“It’s at six,” Dad says after a pause.
“Alright,” I mumble, eyes trailing to the ground.
With her arm around her husband, Mom’s cinnamon eyes stare straight into my soul. “And please don’t pick at Zara’s food like you haven’t been eating it since you were five. It is childish behavior in front of everyone, sweetheart. And I’m sure it doesn’t make Zara feel good.”
Zara has been our chef for as long as I’ve been alive, and is by far the staff member I’m closest to. This is the woman who used to make me pancakes for breakfast every day because I’d ask. I’d never want to make her feel as though I don’t enjoy her food, but I think the part of me that died with Sylvie was the same part that used to gobble up Zara’s cooking like I’d never eaten before.
They leave me to get myself ready, and I fight the urge to go for a drive to avoid this dinner I’ve had no time to mentally prepare for. My sisters and I have been attending them since we were young kids, and they haven’t gotten any better.
We used to sit and watch the meetings when we were kids. Later on, Dad began bringing us into the discussions and teaching us the ins and outs of their discussions and the businesslanguage they used. He used to say that the better deals were sealed in meetings where food was involved.
He’s always put more focus on teaching me, aiming for me to succeed him, and he taught me more than the business stuff. By the time I was eighteen, he felt he had sufficiently shaped me to have our men take orders from me. Being the one to call the shots, though under my father’s watchful gaze, was a lesson in itself.
The members of the Crowncrest are still to take orders from me, but I’m not in on the business much anymore, so there hasn’t been a need to. They listen to Aralynn and Odette more than they do me.
For dinner, I put on slacks and a white button-down shirt, and I style my hair with a shit-ton of curl cream and gel. I look decent enough for tonight.
With a nervous churn in my stomach, I push open the large double doors, revealing the marble dining table so long it spans the room. As the sun sets, its light pours through the expansive windows, making the flower statues in the corners sparkle, especially the one that’s missing a large petal. My cousin and I chipped it while horsing around as kids, and they’ve yet to replace it.
All fifteen heads in the room turn to me. With a swift glance, I don’t spot any unfamiliar faces.
I take the only empty seat left next to Odette. Eyes fixed on the table, I mumble, “Sorry for interrupting.”
“It’s alright, King. You haven’t missed a thing,” Uncle Santiago assures me. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get started.”
Odie side-eyes me, her eyes saying,You’re late. I give her a meaningless shrug.I’m not late, I had two minutes to spare.My sister purses her lips, unconvinced, but says nothing else.
Judging by the lack of presence from our allies’ families, this is a dinner to discuss the resort’s finances.Great. My fatherintroduces a new person to our gathering, but I pay no attention to who it is.
I don’t even see the point in my being here. If we’re speaking about the resort, then what does it have to do with a job for me?
With a flick of her lengthy hair, dyed blue to hide the grays, Zara struts in, a tray of shrimp cocktail bowls in hand. She puts one in front of each of us, beaming with pride over her creation, and I’m trying my hardest not to make a distasteful face.
I dip the tail into the red sauce, and excess drips back into the cup. While everyone else is chowing down, I take my time, chewing it like it’s a drag. It’s foreign on my tongue, and each swallow is like a rock going down my throat. When will dinner be over?
“Which is why one of our conditions is for my son, Kingsley, to be a part of these advertisements.”
My ears perk at the mention of my name, and when my head shoots up, eyes are already on me. Part of advertisements? Did I hear that right?
I ball my fist as I clear my throat. “I’ll be doing what, exactly?”
Dad adjusts his tie. “You’ll be partnering with Rip and Thomas in their two-week marketing campaign here at the resort.”
I can’t stop the pull of my face into a puzzled scrunch. I think I need to get my ears cleaned because there is no way I heard that correctly. “Marketing campaign?”
A collective sigh sounds from those around me, and Mom pinches the bridge of her nose.
Shit. This must be the solution for our last marketer who lost the job a month ago. Well, he didn’t only lose his job—he lost his life, but the rest of the world doesn’t know that. It’s what happens when you poke around in places that you shouldn’t.
But seriously, this is the job Dad has for me? Babysitting his new, temporary social media managers and making sure they don’t stumble too close to people and places they shouldn’t?
I almost laugh. Here I was expecting to get a proper task to set me back on the path of leading the Crowncrest. Instead, I get to play civilian for two weeks.
“We’re very good at what we do,” a familiar voice says.
Where have I heard that voice before?
The deep voice continues, “Having the son of Beaumont Grand in our social media advertisements will probably double engagement, even in the two short weeks we’ll be here. And longer, should we be hired long-term.”
