Final Offer: Chapter 9
Final Offer (Dreamland Billionaires, 3)
If it werenât for me needing to return to Chicago for my cat, Merlin, and a few more pieces of clothing, I wouldnât have bothered attending the Kane Company board meeting. My presence isnât required unless there is a vote since I donât have an active position within the company.
The only reason Iâve bothered sitting through the boring meetings in the first place is to fuck with my father. He has always hated me being on the board ever since my grandfather appointed me six years ago after I tore my ACL, so Iâve made it a point to sit through each miserable meeting solely to spite him.
To think people accuse me of not having a lifeâs purpose.
Every time I step into the Kane Companyâs corporate office for a meeting, Iâm hit with the same urge to run straight out the front door. Itâs like my senses go haywire due to environmental overstimulation. Despite all the years dealing with sensory processing issues, I still struggle with not hyper-fixating on how my tie feels too tight and my suit too scratchy.
This right here is why Iâm not cut out for corporate life. My brothers are the complete opposite, oozing confidence as they speak up throughout the board meeting. Both of them look like corporate clones with their dark, slicked-back hair, pristine pinstripe suits, and perfectly groomed stubble. Itâs obvious they have always been suited for company politics and dreadful desk jobs while I attempt to beat the all-time high score on Candy Crush underneath the table.
The Head of Acquisitions and Sales for a division of our streaming service, DreamStream, rises from his chair and stands at the front of the room. He fumbles through his first few slides, which catches my attention. I might not be business savvy like my brothers, but Iâm a people person who notices everything. There is a slight sheen to his skin that only seems to get worse the longer my father stares at him with piercing dark eyes and a constant scowl.
The presenter uses his laser pointer to highlight a graph. âMonthly subscriptions for our DreamStream platform have decreased by twelve percent over the last quarter.â
âTwelve percent? On top of the previous quarterâs six percent loss?â I speak out for possibly the first time this year.
Every single person sitting in the conference room looks over at me, including my brothers. Declanâs dark brows raise while Rowanâs brown eyes go wide. My father faces forward with a clenched jaw, a permanent expression he has worn ever since I took my first breath.
The older man at the front of the room giving the presentation fiddles with his clicker before progressing to the next slide. âRight. Carrying on⦠Our research shows that families are cutting back on monthly subscription services due to increased competition and oversaturation of the market. Based on our polls, we were voted the second most likely subscription service to be cut from familiesâ budgets.â
âDid you ask them why that was?â I press.
âWellâ¦yes. It comes down to two main things: affordability and content.â
âBut if it was truly an issue of affordability, then other streaming services would be struggling just as much.â
Rowan turns toward me, pinning me with his dark gaze. âWhatâs gotten into you?â
I give him a nonchalant shrug. âMy interest is piqued.â
âThen we better take advantage before you lose it again.â His brown eyes light up.
I know my brother means well, but all he does is discourage me from continuing my line of questions. The last thing I want is to give people a reason to want more from me. Being the family reject is an easy gig, and Rowanâs comment reminds me of that.
No expectations. No disappointments.
My life motto.
After the board meeting, Declan waves me down to talk but someone distracts him, giving me time to escape. Iâm not in the mood to deal with him after our fight last week. My walk to the elevators is a quick one, with no one bothering to stop me to chat.
The doors begin to shut, but a hand shoots out, causing them to reopen. They part to reveal the one person I wouldnât want to share a single second with, let alone the minute trip it takes to get to the lobby.
You knew there was a risk of this happening.
My fatherâs usual scowl only deepens as he takes a look at me with his dark, beady eyes. âLeaving already?â
âNow that I crossed off annoying you from todayâs to-do list, Iâm all done.â I readjust my suit for the umpteenth time.
âDo you have any intention of doing something useful with your life?â
âIâm not sure. I considered learning to juggle, but then I saw a video about ukuleles, so I started getting into that during my spare time.â
He scoffs. âYour entire life is considered spare time. You have no job, no purpose, no anything but a loaded trust fund that shouldnât even be yours.â
âI see youâre still bitter about Mom setting up that trust fund for me without your knowledge, but you should really let it go. My therapist says it isnât good to keep all that inside.â
âThe only bitterness I have toward your mother is her soft spot for you.â
I give his shoulder a squeeze, matching the way my chest feels from his words. âAw, Pops. Donât hold it against her. She believed in you too after all, and we know what a monster you turned out to be.â
His nostrils flare. âYouâre such a disappointment.â
âAt least Iâm doing one thing right.â
âYou think this is funny? That being the family joke is an accomplishment? Wake up. Youâre a pathetic waste of space who shouldnât even be allowed in this building given how youâre a stain to our last name.â
My chest throbs, but I hide my pain with a smile. âThis might be the most youâve talked to me in an entire year.â
My father makes a noise in the back of his throat. Disdain rolls off him in waves, but I ignore it. I learned long ago that getting angry and showing his words matter means he wins.
I canât wait to earn my shares and ruin my fatherâs chance at ever controlling the company again. Whatever letter and inheritance my grandfather left him will never add up to the percentage of shares my brothers and I will have combined. Even if he inherits the 6 percent of shares that are still unaccounted for, he will never have enough power to overturn us again.
Tension builds between us, with neither of us saying a single word. He stares at me like Iâm the bane of his existence, and I do everything to keep my smile in place.
Kill them with kindness, Mom used to say.
