Page 5 of Stuck with Mr. Grump

Michael’s brow arches skeptically. “And what if the allegations hold merit? How do you propose we salvage the company’s standing then? The subject of your paternity directly impacts the line of succession, which has a lot to do with the strength of our leadership and the integrity of our projects. I know you’re trying to be positive,Sterling, but people will wonder—if you’re not really a Harrington, do you even have a right to be in that position?”

I stiffen at that, my jaw clenching. The boardroom’s atmosphere grows increasingly charged, tension coiling like a tightened spring. Michael’s words hang in the air. I feel a surge of anger, my composure threatening to fracture. Just as I open my mouth to respond, the double doors swing open with decisive force.

Sebestian Harrington, my grandfather and the esteemed chairman of Harrington Holdings, strides into the room. Seventy-five years old and he remains a commanding presence. His tall, lean frame is impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit, exuding both authority and timeless elegance. His thick silver hair is combed back with precision, and piercing brown eyes undimmed by age survey the room with a discerning gaze that misses nothing.

The room falls into an immediate hush, the previous clamor silenced by his mere presence. Sebestian’s voice, though softened by time, carries an undeniable authority.

“This meeting is adjourned,” he declares, his tone brooking no argument. He turns his attention to Michael, who visibly recoils under the scrutiny. “Regardless of any personal conjectures, Sterling’s position as vice president is a result of his unwavering dedication and the substantial contributions he has made to this company. His role is both earned and deserved, not because of his last name or blood relations.”

I wince at that last part. My grandfather might have openly supported me with that little speech, but he’s the same man who taught me to play chess when I was six. He taught me how to expect your opponent’s moves before they’re made, to read between the lines.

He might as well have confirmed the rumors with that last statement.

I feel fucking ill.

His gaze shifts to me. “Sterling, may I have a word in my office?”

I rise, the weight of the board’s collective stare pressing heavily upon me. We ride the elevator up to his office in silence, neither of us saying a word until we’re safely tucked away from the rest of the world. As soon as we’re inside, my grandfatherreaches for the bottle of whisky on the counter in the dimly lit office.

He pours himself a glass before moving to sit down. I stay standing with his desk, a monolith of dark mahogany, between us, its surface meticulously organized. He sits with his back straight, eyes sharp and unyielding.

I decide to speak first, in a bid to control the conversation just like he taught me.

“Is it true?” I ask, feeling the tension coiling through me tighten.

My grandfather’s expression doesn’t waver. He takes a sip of his whisky, pauses to contemplate his words.

“Genetics are a funny thing, Sterling,” he begins, his voice measured and devoid of warmth. “My son Steven is the complete opposite of me. While I worked hard to build this company from the ground up as a teen, he was born into a life of luxury. He doesn’t understand the importance of hard work and he’s refused to take up a mantle that should be rightfully his. Lazy, uninspiring, and unambitious. Your father’s never done a thing to support me or this company.”

His lips are curled up distastefully. I have no idea where he’s going with this. I’m very aware of how complicated their relationship is. Dad’s never had an interest in the company, and my grandfather has always held it against him. They orbit around each other, my father bearing the weight of his disappointment seemingly easily. Like he doesn’t care.

That’s one thing I’ve always admired him for. Steven Harrington may be lazy, uninspiring, and unambitious like my grandfather said, but he’s always lived his life on his own terms. It takes courage to do that, especially with a father like Sebestian.

“And then there’s Spencer, your older brother,” Grandfather continues. “He’s in many ways like your father. But Spencer hassomething he doesn’t, and that is ambition. He might not have the skills or the fortitude, but he does have the ambition and he knows what he wants. He knows what he’s owed.”

Those words sting. Owed? Considering the way he’s lived his life, Spencer isn’t owed a damn thing and everyone knows this. The only thing he has is his position as the first-born son, but that’s not justification for what he believes should be rightfully his. Spencer and I have been pitted against each other since birth, and the simple truth is that I’ve always been better than him. And that’s been okay, until now.

My throat tightens.

“Are you saying Spencer’s owed the company?”

Sebestian’s eyes narrow. “Don’t be so simple-minded, Sterling. Do you not understand what I’m trying to say?”

“Sure I do. You’re saying while my father and my brother are your blood, they’re nothing like you. Which means I am decidedly not your blood?”

A muscle pulses in his jaw but he doesn’t confirm my statement.

“Talk to your parents, Sterling.”

“They’re in Mykonos,” I reply. My parents spend more time off U.S. soil than they do on it.

“I’m sure they’ll return eventually.”

My eyebrow arches. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?”

“You’re an intelligent man, Sterling,” he states, leaning back against his chair. “Which is why I know you understand that for the sake of the company’s stability and impending acquisition, which is worth millions of dollars, it would be prudent for you to step back temporarily. Public scrutiny can be detrimental and we cannot afford distractions at this juncture.”

My hand curls into fists. “You’re kicking me out?”

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