Page 11 of Cocky Choices: Zoe Cocker

He returns my smile, “My pleasure,” with a dip of his chin.

“That is quite an honor, Zoe,” Ms. Perez informs me, sure strides bringing her to my side as I walk. “The Astors are a highly respected family from New York. With an appointment like that you might even be able to franchise.”

Pausing by the door, with sunlight pouring onto these wilting flowers, I turn to Ms. Perez and honestly say, “I don’t have a dream of franchising.”

“It could be very lucrative.”

“I don’t need much to be happy. I just like having my little shop and just doing the best job I can.” Taking an earnest step closer I hold Ms. Perez gaze as I insist, “I really am sorry about being late. It won’t happen again.”

She softens. “Apology accepted, Zoe. Have a good day.”

“Thank you. You too, Ms. Perez.” I head away.

She stops me with, “And Zoe?”

I turn and am warmed by her smile. “Yes?”

“You did a beautiful job on that arrangement. Purple is my favorite color.”

Beaming with surprise, I confess, “You’re not alone,” thinking of Mrs. Porter’s late husband, and call out, “I’ll remember that,” as I watch her disappear inside.

SIX

Caleb Astor

Summoned, I stare out the window of their lavish hotel suite, city of Atlanta sprawling below as far as the eye can see like a world of miniatures — the sunlight and shadows and skyscrapers that make up Midtown. Zoe Cocker’s words are still ringing in my mind about the standards management has in this hotel. My parents’ suite has a grandeur that is normal to me, a testament to my family’s wealth: marble floors, gilded furniture, and a view that costs a fortune just to gaze upon.

“Caleb, darling, come here,” my mother calls, her voice as smooth as it is a warning that I won’t like this conversation.

I turn, forcing a smile, “Yes, Mother?” trying to keep my tone light, but it’s hard when I sense tension brewing beneath the surface like this. She glides over, low heels clicking against the marble, followed closely by my father, whose presence is as foreign to me as if he were a stranger. Although I work for his corporation, I rarely see the man. When I was in boarding school, only on holidays, and sometimes only Mom would be home when I flew in. Before that, a nanny was my everything.

“Your father and I have something important to discuss,” Mom continues, her eyes glistening with a mix of trepidationand something else — fear, perhaps. I brace myself, knowing that “important” in their world rarely means good news.

“We’ve been thinking about your future,” my father interjects, each syllable dripping with disdain for having to talk to us at all. He’d rather be discussing business with board members or be transfixed by conference calls with any of the many heads of his management teams. “It’s time we had a serious talk about your trust fund.”

My heart thuds hollow. I’ve always known my family’s fortune comes with strings attached, and that this conversation would be coming now that my grandmother, the last of my father’s parents, has left the world. It’s been a month since, and I’ve been waiting for this shoe to drop.

“What about it?” I ask, feigning nonchalance.

My mother exchanges a glance with my father, a silent conversation that tells me I won’t be happy with what I’m about to hear. “Caleb,” she says, her tone shifting to that of a condescending elder who doesn’t respect the younger generation’s intelligence, “you know how important it is for our family’s legacy to continue, right?”

“Of course,” I reply, my voice steady.

“You will carry on the family name, since you are male.”

“And your only child. Yes, I know,” I huff with impatience. My whole life I’ve been made painfully aware how much pressure is on me and solely me to perform to the standards of my paternal side and carry on the family name in a manner which excels at life in every way. Not only have I had the isolation of growing up without siblings, but they stopped speaking to my mother’s side right after I was born, that entire family tree deemed unworthy of Dad and his ideas and ambitions of our future. “You’ve read the Will I take it?”

“Yes,” my father says with a smile I don’t recognize. Is it…smug? “and it stated clearly that I am to define the rules for howyou will acquire your trust fund. I have decided that you are not to receive a dime of that trust until you are married.”

I blink, stunned. “Married? You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious,” my mother insists, crossing her arms, expression unyielding. “It’s about maintaining the family name, Caleb. We can’t have you squandering the Astor fortune on… on casual relationships.”

“Casual relationships?” I scoff, frustration boiling. “I’m thirty-three and haven’t done anything since college except bust my ass working for Dad’s corporation.”

“Caleb! Watch your tongue.”

“It’s true, Mother.”

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