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I leave my office in search of Wren, because if anyone will share my excitement over the deal with Williams, it’s her. Also, seeing her might help with this uncomfortable, pervasive feeling I can’t shake.
Except she’s not in her office and her laptop isn’t on her desk. Maybe she had to run an errand or she got pulled into a meeting. I fire off a message and wander down the hall.
I could ask Marjorie where she is, but then I might get pulled into a conversation with her about whatever healthy blah blah blah she’s into, and I don’t feel like pretending to be interested.
Instead, I take the long way around to bypass my assistant’s office and check in with Lulu. Everyone has to go by her to leave the building unless they take the stairs. Since we’re on the twenty-seventh floor, that doesn’t happen very often, apart from fire drills.
“Hey, Lulu.” I smile and glance around the mostly empty reception area.
She looks up from her computer and gives me her customary wide smile with her too-dark lipstick. “Hello, Mr. Moorehead, how can I help you?” Lulu is always extra polite with me, and nervous, but she’s warming up slowly.
“Have you see Wren around?”
She glances at the clock. “She left the office about forty-five minutes ago.”
“Did she say when she’d be back?”
“I believe she left for the day. Is there something you need? Anything I can help you with?”
There sure is something I need, but Lulu definitely can’t help me. “Uh, no. I’m good. Thanks.” I rap on her desk and head back to my office, the unsettled feeling growing. Usually Wren checks in with me before she leaves. I would’ve at least expected a text.
When I return to my office, I find my mother standing behind my desk, riffling through my files. “I hear you saved twenty jobs today.”
I can’t tell whether or not she’s pleased by this. I appeal to the business-driven side of her, the part that’s focused on money and company optics. “I thought a deal with Williams would look better for the company than cutting all those people loose and sending them directly to the competition.”
“It was very smart thinking, Lincoln. I always knew you’d do well if you chose to come back and take over the company.”
“Well, it’s not really a choice, is it?” Although, even that’s not entirely true anymore. I’m starting to see how I can make changes that will drive this company in a direction I like a lot better. But she doesn’t need to know that right now.
She smiles and runs her hand across the back of the executive chair. “You could’ve walked away, Lincoln, gone back to Guatemala right after the funeral, but you didn’t. You’ve embraced your role at Moorhead, and you’re showing exactly how capable you are. Your father would’ve been proud.”
Not once in any decision I’ve made since coming back to New York have I considered whether or not my actions would make my father proud, mostly because I didn’t have much respect for him. “Excuse me if I don’t take that as a compliment.”
My mother sighs. “Your father wasn’t a bad man, Lincoln.”
“Everyone keeps saying that, but I fail to see any of the good in him. He was a shitty father, and he certainly lacked a moral compass from what I’ve witnessed.”
“He had too much of one,” my mother says.
“I don’t understand how you can say that.”
She sneers. “Your father was ruled too much by his heart.”
“I think you mean his dick.”
She gives me a hard look. “Enough, Lincoln. The crassness is unnecessary.”
“I honestly don’t get it. How could you stay with him? How could you condone what he let Armstrong get away with? How could you be with someone who was obviously unfaithful to you? Did you know he had a penthouse in Lower Manhattan?” I shudder at the thought and try to suppress the memory of the sex room before it becomes vivid and contains my mother.
“Of course I knew. I’m not stupid, Lincoln. I’m pragmatic.” Her expression shifts to disgust. “What that penthouse represents is a disgrace to the Moorehead legacy, but I forgave your father for his transgressions. I let it go, and you need to as well. It doesn’t do anyone any good to hold onto the kind of anger you harbor for someone who’s not here to receive it.”
“But he chea—”
She slices an angry hand through the air. “I said enough, Lincoln. Everyone makes mistakes. Take a look at what you’re doing. I may not approve of this tryst you’re having with Wren, but clearly your physical needs require attention.”
“My physical needs? That’s not what this is about.”
Gwendolyn turns to the mini fridge. She frowns at the contents, which consist of still and sparkling water in recyclable and reusable bottles. “I hired Wren to manage you and your social media, not your personal needs. But I imagine she must look fairly appealing after the last couple of years. Just remember who you are and who she is.”
