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Kingsley
The stair climber beeps, and I don’t even realize I’ve been going for an hour. Sweat drips off every pore on my body as I stop the machine and strip in place, not wanting to leave a trail of my perspiration to the shower.
Adding a full-size bathroom and a workout space was the one thing I splurged on when I renovated the suite next to my office, and I’ve used them both every day since the day they were built.
Unlike what Matthias had suggested—I didn’t actually have any need for a stripper pole or a mirror on my ceiling. Not that he would use it these days anyway, unless it was for a private show from his fiancée. I scrunch up my face at the thought. I know way too much about my brothers’ sex lives, and no number of protests gets me any respite.
The water in the shower turns on instantly hot, spraying me from all directions, and I stand under it, letting it cascade over me, washing the sweat from my skin.
It’s been a week since Ernest’s funeral service.
Since...
Life has gone on like he was never alive. I go to the same meetings, talk to the same people, do the same daily tasks.
Climb the same StairMaster.
But I feel his loss so deeply in my bones that it’s made it hard to do anything that isn’t on autopilot.
Which makes little sense, since I went weeks without talking to him all the time, but grief lends a finality to everything. And I can’t help replaying the last conversation I had with him. Wondering if he knew when I left the hospital that day that it was the last time I was going to see him. And how that had made him feel.
And if he knew that if I had known it was going to be the last time, I would’ve made sure he knew that, other than the members of my family who shared my own DNA, no one has shaped my life more, and I would not be the man I am without his loving guidance.
I sigh, lathering up the shampoo and massaging it into my head, enjoying the papaya scent that infiltrates the air. Grabbing the bar of soap, I rub it over my body, ignoring Kylian’s voice in my head about how using a bar of soap instead of a bottle of body wash is old school.
Or is it just old?
I stay under the water spray for a minute longer than I need to, enjoying the feeling of being enveloped by the stream before the day starts. Of all the vices I could have, a stolen moment of quiet before the inevitable daily chaos of running the Europe and UK region of Baxter Enterprises feels like one I deserve to indulge in.
Half an hour later, I’m in traffic, listening in on a call with my VP of acquisitions and the owner of Belize Tech as they try to negotiate the terms of Baxter’s offer.
After ten minutes of getting nowhere, I cut in.
“Peter, I told you a week ago that I wasn’t going to budge a pound above £36 million. And I’ve agreed to keep you and your three VPs on. Deadline came and went yesterday. So, let me put it this way, I’m dropping the offer to £35 million. And you have until noon to call us back and let me know you’re accepting the offer. If not, I’m going to look into Garibaldi Tech for their new point of system tech. So, that’s your call. Noon. Not a minute later.”
I end the call without another word just as I pull in to park in a visitor’s spot outside The Hamilton Group’s office building and brace myself for the coming meeting.
“Kingsley,” Alex greets me as I step into the lobby.
He’d been waiting for me.
I take his offered hand and give it a firm shake. He doesn’t look like he’s been getting too much sleep either. As much as I’ve missed Ernest, I can’t imagine what it’s been like for Alex. That’s not true. I can imagine. If it’s been anything like when we lost our grandfather, then my heart goes out to him.
He’s lived with Ernest since he was eighteen years old. Arriving at their home as Ernest’s wife’s nephew, Ernest took him under his wing and has been his heir and predecessor since day one.
What he lacks in Ernest’s natural business acumen, he makes up for in tenacity. And I imagine that under his guidance, Hamilton will continue to grow, if not have the same gravitas that it did under Ernest’s command.
“Thanks for fitting in me in so soon, Kingsley.”
I wave his words away. “I told you, Alex, I always have time for you. You just have to give me a call.”
“I hope you’re going to feel that way after the meeting,” he says with a forced chuckle.
It puts me instantly on edge.
What could he want from me?
Hamilton and Baxter have rarely done business together; it’s been an unspoken rule between the two families.
