The Paradise Problem (55)
The room erupts. Finished with his fitting, and like the great performer that he is, Jake grins widely and steps off the podium to head my way. Unfortunately, this is also the moment he zeroes in on my neck.
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” he says, quieting the room as he leans in to get a better look. “Hold the phone. Does my big brother have a hickey?”
Catcalls surround us and I shove him away, feeling my skin heat under my collar.
“Not surprised,” Alex calls from his side of the room. “They were putting on quite a show earlier.” He lowers his voice: “You’d never catch me behaving like that.”
“Yeah, your wife has mentioned this once or twice,” Jake says, and the laughter starts up again.
Oblivious to the jovial atmosphere in the room, Dad steps up beside me at the long mirror and doesn’t waste any time. “What kind of bullshit was that last night with Ellis?”
“It wasn’t the time or place, Dad.” The tailor approaches, crouching to adjust the unfinished hem of my dress pants. “It’s not the time now, either.”
The last thing I want is for Alex to hear any of this and mistake whatever it is for me gunning for the CEO role.
But my father doesn’t pick up on the cue. “Are you fucking kidding, Liam? More business happens at a wedding than at a weeklong conference at a Hilton. Why do you think I have half of these people here?”
“To celebrate the beginning of your only daughter’s life with Kellan McKellan?” I unbutton the collar of the shirt and then tug my cuffs down in the linen sport coat, looking at the tailor. “Could we lengthen the sleeve on the coat a bit?”
Nodding, the tailor helps me out of it and pins a note with measurements to the sleeve. I’m done with my fitting, and despite all the laughter and how much I needed a little time to think about nothing, I am suddenly, keenly ready to get out of here.
My father stops me from leaving with a hand on my arm. “This has to be settled.”
“It is settled, Dad.” I glance across the room to make sure Alex hasn’t heard. “And regarding last night, it is absolutely not going to go over with the board if you soft launch me in front of the editor of Forbes as your successor without their input.”
When I look back, my eyes meet Dad’s in the mirror. “Are you saying yes, then?” he asks.
“How—I mean, how on earth does that translate to yes?” I run my thumbnail along my eyebrow, trying to keep my cool in this crowded room. “Dad. I’m not coming on board. I have no idea why you would think that.”
“You’re the only person in this family who has what it takes to do this job.”
I stare at my father in shock. There are about a million things I want to say in response, but what comes out is the one I would want to say the very least: the most vulnerable. “Then why did you throw me to the wolves?”
There’s a shocked pause, and then my father tosses his head back and laughs. “Oh, it’s going to be this sob story again.”
I can’t do this.
Mute with rage, I change back into my shorts and T-shirt, forfeiting the rest of the time together with the other men for the sake of my sanity. I hug Kellan, shake Mr. McKellan’s hand, and pat Jake’s shoulder as I pass.
He starts to ask why I’m leaving, but one look at my face and he knows. He glances to Dad and I see my younger brother in action, the way his mind wildly searches for an anecdote, a joke, some story to divert the path from potential explosion and back to good times as I make a quiet exit.
It’s a ten-minute walk back to the bungalows, but I get only five of them in peace.
“When are you going to grow up?” my father calls from only a few feet behind me.
I keep walking.
“I’m not going to have expanded my father’s business into what it is today only to see it crumble in the hands of my three sons!”
“That’s the point, Dad,” I say over my shoulder. “You have two other sons already working with you.”
“Alex is a fucking head case!” my father booms, and the words echo down the path.
He didn’t even bother to consider Jake, and I laugh humorlessly. “Maybe if you did more than humiliate him once in a while, he wouldn’t be.”
He snorts. “Like you’re one to talk.”
“I’m not his father.”
We walk in tense silence, emerging onto the beach, walking toward the wooden footpath leading to the bungalows.
“If this is about PISA—” he starts, but I immediately cut him off with a low, growled, “I’m not fucking talking about PISA with you, Dad.”
“What do you want from me? A hug and an apology?” He laughs incredulously. “You know why we handled it that way. You were a kid. A fucking child when you made that software. You would rather I shoulder the blame and watch the entire company fall apart because of what happened with a thing you created?”
I wheel on him, white-hot with fury. “You and I both know it was never created for that. So, yes. I expected you to shoulder the blame because what ended up happening was your fault.”
“So that’s why you skulked away?” he sneers. “Took the limp-dick route through life instead? Went to school to prove to the world what a nice guy you are, that you couldn’t possibly have been behind all that ugliness because deep down you’re a jacket-with-elbow-patches good guy who teaches a bunch of rich virgins about how to be a nice executive when they get their first seven-figure salary?”