I nodded. “What do I do?”
Several seconds of silence passed.
“You know, even I tried to talk to him about you.”
I lifted my head. “You did?”
“He was in my office yesterday, and I attempted to bring you up. The second I did, it was like a switch flipped. He completely shut off and wouldn’t discuss you.”
“The same thing happened with Hayden in Lauderdale when he tried to bring me up to him.” I sighed. “I appreciate that Colson doesn’t want to discuss me with my family. But to not discuss me with me? I can’t, Troy. I just can’t.” The exhaustion was taking effect. Extremely late nights at Lush. Early mornings at work, where things were still a bit unstable. Thoughts of Colson eating away at me. Something had to give. “Tell me what to do.”
“Is being with him the ultimate goal? Or do you just want to plead your side and be done?”
I stared at the remaining wine and set the glass on the coffee table. This was one of thethoughts that haunted me. The guilt of not admitting this sooner. The fear of not being given a chance.
My eyes closed. “I want to be with him.”
“And you’re willing to get a little bold in order to do that?”
“What do you mean?”
“To get his attention, will you consider doing something unconventional?”
This answer required backup.
I grabbed the wine again and drained the rest of the glass. “Yes.”
“Then I have an idea.”
THIRTY-ONE
COLSON
As I walked out of our corporate building, the only things I wanted—things I had been dreaming about since I’d arrived at work this morning—were a tumbler of something extremely strong in my hand, my baby girl, and to be far away from this office.
One was about to happen the second the elevator doors opened and I entered the parking garage, where Paul was waiting. The other two wouldn’t be achieved until Paul fought the horrific traffic we were about to face and got my ass home.
I climbed into the back seat of my SUV, shutting the door behind me. “Paul, if you get a speeding ticket, I’ll pay it. Whatever you do, just get me home fast, my man.”
My driver laughed. “You got it.”
Two full days of ten-hour meetings—the four of us discussing every facet of buying out the Gordons, Beck conferencing in when his schedule allowed—had peaked my intensity scale. Once we had the data in front of us—theGordons’ entire portfolio of restaurants—we were able to run the numbers. Walker hadn’t been wrong; this would be a beast of an undertaking, requiring a massive level of support we currently didn’t have in place. Not only would that involve more office staff and a bigger building to house us all, but we would have to ramp up our IT department and work with our bank to make this financially possible. Our operating expenses would reach highs we’d never experienced, along with an immense amount of travel to roll out the takeover.
Would it be worth it? Would it achieve what we always wanted—to be the largest restaurant conglomerate in the world?
Or would it bankrupt us, and we would lose everything?
Were we going to sue? Were we just going to try to buy them out? Or were we going to do both?
That answer would be decided tomorrow morning when the five of us voted. So, tonight, I needed to have dinner with my baby. I needed to clear my mind. I needed the liquor to burn across the top of my tongue.
And I needed to do everything in my power to somehow get a good night’s sleep—something I hadn’t accomplished since Fort Lauderdale.
What I didn’t need was to be in the back of this SUV for a second longer.
To get my mind off the drive, I took out my phone and pulled up the company’s Instagram account, holding my goddamn breath as the notifications loaded in the right corner of the app. I hadn’t checked since yesterday. We’d been getting thousands a day. Today was no different. That was a number impossible to keep up with. So, I’d stopped trying, and instead, I absorbed the posts and opinions and did everything in my power not to respond, saying,Fuckoff.
Some of the people sharing had actual experiences, dining at our restaurants. Some were looking to go viral.
