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Chapter Three
Marshall Blackwood solved billion-dollar problems on a daily basis—but a wedding and not just any wedding, his wedding— left him more baffled the longer he thought about it.
“Look, you need an answer for the board and sooner rather than later. Take it from me, don’t leave this shit to the last second. They’re sharks when it comes to the bottom dollar and the future of said bottom dollar.”
As it should be, he supposed.
Marshall punched the button for the speaker and pushed up from his chair. He’d been planted in the same spot for the six hours looking for a solution, but came up empty-handed at every fucking turn.
He traveled the length of his desk, turned and repeated, an unfamiliar twist of anxiety driving him to move.
“Hello, Marshall, you listening?” His brother sounded as impatient as he felt.
Marshall slipped his hands into his pockets and came to an abrupt stop. He stood there long seconds before answering. Just staring.
“I’ll have an answer in time, Shawn. Back the hell off already.”
“That sounds a lot like you don’t have one yet which is making my heart do funny damn things in my chest, bro.” His brother pressed him, but he brushed off the irritation. Though eleven months separated their age gap, his younger brother had the inclinations of an older, bossier sibling.
“It means you have nothing to worry about, Shawn. I’ll handle this. Look at it this way. If I decline, you’ll get the chance to start up that restaurant you’re always pining about.”
“Screw that. You’re not pinning this on me. Who says I’m not full of hot air about some damn restaurant anyway?”
His brother knew him better than that so he dropped it there. “You can’t be mad at Pop. You should have seen this coming. We all should have. So stop standing there like your Atlas with the world on your damn shoulders and tell me what I can do to help?” he continued.
Marshall’s armor of tolerance took a blow. His brother was right. Their father believed in family before everything else. From his first memory till today, the name Blackwood was synonymous with family and loyalty. All five of them were raised to be there for one another, no matter the issue, and work together.
This time was no different. Their parents raised them with the values and beliefs that blood was thicker than water. With four sons and a daughter, their father wanted his children to have the blessings of loved ones like he had.
Even if it meant pushing them into it, apparently.
Marshall understood where he came from and wanted the same. Some day. At his choosing.
“Unless you have a hidden bride somewhere, not much. Not much at all.” Marshall grabbed his empty coffee mug and held in a growl. More caffeine probably wouldn’t do his nerves any good right now anyway.
Marshall paused in the same spot he’d watched his father stand as he surveyed the city, empty mug hanging from his fingers. “I’m going to miss him.” His confession didn’t shock his brother, who stayed silent for a couple of seconds before adding, “Me too. Me too. I’m here if you need me, man. You’re not alone so don’t act like it. I’ll be around.”
They all would. Every last Blackwood worked inside these walls. Just the way his father wanted it. Or so he thought.
They disconnected and Marshall let his attention wander. As much as he wanted to deflect this whole issue on to someone else so he could focus on work, he couldn’t. As the oldest of the Blackwood siblings, it fell to him. And Shawn was right. He didn’t have the luxury of time. Too many people counted on him to get this right.
From twenty-two floors up Marshall scanned the hazy Houston horizon from his corner office of BlackCo—Texas’s number two oil company—and watched as the sun greeted the morning with a burst of light.
Two generations had built this company into what it stood for today. Another branch of their family, as his father put it.
Ten years working side by side with the man learning the ropes and another three running the show solo, yet the old man still pulled one over on him.
Old sly fox. He had to give him that. Marshall couldn’t help but laugh. Not out of humor but out of sheer frustration. And sadness.
Marshall lived and breathed this company. At three years old he’d spend hours with his toys on this very floor and at his father’s knee ten feet from where he stood now.
He’d completed reports and homework at his father’s desk just behind him and listened to his private meetings much to his tutor’s chagrin well into high school. While they wanted him to learn how to dissect sentences, all he wanted to do was be like his father. Cigar-roughened voice and rugged all-around man that could stand in the tie and suit world or rub elbows with the roughnecks in the field. He’d never been a man to sit in a tower and Marshall admired that about his old man.
Smart, wise, and…cunning as the Texas day is long.
Growing up, he didn’t realize his father was grooming him for the day he would stand in this spot alone and without him.
He also had firm respect for how easily it could all disintegrate into ash.
