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“As in Allan Blaire?” I asked, shocked.
“That’s the one.”
“What the hell is he going to do with it?” I asked, surprise still registering in my voice.
“Don’t know. Guess I’ll find out when I talk to his son.” He shrugged, placing his mug in the dishwasher and bidding us farewell as he headed out to the vines.
Allan Blaire was a property tycoon. Blaire resorts were known for their luxurious accommodations in some of the biggest hotspots in the US. What could he possibly want with an old burned-down inn in Monarch? And who the hell was this son of his? Coming in to do his dirty work, most likely.
I pulled out my phone and did a quick Google search.
Oh, shit.
Michael
Okay, It’s official, my dadhates me. All I ever wanted was to run our New York hotel or the property in Florida. Butno. Allan Blaire kept New York and gave Florida to my younger brother, Matthew, the golden child. The favorite. After all, Matthew Allan Blaire was named after our father. I was never the favorite son. Shit, I wasn’t even his second favorite. And there were only two of us.
I had just hung up with my dad.
All details.
All directions.
All business.
He didn’t care about my feelings or what I wanted. He just shipped me off to San Diego to take care of the new project on his ever-expanding list of takeovers and acquisitions. And it wasn’t evenSan Diego, San Diego. I googled the area he was sending me to. Monarch. More like bumfuck Egypt.
So, here I was, exactly where I didnotwant to be. In a damn rental car. At least it was a Mercedes. There was absolutely no way I was going to be stuck driving around Nowhere, USA in a Prius.
My dad and his third wife, Stephanie, had honeymooned in Hawaii after they eloped, then stopped for a couple of days in San Diego on their way back to the East Coast. Where they found this town, I had no fucking idea. Apparently, they went to Podunk, San Diego, and had a fuckin’ blast after someone mentioned wine tasting a short distance from the resort where they were staying. My father and wife number three were probably totally shitfaced when they decided they justhadto buy this property and redevelop. At least this latest trophy was older than all the other women he’d dated or married, even if she were fifteen years younger than him.
Not sure why my dad decided to get married again. He wasn’t too keen on marriage and preferred relationships where there was always an “out.” A safe out that didn’t include alimony or financially supporting a woman in any way, shape, or form. He already had two alimony payments to deal with—one to my mother and one to wife number two. Wife number two had been a fucking gold digger for sure, but that didn’t seem to bruise his ego. The fact she had only been after him for his money didn’t bother him in the least. If I remembered correctly, my father said, “She may have been after my money all along—but if that’s the case, I just paid for a divorce from an expensive hooker. She won’t get a dime more from me.”
My dad was a bastard. I didn’t like him, but I respected him as a businessman. He was shrewd, innovative, and a hell of a negotiator. He never took no for an answer and knew how to get exactly what he wanted.
Every. Single. Time.
In business, he was someone I admired and aspired to become. In every other aspect, I did my damnedest to avoid becoming anything like him.
There were a few things I was thankful for when it came to my dad though. First: the Blaire name. It was the one thing that made me who I was. My mom had kept it since she never remarried, but I think it was out of wanting to keep the connection to Matthew and me, not my dad. Second: his business savvy inspired me to create an enterprise just as he had. Third, my brother. Even though we had a somewhat awkward and tense relationship, I loved him. He was my blood, and he helped lessen the tension between my father and me. And, finally, Mom. I wasn’t a mama’s boy by any stretch, but I wouldn’t be where I was if it weren’t for her.
After my parents divorced when I was seven, I lived with her. Matthew stayed with Dad. For what purpose, I don’t know, and I always wondered why Mom didn’t fight to keep him. But I never had the nerve to ask her why they split us up. I was around nine or ten when one of my friends told me they probably split us up because it wasn’t fair for one of them to have both of us. It always made me think of that story from the Bible about the two women who had to go before King Solomon to fight over the baby. At least they didn’t have to decide whether to saw us each in half. Although maybe that would’ve been better all around.
Maybe if I had lived with my dad, I’d be closer to him and we’d have a better relationship, like Matthew did. But that option was trapped in the past. What I had now worked. I didn’t have to like everything about my father to have a successful working relationship with him. Keeping it strictly business between us worked just fine.
I had watched my father go from relationship to relationship since I was a kid. And while, right now, I seemed to take after him, I didn’t want to be like him when I was his age. I didn’t want to be an old man marrying woman after woman. Women who only cared about my name and my bank account. I didn’t much believe in marriage, and after seeing all his failed attempts, it wasn’t difficult to imagine why. Keeping things breezy and easy in the relationship department was the best thing for me. That’s why I called things off with my ex. She had gotten too serious for me, and I had to break up with her before the shit hit the fan. No need to dwell on that though. I missed thesex, but I didn’t missher.
My phone rang and broke into my reverie. Mosby’s picture illuminated my screen.
“Hey, Mos.”
“Whew! I’m just about finished with the designs. Getting ready to finalize them before sending them off for proofing,” she said.
“How they looking?”
“I think Allan will approve But, you know him. There’s going to be some minor tweak, something hejust has to change.”
“To put his own fuckin’ signature on it.”
