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I bristle. Scott is in the same line of work as I am. We both take over companies, break them up, and sell the parts for profit. The difference is, I go after companies that everyone knows are going to fail. It’s a mercy killing, and everyone involved knows the score.
By contrast, Scott lives for the hostile takeover. He’ll go after a healthy company just because it’s a rival to some other company he likes better.
I scowl. “Fucking Scott Chaney does not have funds to buy—”
“Oh, look at those people dancing,” Violet interrupts. “Come on Gage, we should go dance.” She grabs my hand and drags me away before I can explain to the Wall Street guy why he’s fucking wrong.
She’s surprisingly strong for such a short woman. Then again, that’s true of a lot of New York women. I think it comes from speed-walking down the sidewalk with their entire lives crammed into those giant purses.
Violet sways into my arms, and I grumpily put my hands on her waist.
“What was that about?” she asks.
I don’t say anything.
“I would have pegged you as a Yankees fan,” she says.
“How dare you.”
Violet snickers and the sound of her laughter makes me feel a little better, despite myself.
“My dad was from Colorado Springs,” I say, like that explains everything.
Except her expression softens. And I realize that for her, it does. We might not be best friends, but she’s Tom’s sister, and she probably knows the basic outlines of my life.
She moves her hand to mine and twirls out, then back into my chest. Her golden skirt spins around her legs and brushes up against my shins. I never got around to learning how to dance, but it turns out I don’t need to. Violet’s dancing enough for the both of us.
“If you don’t want Scott what’s-his-name to have it, why don’t you just buy the team?” Violet asks. “God knows you’re rich enough.”
For a second, I let myself imagine it. Sutton is right, the Coyotes have had bad management for years. But they’ve got a solid bench of players and a genius assistant coach. All you’d have to do to give them a shot, would be fire the current coach, promote the assistant, restructure the debt they took on when they built that stadium...
Violet smiles. “Admit it. You’re tempted.”
I look down at those scarlet lips of hers. And suddenly I’m angry. Because she has the nerve to strut into my well-run life and make a mess of everything she touches, and then smile up at me with those big eyes like she knows me better than I know myself.
“No. I’m not tempted,” I say coldly. “There’s no room to be sentimental in my line of work. Crawford Investing doesn’t swoop in and rescue anybody. Understand?”
Her eyes spark like she wants to fight me. And for a second, some crazy part of me wants her to.
But then she presses her lips into a thin line and looks away. “Understood.”
Violet doesn’t smile again for the rest of the night.
For some reason, the loss of her smile is the most distracting thing of all.
* * *
My mom snapsher fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Gage.”
It’s a full sixteen hours since I took Violet to the gala, and we’re sitting in her office having our weekly meeting. And I’ve just been caught spacing out.
“Sorry.” I straighten. “You were talking about the Robertson acquisition.”
“No, I finished that five minutes ago. I’m on the Swiberg Telecom deal now.”
I feel the back of my neck heat. I hate disappointing my mom. Not because she’s a jerk about it—because she’s worked so hard to get us where we are. When my dad died, the company had just launched some big projects. Without my dad to lead Crawford Industries, everyone thought it was crash and burn, or at least sell for an embarrassingly low price.
That’s when stay-at-home mom Lorelei Crawford stepped into the driver’s seat. Turned out, her instincts and advice had been my dad’s secret weapon all those years. We made our first billion-dollar deal under my mom’s leadership, and she hasn’t taken her foot off the gas pedal since.
