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Shortly after I'd found those weird purchases in Tinsley's account, I contacted her agent, Maria. And I'd discovered that Tinsley hadn't lost her mind or her credit card.
She'd heard about the Sugar Breeze's tanking reputation, and to save her own skin, she'd started buying expensive items in bulk with plans to publicly donate them on one of her live streams to local charities and children's hospitals.
At the time, I didn't blame her.
Tinsley has her reputation to consider. Her business is public relations, whether we call it that or not. And if her relationship with the public is less than spotless, she could lose her whole foundation.
But knowing what it had done to Denise, how she'd been left high and dry with nothing to defend herself with in her appeal? Let's just say I'm feeling less than charitable about it now.
So, in mid-August, just a week before Tinsley Simon's wedding, when Harris holds an executive meeting and calls me to the head of the conference table to make the announcement, I walk up there feeling a bit lost.
This is it. This is the moment I've been wanting for almost three decades.
So why does it feel so hollow?
Harris shakes my hand, slapping me on the shoulder like a proud father, and the room fills with applause. Harris was telling the truth—all I needed was that one final job, and now here I am. Partner at WestRock.
I smile and nod to the rest of the room, knowing I should feel the most satisfied I've ever felt. I have a wonderful girlfriend, and now I have my dream job. My life should be all in order.
But instead, I just feel off-kilter. Like the room tilted sideways, I'm the only one here who feels it.
My smile feels tight on my face. Ill-fitted. Strained. And deep in my chest, where I know my pride should be sitting, there's just a vacuous feeling. An emptiness.
Maybe I'm just in disbelief. That's probably it. I've spent every moment of my life working my ass off to get here. The fire that has been lit under my ass, the one that has burned deep inside me all these years, has finally been put out and left an empty space behind. That's what I'm feeling. That's all it is.
"And with Mr. Cooper becoming a partner with us, I'd like to make one more announcement," Harris continues, the clapping dying down to let him speak.
As he grins at me, it takes me a moment to process how heartfelt it looks. In fact, as he takes a breath to speak again, his wrinkles ease, like years of his life are being erased before my eyes.
"This month," he says, "will be my last at WestRock. I'm finally retiring. Mr. Cooper will be my replacement." He smiles at me again. "Thank you, my boy. You will be the perfect successor to my legacy."
The meeting winds to an end, and that void in my belly still hasn't softened. And as Harris invites me into his office for a drink, I jump on it immediately. Suddenly, a glass of whiskey sounds really good. Something to take away the edge I'm feeling inside.
Harris lounges in his desk chair and pulls a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from a small liquor cabinet against the wall. Even once he's closed the door, I keep staring at the cabinet.
I'd seen it before, been wracked with jealousy at the sight of it. But now, knowing that it's soon to be mine… I'm not sure what to think of it anymore. Being high enough up the ladder to drink at work without complaint? It almost seems a little silly. Cliché. I half expect him to bring out a pair of celebratory cigars next.
Harris pours a glass for me, and as I raise it quickly to my mouth, he chuckles. "No, no," he says. "Hold on, boy. There's a tradition here."
Raising his own glass, he nods at mine, encouraging me to do the same. "To changing tides," he says as our glasses meet. And with that, he brings the drink to his lips and knocks the entire thing back.
Pouring himself another glass, he laughs again. I've never seen him this bright, this happy. He winks at me. "Don't look so nervous, Brett. You've done well. You've earned this. There's no one else I'd rather have to replace me."
"Good," I say, though he seems to notice the lack of conviction in my tone.
"I know that look," he mutters, sipping his drink. "You're seeing your life flash before your eyes. The things you passed up to get here, the things you gave away. Everything that is to come." His eyes meet mine, shining. "You remind me a lot of myself, you know. Buried in the work. Never any time to marry, to have a family. And look at me now, retiring at sixty-four with a pile of money and my best years ahead of me. Not everyone ends up in this position, you know."
"You never married?" I ask him suddenly, surprising even myself. "You never found anyone?"
"Oh, there were girls here and there," he says, waving his hand a bit dismissively. "If you're worried about finding a woman to share a bed with, Brett—don't. Women flock to money. You can have your pick of them. But a man in our position must have his priorities straight." As he bends his face down to meet his glass again, he pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. "Do you understand what I mean?"
I lean back against my chair, gripping my glass hard in my fingers. And my thoughts immediately return to Denise.
The last time I'd seen her, just a few days ago, she'd still been devastated about the appeal. I'd also shared a few drinks with her, and she'd been uncharacteristically quiet over hers.
She and I had only known each other for a couple of months. In that time, we'd argued, we'd fought, we'd struggled through her bakery falling apart, through work drama around her brother that I still had not admitted to her.
And even then, I didn't want to picture the rest of my life without her in it.
