Page 11 of Vicious Arrangement
I grab his hand as he starts back to his seat. “Is it the cancer? I can?—”
“No, child, not that. Sit.”
He pours some cognac into a snifter, and I shake my head as he offers me one. Gramps nods, takes a sip and sits. He sets down the glass.
“I’ve been working on a merger, a way to build the company and bring more to those in New York who need it. I was working on it with my friend Oscar, who died. But… his grandson sees things differently. He’s not only refusing the merger but saying if… if you don’t marry him, he’ll destroy the family company.”
I stare at him, head reeling.
“A merger dead in the water I can take, but not… not the end of Sanderson’s. We’re a New York staple. We make money, but we help people.”
Guilt curls inside me. Sure, I’ve heard him talk about business, but mostly I tune it out and… a merger? Does that mean we’re not doing well?
“Why the hell would someone want to marry me?”
“Because you’re beautiful and a catch, and why wouldn’t someone?” he says hotly.
Any other time, I’d be trying to hide a smile. But there isn’t one to hide. “Is the business okay?”
“We’re good,” he says, which in Gramps’ speak could mean anything. “But Templeton Properties is huge, Aria, and they could most definitely crush us.”
Even I’ve heard of Templeton.
“So what? Some asshole wants a wife or he’ll destroy you? This is blackmail. I’ll go to the press I’ll?—”
“Go to the press, and he’ll destroy us and ride it out.” Gramps closes his eyes, and he looks his seventy years in that moment and tired. Very tired.
My heart breaks.
“Who the hell does he think he is,” I snarl.
A ghost of a smile touches Gramp’s mouth. “A very rich young man, I imagine. One who… I don’t know. Oscar could be hard, but…” He sits up and shakes his head. “I honestly don’t know what to do.”
My stomach turns to lead.
“Aria, I hate this, I do. I hate asking you to marry someone you don’t even know, let alone love, but the thought of losing this place, this New York institution that’s been in our family for generations is heart breaking.”
A billion protests scream at me from inside. But how can I voice them. I hurt and guilt’s a dark, heavy thing, something I’ve fought ever since I chose a path I know disappointed Gramps.
He wanted me to go into the family business, to take over, and instead I chose nursing. He says he’s proud of me and I’m sure he is, but like that small amount of guilt I carry with me, I’m sure he carries disappointment.
But to give dues where they belong, he’s also been the man who shifted from talk of me taking over to one of my hypothetical children doing it.
We’re the only family each of us has.
I should have followed in his footsteps and gone into property development, expanding his affordable housing and greener buildings in even more philanthropic ways.
He raised me by himself. I was two when we lost my parents.
And he’s never resented me, never shunted me to boarding school, and I did have a nanny, but he was home every day. He took me to appointments, cheered me on and comforted me when I was upset. He cared for me when I was sick and he was the proudest person there when I graduated.
I owe him.
How the hell can I say no to this man who’s my father, mother, and entire family? I can’t. I can’t refuse him help when he needs it the most.
“What’s his name?”
He looks at me. “Noah.”
