“A meeting with HR in thirty minutes, then you’ve scheduled four hours to work on your book. After that it’s a late lunch with the new ad agency, then a workout with your trainer, followed by drinks with Ed Harty.”
“Harty?” I’m fingering the spine of one of the books, gazing at the architecture on its cover, the spires rising towards the sky.
“Er, the new board member.”
“Oh. Right.”
Ollie clears his throat. “Calvin, are you all right?”
I force a smile and look up at him. “Perfectly fine, but I’ll be even better when you get me Georgia Halford on the line.”
Suspicion glimmers in his eyes, but even though in general we’re brutally honest with each other, I’m still his boss. He’ll only push so far.
“That’s all for now,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
There’s another slight hesitation, but then he leaves, the frosted door closing behind him with a soft click.
Sighing, I sit down at my desk. It’s not lost on me that perhaps I should give up this project entirely. It’s unlikely I’ll even make any money from it. If the ancient temple was on this site, then we should (hopefully) unearth some artifacts that the museums will be interested in.
But who am I kidding? It was never about the money. It was about something else. About feeling alive. About doing something that my grandmother would find exciting. She always told me stories about her childhood in Jumayah, and she made it sound like it was the most magical place to grow up. When she?—
The door suddenly opens and my father strides in, followed closely by my secretary, who looks apologetic.
“Calvin,” my father barks.
I sit straighter. “Did we have a meeting?” I ask, suspecting I already know the answer.
From behind my father’s back, Danielle shoots me a pained look. I don’t need her to tell me in words that she tried to stop him from coming in here. Trying to stop Tyson Aarons is like trying to stop a bulldozer; you either get out of the way or you get crushed.
“Danielle, get us some coffee, please,” I tell her with a smile.
She nods and scurries out of the room, no doubt happy to be away from my father.Lucky.
“What can I do for you?” I ask him.
“You never followed up with me about the laundromats.”
Shoot. That’s right. We’ve been in talks to acquire a national chain of laundromats, and I guess I dropped the ball on that. “I didn’t?” I ask, playing dumb.
“Don’t play games with me.” His voice is sharp, and I can feel my jaw tightening in response. “I left you three messages.”
He’s right, of course. I’ve been ignoring them, along with most other things that don’t involve Jumayah. The laundromats seem so… trivial. Boring. A transaction that will make us both richer—but what’s the point? I have more money than I could spend in ten lifetimes.
“I apologize,” I say, though the words taste hollow. “I’ve been distracted with a new project.”
“What new project?” His eyes narrow.
I shouldn’t tell him. I know I shouldn’t. But part of me—the part that still wants his approval after all these years—can’t help itself.
“I purchased an excavation site in Jumayah. There’s evidence of an ancient temple there, and I’m putting together a team to?—”
“Jumayah?” He cuts me off with a bark of laughter that has no humor in it. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Calvin.” He says my name like I’m a child who’s just admitted to breaking a vase. “That’s your grandmother’s nonsense talking. She filled your head with fairy tales, and now you’re throwing money away on some fantasy.”
My hands clench into fists under the desk. “It’s not a fantasy. The site is legitimate. I have historical documentation?—”
