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Resigned, I sigh and search the ceiling for how best to say this, where I come out the hero for having brought the Cartwright portfolio to Blue Lake Assets all by myself. No shared credit, no shared responsibility.
“Carter.” Dad’s patience is waning, the vein in his forehead starting to pulse.
Meeting his eyes, I say proudly, “I’m talking to her about taking over her portfolio management.”
Dad leans forward in interest. “Are you serious? Her portfolio is massive, diversified, and . . . seriously?” His brows are climbing his forehead as he tries to decide whether I’m telling tall tales or the truth.
I smile triumphantly, though I haven’t sealed the deal yet. I know Elena is going to sign with me. She has to after this weekend.
For a long moment, I wait for Dad to return the smile. He’s got to be proud of me for chasing down this opportunity. It’s not a make-or-break for Blue Lake Assets because we’re so large ourselves, but gaining Elena Cartwright’s portfolio as a client would be a massive win for us. Which means it’s a huge win for me.
Because this is my deal. Even if it’s in the early days.
Dad stands up, coming around his desk and leaning back on the front of it between Cameron and me. With his arms over his chest and his feet crossed at the ankles, he says, “This sounds like an exciting prospect. Good job, Carter.”
I beam at the approval. I hate to admit it, but I do. I’ve worked hard for so many years to please my dad, to feel worthy of the Harrington name, and in one little sentence, I feel like I’ve finally done that.
“We’ll have dinner with her. The whole family shebang. We need to woo her, really show her what the Harringtons and Blue Lake are all about,” Dad decides.
And just like that, the balloon of pride filling up inside me pops, leaving strings of latex self-doubt and frustration in its wake. “No, Dad. This is my deal. I’m handling it, and it won’t include the five-ring circus we call a family.”
“This is a potential Blue Lake Asset deal, and if a little Harrington is good, a lotta Harrington is better. We’re not a five-ring circus. We’re a close-knit, passionate family who happens to know a thing or two about making people money. That’s what Elena Cartwright cares about.”
I hear what he’s not saying loud and clear. He doesn’t think I can do this on my own. He thinks I’m not good enough to secure the deal alone and is taking over because he thinks I’ll fuck it up.
“You have no idea what she cares about. I do. I’ve done the research, put in the hours.” I almost admit that I’ve gone above and beyond to a point that no one else in the family would be willing to do.
“Then I’ll ask her what she cares most about . . . at dinner,” Dad says. “Any food things I should tell the chef?”
Once my dad has made up his mind, there’s no changing it. I think I could literally switch out his brain with a new one, and he’d wake up from the transplant surgery still planning a dinner for Elena. But I have to try.
“Dad, stop. I’ve got this under control. Sometimes, going in full-throttle isn’t the move, and finesse isn’t exactly your style.”
“I was finessing before you were a thought in my ball sack, Son. Now what should I tell the chef?”
“Yeah, that’s some smooth moves, Dad.” I glare at him mockingly, hoping he’ll see reason and yield, but he stares back, giving no quarter.
“She likes horses, pancakes, and art,” Cameron offers, and when I sharply cut my eyes to him, he shrugs. “At least according to Grace.”
Dad nods, as if it’s everything he needs. “This is happening with or without you, Carter.”
I feel like this whole thing is being taken from my hands no matter how much I scramble to keep ahold of it for myself. I weigh my options, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut in the first place. But that bell can’t be unrung.
So, what are my options? Say nothing and play second-fiddle to Dad when he contacts Elena. In that case, even if Elena signs with Blue Lake, it won’t be my acquisition, it’ll be Dad’s. Or give in and try to hold on to some degree of control of this deal.
“I don’t know if she’s allergic to anything, but she must prefer chicken or pork because there was no red meat at our dinner, breakfast the next day, or the lunch charcuterie board.”
Why am I sharing this and how the hell did this happen? This is supposed to be my big deal, and now I’m discussing menu options like I’m Martha Stewart or some shit. Next thing you know, I’ll be making napkin origami swans.