I hope my father chokes on it.
The elevator dings, and the doors open to the busy tenth floor. A group of people shuffle into the elevator, ending our toxic exchange. My father moves to one corner while I situate myself near the doors for my great escape.
Although I let a majority of my fatherâs comments bounce off of me, sometimes I struggle. Iâm only human after all. My father has always been good with picking at my weaknesses. It isnât hard for him, especially once I got injured playing hockey and lost the one thing that made me feel special.
He poked and prodded until I spiraled, turning myself into a copy of the person I resent most.
Him.
âIâm going to miss you, little guy.â Iris tucks Merlin against her chest. It only took my cat two years to warm up to her, and now theyâre the best of friends. His black fur contrasts against her brown skin, bringing out the deep shades in both.
âHeâll be back in a few months.â I zip up my luggage before placing it upright on the floor.
Her smile drops. âMonths? I donât think I can make it that long without you here.â
âAnd they call me overly dependentâ¦â
She smacks me in the arm. âShut up. What if Declan and I come to visit you? Iâve always wanted to see the lake after all your stories, and youâre the one who said the summers were always the best.â
âUhhâ¦â
âTry to look a little less horrified, will ya?â She pinches the skin between my ribs.
âLet me get settled first and then we can talk about you visiting. Okay?â
âFine.â She lets Merlin go before dropping on to my couch. âWhat was it like being back?â
âIâm still processing all of it.â
The gold beads at the ends of her braids clink together as she tilts her head. âThat bad?â
âI knew Lana was angry at meâ¦â
âBut you ran before you had to deal with it.â
I tip my chin. âExactly.â
âWell, you have to face your past eventually.â
âIt feels like Iâm being slapped across the face with it repeatedly.â
She laughs. âMaybe all of this will be good for you. It could help you get some closure.â
I fall on to the leather chair across from her. âWho says I need closure?â
âThe fact that you havenât been in a romantic relationship for six years.â
A rare frown crosses my face. âI havenât been interested.â The lie slips out easily, perfected after mastering the art of pretending not to give a fuck.
Of course, I am interested, but that doesnât make it possible. At least not when Iâm still a screwed-up mess.
Iris stares at me with narrowed eyes. âAre you sure about that?â
âYes.â
âCould have fooled me with the way you asked me out on a date.â
I launch a pillow directly at her face. âThat was a joke.â
âSays the man who kissed me.â
âAnd then proceeded to throw up afterward.â
She shivers. âDonât remind me.â
Iâm not sure whose drunken idea it was, but our kiss was a mistake the moment it happened. Our lack of romantic chemistry was a dead giveaway that Iris and I would never be more than friends.
She shakes her head. âPutting me aside, youâll never be able to move on to someone new if youâre still holding on to the memory of someone else.â
My stomach churns. âIâm not holding on to the memory of someone else.â
âReally? Then give me your wallet.â She holds out her hand.
âNo.â
She crosses her arms against her pink T-shirt. âExactly like I thought.â
My eyes narrow. âHolding on to a photo isnât a crime.â
âItâs not the photo but what it symbolizes that matters.â
âAnd whatâs that?â
âThat a part of you will always love a part of her, no matter how hard you try to deny it.â
âItâs impossible not to love her.â
Iris leans forward. âSo you admit that you love her.â
âI never denied it in the first place. Those kinds of feelings donât just go away, as much as I wish they did.â
âI donât have a good feeling about this.â She rubs her temple.
âNo need to worry. I know that there is no chance in hell that we are ever getting back together.â
I made sure of that the moment I walked away from her, turning her fear of abandonment into a reality.
And Iâve never forgiven myself.
Itâs not until Iris leaves for the night that I pull out my wallet and search for the picture she spoke about. The edges of the small photo are worn from years of wear-and-tear and countless wallet transfers.
Itâs been over a decade since the photo was taken, but I remember the day like it was yesterday. Lanaâs mom took it of us the summer after I came back from rehab. Both of us are on the dock, drinking cholados Colombianos to celebrate my twenty-first birthday. Lana stares into the camera lens, eyes bright and face beaming, while my focus is solely on her.
Itâs obvious I loved her, even back then, although I never acted on my feelings. I was happy to stay friends while we were both figuring out our lives. Lana had just turned eighteen, and I was fresh out of rehab and still struggling with the stressors of my life. And then I got drafted into the National Hockey League when Lana wasnât even twenty yet. Neither one of us were ready for the sacrifices we needed to make to be together, so instead, we kept things platonic. It nearly killed me inside, but I knew she was worth the wait.
At least until you fucked things up for good.
I flip the picture over and trace the words she wrote on the back.
Get drunk on life, not alcohol.
Love,
Lana
She gave it to me as a parting gift that summer, and I have kept it ever since.
At first, it was the push I needed to stay sober. Any time I was tempted to drink, Iâd pull out her message and stare at it until the demons left me alone. It helped me stay on track for a few years despite all the temptations surrounding me. But then I tore my ACL and lost my hockey career, making it easy to slip back into destructive habits.
Truth is, I lost more than my job that year. I lost myself. My life became a series of bad decisions as I tried to fix the gaping hole in my chest.
It took Grandpaâs accident to get me on the straight and narrow. But by the time I got on the right path, it was too late. The girl who promised me forever had her arms wrapped around someone else, and Iâ¦
I was too late.