Page 76 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I then look at my girl, hoping she can read the silent apology in my eyes. “Yeah, probably.”

My dad says, “On that note, I need to borrow Nick if that’s?—”

“Take him,” my mom says, wrapping an arm around Natalie. “We’ll be fine.”

“Geez, thanks, Mom.”

She laughs. “You know what I mean.”

As I come around the island, I kiss Natalie on the temple. “You’ll be okay?”

“Fine. Really,” she replies, and I believe her because she looks back at the screen and at my mom, and says, “June twenty-ninth.”

“Oh, wow. Nick was born on August twenty-ninth, but I guess you already knew that.”

I make the mistake of glancing back and am hit with a cocked eyebrow aimed at me. “Yep,” she adds, “I knew that.”

In my best internal narrator voice, I say, “She didn’t know that.”

How have we never discussed our birthdays?

We know each other’s ages and other important stuff like how she’s a runner. I know that because she climbed out of bed at sunrise and went for a run before I even woke up.

If I had known she had those plans, I would have hit the waves at the same time.

She drinks her coffee with just a hint of creamer and half a packet of sugar. Every time we have sex, she becomes more adventurous, slowly trying new positions, despite the confidence she has walking around completely naked, even in front of large windows where the people on the beach can get a gander.

See?I know the important stuff.

I shut the door behind me, finding my brother already sitting on the couch in my dad’s home office. I take the recliner, kicking it back into position. “What’s up?”

My dad sits at his desk and says, “We finally heard back on the Manhattan Financial deal. John’s fought us tooth and nail on the transition team recommendations to cut some of their pet projects.” He taps something on his keyboard, probably answering emails. He’s always been a half-listening multi-tasker. Of course, he expects the opposite of us. Fully focused on whatever he says. You know, do as I say, not as I do kind of thing. “He’s getting back to us today by five o’clock Eastern.”

Andrew says, “It’s the final deadline. He’s agreed to cutting three of the four. He’s dedicated to preserving that fourth. I have a feeling it’s personal. We’ll let him have it if he continues to negotiate.”

“Then why not let him have it now to end this and move on?”

Sitting forward, Andrew says, “Because, Counselor, it’s not good business to let your opponent win.”

Hearing him call me that doesn’t have the same ring to it.

Then he adds, “There’s an out clause in the contracts of these business loans. We don’t need his permission. We’re just trying to be fair and let him walk away with the full deal. It’s a brokerage house. They are a nice addition to our company, but they don’t grow wealth the same way.”

“Don’t fuck them over. They seemed like decent people.”

My dad says, “We don’t fuck people over, Nick. We can’t afford to humor business owners who don’t have the ability to grow to the next level of sustainability. Acquiring Beacon is our next plan, not artisan pasta making or personal shopping for rich businessmen. Those aren’t our specialties. We’re focusing on what CWM does best. Build wealth. Business is business. If you start getting personal, you’ll lose your edge.”

I’ve done everything I was told to do growing up. Follow the Christiansen plan to a T, even down to attending Berkeley Law. But lately, I’ve started to second-guess what I’m even doing here. I say, “Maybe that’s why I never fit into your plans. I don’t have an edge.”

“You have a great legal mind, son. We all have talents we bring to the table.”

I keep thinking about Natalie and how much she struggles to keep her dream afloat. Given the right conditions, she’s blooming like a plant. Ultimately though, business is business when money’s involved, and if it doesn’t fall within our guidelines, then it’s time to streamline. I’ve heard that my whole life. “Yeah, I guess it’s best to cut the losses.” Not wanting to be gone from Natalie for too long, I say, “I should get back before Mom discovers Natalie and my star signs aren’t compatible, and I get dumped for something ridiculous like that.”

My dad chuckles. “That is a weird coincidence on the name, though. You sure there’s no relation to John and Martine St. James?”

I don’t rush for the door, but I’m heading for it when I reply, “I think Natalie would have mentioned if her parents just sold their family business, especially to mine.”

“Natalie St. James,” Andrews says, causing me to turn back. He sits forward, resting his forearms on his legs. Staring at me, he creases his brow. “Wasn’t that his daughter’s name?”

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