Page 81 of Never Bargain with the Boss
It hits me just how fortunate I am. I mean, I know I’m well-off, but I’m not thinking about that type of fortune. I’m blessed in a much less tangible way, with siblings and parents who love me in their own perfectly imperfect ways. I’d like to think I return the favor to them too.
And I’m extremely thankful to have Riley at my side today, because she is very much wanted here.
After dinner, Mom and Grandmom disappear into the kitchen to cut the pies, and Grandmom yells out, “Kyle Harrington! You little scoundrel! When did you get into my apple pie?”
Kyle looks just as shocked as the rest of us, stuttering, “I didn’t do—” A second later, he backhands Cole’s bicep, and thankfully, it’s the opposite arm from where he’s holding Emmett on his knee or Kyle would be a dead man. “You asshole. You knew she’d blame me.”
Cole’s expression doesn’t change, but he shrugs. It probably wouldn’t be enough of a confession for court, but it is for us. “It was Cole!” Kyle shouts back to Grandmom.
A second later, she appears with two small plates of pie and ice cream in her hands. “Well, he probably needed the sugar with the lack of sleep he’s functioning on. Here you go, baby.” Grandmom puts the bigger of the two slices down in front of Cole and gives the other one to Janey, placing a kiss to the top ofeach of their heads and then Emmett’s. “Raising babies isn’t for the faint of heart.”
Cole grins as he takes a big bite of his first-served pie, and Kyle makes a move like he’s going to swipe some of the precious dessert. Cole instantly switches his grip on his fork into a more threatening hold. “I dare you to try. I’ll stab you and not even get blood on the special Thanksgiving outfit Janey got Emmett.” I’m ninety-nine percent sure he not only means it but could make good on that promise.
“Fine. But I get the next slice,” Kyle declares.
We all laugh a little, but Grandmom does indeed give him the next slice.
Later, as we’ve retiring back to the formal living room, Dad approaches me. “Cameron, a word?”
I glance at Riley, but she’s following everyone easily, talking with Grace and Dani. I catch Cole’s eye and glance toward Riley, telling him he’s on guard. Not that I think she’d need any help, but I have no doubt the rest of my siblings are going to take advantage of the moment and share embarrassing stories about me with her. He blinks, which I decide to take as acceptance of the responsibility. Or at least I hope it is.
Upstairs in Dad’s office, I sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk. I’ve spent hours of my life right here in this chair or its predecessor before Mom redecorated about twenty-five years ago. When I was a kid, I’d do schoolwork on the front edge of the desk while Dad worked on the other side, and the whole time, I’d pretend I was one of his business associates. I would even borrow his fancy silk ties and haphazardly loop them around my neck to emulate the way he would wear his after a long day at the office.
I wanted to be him, or at a minimum, be with him. Back then, he was an engaged Dad, helping me with homework, going to my practices and games, and even substitute coaching formy peewee basketball game one time. He was the best of both worlds—a father and a businessman—and I was the fortunate child who received that version of him.
My siblings did not, because slowly, over the years, Dad’s focus turned more and more to making Blue Lake Assets into the massive empire that it is now.
I know how all-encompassing of Dad’s heart, mind, and soul that process was—mostly because I worked at his side for a lot of it. I’ve seen firsthand what running a machine like Blue Lake takes and how many countless families are dependent on us for their investments to appreciate, their jobs to be stable, or their ideas to come to fruition. Angel investing isn’t as holy as it sounds, and it definitely takes more than thoughts and prayers at this scale and level.
Because I’ve seen the sacrifices Dad has made, I don’t begrudge the distance between us now the way my siblings seem to have always done. Honestly, I don’t know why the rest of them haven’t figured out how to smile and nod when Dad speaks, glean what you can from his hard-earned wisdom, and then simply do whatever the fuck you want. It’s worked for me for decades, both in and out of the boardroom, and in a way, I think he respects me more for it. And when he does get in an occasional mood, I brush him off and let him stew because whatever’s bothering him, he’ll figure it out. Because he figures shit out and makes things happen.
It's an example I’ve followed my whole life.
“The Timmons figures are better than we’d hoped,” I offer as he sits down in the chair beside me.
Not across from me? Okay, so maybe this isn’t business related.
But with Dad, everything is business in one way or another.
“Tell me about this Riley Stefano woman.”
“She’s Grace’s nanny.” I keep the answer clipped and succinct, not wanting to invite further discussion because I obviously recognize what Dad truly wants to know.
He frowns, and I have a glimpse into my future—the blond hair turning gray, the marionette lines growing deeper, and the blue eyes still sharp as ever. “Don’t be coy. What’s going on? Miranda told me she went with them to lunch, and then she’s here for Thanksgiving. You’re inserting her like she’s a part of the family, not house staff.”
He doesn’t mean anything cruel by that. He loves Ira and the rest of the Harrington staff, but he’s also never invited them to sit down to our family meal either. There’s a boundary there, to protect both sides, and in his eyes, I’m dancing all over that line, disrespecting myself and Riley by making it confusing for us all.
I get up and walk to the big window, looking out at the moon rising outside, needing the time to compose my thoughts into something Dad will understand. He’s a gruff, hard to know man, but despite his failings, he loves his family deeply, and we’ve had a lot over the last few years—questionable business deals, kidnappings, family blow-ups, and more—so my falling in love with the ‘help’ shouldn’t even rank in the top ten, but with Dad, you never know.
Finally, I turn and look at him evenly as I confess, “I love her.”
These are words I should tell Riley first, but I am my father’s son. I want to seek his council on something this huge and impactful. Not because I’ll listen to what he says, but because he’s the naysayer in my life, the one who will examine and re-examine every choice before committing to it. Unlike Mom, who’d likely cry happily, clap excitedly, and start talking about wedding plans. She’s theYingto Dad’sYang, and right now, I think I could use a bit of unrestrained, potentially ugly truthbecause I’m about to embark on an entirely unprecedented course of action in my and Grace’s lives.
“She’s your nanny, Cameron,” he spits out harshly, as if I’m unaware of the obvious power discrepancy in our relationship. But I’ve already had that argument with myself at least a hundred times. It didn’t work when I said it to myself, and it doesn’t hold any weight when Dad says it either.
“Yes,” I agree. “And she’s twenty-five, has pink hair, a boatload of trauma, zero family, and thinks leaving is a foregone conclusion because literally everyone in her life has abandoned her in one way or another, so she leaves first as a protective defense mechanism.”
Oh, I know exactly who Riley is. She’s bared her soul bluntly and unapologetically, with zero attempts at pretty packaging to disguise her many unfortunate ‘life lessons’.