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It’s actually been really helpful. After the drama with Claire, I think Elena was wiped out. It’s not every day you have to assume a mantle you may not like and handle things with that much cold, hard strength. But Luna’s light and joy have steadily filled Elena back up, and she’s returning to the whip-smart, funny woman she normally is.
“Carter?” he says in a warning tone.
“Mr. Harrington, it’s so good to see you again.” Elena approaches with her hand outstretched and a smile the belies the drama of today. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Dad raises a brow, side-eyeing me as they shake. “I wasn’t exactly given a choice.”
“Charles,” Mom says, smiling congenially in an attempt to smooth over Dad’s gruffness. “We’re delighted to come, of course,” she tells Elena. “Good to see you too, Luna.”
Luna steps forward, offering her hand to Mom. “Thank you.”
She returns to my side and gives me an encouraging smile. She knows how worried I am about this conversation with Dad, but also how resolved I am.
“Why don’t we come in here and sit down?” Elena says. “Let’s eat and talk.”
Elena doesn’t wait for agreement, simply walking to the formal dining room. She’s putting on the mantle again, ready to turn it on Charles Harrington if necessary.
The vibe is very different from the kitchen table where Elena usually eats. It’s heavy, formal, as close to regal as we get in America. Following her, we sit around the dark wooden inlay table with Elena at the head, and Nelda appears with a bottle of wine to pour a glass for each of us.
“Ready for salad?” she asks Elena, who nods in answer.
When Nelda disappears back into the kitchen, Dad’s patience runs out. “Not to be rude, but what is going on here?”
Elena chuckles. “No worries at all. I understand my niece, Claire, made a visit to you recently?”
“You could say that,” Dad agrees warily. “Why?”
“Let’s just say she’s a bit of a brat, that one,” Elena grumbles. “Hasn’t met a boundary she didn’t want to cross. And that includes coming to see you. She shouldn’t have done that, shouldn’t have spoken for me or the estate.”
Dad’s eyes light up. “You mean Blue Lake Assets is still in consideration to manage the Cartwright portfolio?”
Elena looks to me with a warm smile. “Something like that.”
Dad jumps right into selling Blue Lake again—how it started, how it’s grown, how his leadership has led to a broad base of successful partnerships on several fronts. He might as well be tooting a horn that screams his own name, completely ignoring the fact that I’m the one who sought out Elena, got to know her and her portfolio needs, and has been dealing with her this entire time.
Not once during his impromptu presentation does he mention my name. Not through the salad course, and not as Nelda sets down plates with roast chicken and root vegetables.
“Interesting,” Elena says dryly when Dad finishes his one-man show. Thankfully, she’s not impressed at all. She might as well be yawning in boredom.
That’s why this is going to work between us. I don’t want a formal, impersonal relationship with my work. It’s my passion, and I want to do my best, confident that it will be recognized and appreciated.
That’ll never happen with Dad, but it will with Elena.
“Though Claire might’ve overstepped, I’ve decided to go another direction with the management of my portfolio. No hard feelings?” Elena asks, then takes a bite of her carrots.
Dad’s smile melts and his eyes jump to mine as he realizes what Elena’s saying. There’s anger there. Despite his whole rigamarole show, he thinks I’m the one who somehow blew this for Blue Lake Assets. He has no idea what I’m capable of.
“Dad, I’ve learned so much from you—how to be a man and how to be a businessman. And I will always be grateful for those lessons. But recently, I’ve been feeling like there’s a world out there for me that I haven’t explored. A world beyond Blue Lake.”
Mom’s jaw drops open as she gasps, “Carter?” In contrast, Dad’s jaw goes tight as he clenches his teeth.
“Effective immediately, I will begin my own firm—Carter Harrington Asset Management.”
“You are not serious,” Dad grunts as he rolls his eyes dismissively. “Carter, you’re good, and one day, you’ll be great. But not yet. You’re not ready.”
I want to rant and rage, tell him how wrong he is and that I need his support, not condemnation. But that won’t help matters. If anything, he’ll see it as affirming his thoughts about me. So I take a deep breath and meet his eyes boldly.
“I feel I am. But I can never know for sure as long as I’m in the Blue Lake shadow, always worried about playing second fiddle to my father . . . or my brother,” I tell him honestly. “I am doing this, Dad. I’m leaving Blue Lake and striking out on my own. I plan to—”
