the nod and give one to Frank in gratitude.
“I know another guy.”
CHAPTER 33
Pete
I sorely overestimated the satisfaction I thought I’d get from getting John Fairway to eat crow by giving me this position. While I feel like I’m now able to make necessary changes to the business model he’s neglected for decades, it’s an uphill battle. It’s difficult to get things accomplished with a company owner who wants to pretend I’m invisible and avoids signing things I need signed. I’m seriously considering applying for a produce manager position at the grocery store near my house, so I can kiss this stress goodbye and spend my nights curled up with Cam.
Way to promise to fix everything, Pete. It hasn’t escaped my concern that I’m now in charge of my boyfriend’s namesake. Although I highly doubt John will pass anything on to Cam when he leaves this world, Cam’s last name is still on the company logo. I feel compelled not to let it become a symbol of ruin on the pages of history for his sake alone.
Randy sulks in through the doorway with a scowl and the documents I sent him to get approved by his father. That’s the other drawback of being the new COO. My assistant has the disposition of a porcupine.
“Let me guess—you guys don't approve of my suggestion to redistribute those accounts to Trisha.”
He drops the documents in front of me on the desk with as much force as one can give to paper. “Preston never should have been given an account manager position in the first place.”
With that, he turns on his heel and stalks toward the archway that leads to his new desk. His much smaller new desk. The man does have some grounds to hate me. I’m stupefied by his admission about his friend, let alone his success in accomplishing my request.
“Then why did you promote him?”
“Have you ever worked with family before?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.”
“Then maybe you know that sometimes good advice goes unheard.”
Interesting. While Randy’s character sucks, I’ve been surprised to discover he actually does have a decent work ethic. Who would have suspected that he actually wouldn’t support a move of the cronyism that’s been so rampant here?
He’s looking nearly as haggard today as he did last Friday, dark circles underneath his eyes. While recent events have clearly taken a toll on his appearance, I’m not yet in the mood to praise him for having a sliver of integrity.
“So, what changed?” I counter, curious about how he convinced John to sign off.
He snorts and grabs his coffee off his desk. “I told him that you were coming in there next if I left without it being approved.”
Well, that’s one way to get it done. Threat-of-Pete.
“It’s his birthday,” he mutters. “He doesn’t want to ruin his good mood.”
We work in silence, but I can feel the tension rolling off him from here. That’s a Randy problem, though. I don’t have the time to help him psychoanalyze his life choices. The day can’t be over soon enough, so I can hit the road to Wenatchee and see Cam. Mom says he’s flourishing, designing graphics for everyone she’s gabbed to in Wenatchee, although he doesn’t sound nearly as enthused as her when we talk on the phone each evening.
I feel guilty and maybe even a little pushy for asking him to stay there for now, but that’s how little I trust my boss. He doesn’t deserve to bully his youngest son, and Cam doesn’t deserve to be faced with John’s brand of abuse. I just don’t want to have removed him from one prison, only to have placed him in another, but I don’t know what else to do. He’s seemed fairly chipper each time we’ve talked since I left last weekend, but there was a clear trace of the struggle he’s working through in the undertone of his voice. If I could remedy everything for him, I would, but how do you heal the kind of disappointment he was subjected to?
“How’s my brother?”
The question from across the room catches me so off-guard, I’m not certain if it’s what I actually heard. Randy looks up at me, however, with a rare occurrence of eye contact.
“Cut the crap, Carver. I know he’s not on Kiawah Island,” he grumbles, redirecting his gaze to his paperwork.
I find it difficult to believe that it’s an actual display of concern, all things considered. I might have plowed Jesse into my mother’s roses, but I wouldn’t ship him off to Timbuktu, even if the prospect has been tempting over the years.
“His brother hand-delivered him to exile, and his father disowned him. How would you feel?”
His sound of disgust tells me how much he appreciates my honesty. “You think anyone could have stopped John Fairway? Better it was me than someone else.”
“Yes. Very brotherly, indeed.”
