Page 148 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part One

Dinner tonight?

I send it with a devil emoji because this is me having fun. Easy. Not serious.

I’m playing with fire—I know this. But for once, I’m not afraid of getting burned. I’m ready to embrace the heat.

29

STORM

Even though it’s only been two months since Shae and I became official, when I leave the bubble we live in when it’s just us, the world simply fucking sucks.

Like juggling the balls of a homeless man on my tongue type ofsucks.

But nothing sucks more than sitting in a meeting with my father and my uncle in the middle of the most frigid February on record—and not just because of the lake effect.

“What’s this about?” I grumble as we settle in at the table in the middle of the country club. It took them a while to find one that would not just tolerate them but treat them with a level of respect that’s due to them—especially considering how they’ve become titans in the industry.

Or, more accurately, my father has become a titan in the industry. Lakeland’s always just been along for the ride.

I guess it’s not ameetingin the truest sense, more like brunch on a Sunday with my mom and dad, my uncle, and for some reason, Bambi and her mother.

At least Lucielle seems sober at the moment, and there’s a lack of alcohol for anyone at the table.

I take a drink from my water goblet.

“Well, now that everyone has joined us,” my father says with a pointed look in my direction. “Let’s get the major action items out of the way so we can enjoy our meal.”

“Indeed,” Lakeland says, lifting his glass to cosign the statement.

My father seems stronger, almost as if the last time we were face-to-face—at that fucked-up Sunday dinner—never happened. Sitting before me is a Chuck Sandoval who is in control—one who is relaxed and happy and isn’t fearful of the man sitting next to him.

“I’ve gathered us here to move past these disagreements and come together.” Dad looks at me. “As family.” He says the last part while looking at Lucielle and Bambi.

What?

“So first, Storm,” he says, leaning forward and steepling his fingers beneath his chin. He sighs when he looks at me for a few moments, but I refuse to balk at all. “I know the news of my retirement has given you stress. Still, as my days draw to a close, I want to make sure you are accepting of the next phase in Stratos with Lakeland at the helm.”

Pain radiates up the side of my face, and I force myself to relax my jaw.

Dealing with emergency dental work because I cracked my molars isn’t anything I have time for.

The fact IknowLakeland has plans for Stratos—and for me—has a tension headache forming. I know he’s going to burn the company to the ground.

Now, I won’t let him take me or my father—or Shae—with him.

“I just want you to know, son, this has nothing to do with your abilities or my faith in you. It’s just about…” He seems tobe trying to find the right words, and his confident veneer slips a fraction.

Weird. Fucking weird.

“This transition is about timing and opportunity. It’s about protecting the legacy and allowing you the chance to grow.”

There’s an edge of something that sounds like desperation in his voice, and it startles me enough to really assess him.

When did he get those fine wrinkles between his eyebrows and around his mouth?

My dad, who usually is the epitome of Black Excellence from the top of his head to the tips of his feet, looks haggard.

“Storm, my love,” Mom breaks in, sitting directly to my right at the round table. Her attention ping-pongs between me and Dad and back again, her nose going slightly rosy as it does when she’s distressed.

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