Page 39 of The Wildest One
Beck
Did it show you something?
Me
Yes.
Beck
Sweet dreams, Jolie.
NINE
Beck
“Look who the fucking cat dragged in,” my oldest brother, Walker, said as I came into the conference room of my family’s corporate office.
It had been a while since I’d been here. My main contributions came in the form of financial support when they needed liquid cash to put down on a piece of land or to vote on the location of a new restaurant after my siblings did the tedious task of researching why the different spots would benefit our brand.
But since I was in town for a decent stint, I figured making the weekly strategy meeting would be a good place to see everyone at once.
I clenched Hart’s shoulder as I passed him, his black suit jacket and red tie making him look sharp as hell this morning. Only two years older with the same height and build as me, he should have been a professional athlete, but Hart, like Walker, had had his sights set on building this business from the ground up.
“Welcome back, brother,” Hart said as my fingers left him.
I gave Eden, the youngest, a kiss on the cheek before I sat between her and Colson, pounding fists with my second-to-oldest sibling.
“Are you doing all right?” Colson asked.
I wasn’t surprised the only parent in the room had inquired about how I was doing. Although any of them would eventually, Colson always asked.
“Hanging in there.” I lowered the hood of my sweatshirt and ran my hand over my head, my strands still damp from the cold plunge I’d done before coming here. “But I’ll be honest—draggingcouldn’t be a more accurate description.” I leaned back in my chair and rested my hands on top of the table. “It’s been a long couple of weeks on the road.”
“Is the body hurting?” Walker asked, wearing his chef’s whites, the brightness of it glowing under the overhead light, showing there wasn’t a single stain on the fabric. Within a few hours, I was sure that would all change.
“Something fierce,” I answered.
“Well, you look half dead.” Eden turned in her chair to face me, her blue eyes locked right on me. My sister’s assessment and opinion were forever honest and so fucking dead-on. “When was the last time you slept?”
I whistled out a mouthful of air. “I got about six hours last night.”
“It wasn’t enough. Your body needs more,” Colson said. The dude was so laid-back, unlike Hart and Eden. He was wearing a polo instead of a button-down. “That was a long stretch on the road. You’re home for a week or so, yeah?”
I nodded. “Thank fuck.”
“You’d better be taking care of yourself while you’re here,” Hart added. “You’ve got the usual treatments scheduled?” He had a pile of folders in front of him that he leaned his arms on.
A pile that told me today’s meeting was intended to be all business.
“Massage, hydrotherapy, hyperbaric chamber treatments, chiropractic work—all of it.” I held the back of my head, my arms bent, elbows pointed out. “I’ll be good.”
“I’ll stop by and prep some meals for you,” Walker said.
Walker had been born with the same talent as our father. He could turn simple ingredients into a masterpiece. But the pressure that came with that skill was immense, especially given the business we’d built. He was in charge of the menu and new recipes at Charred, our steak houses, and Toro, our seafood and raw bars, constantly having to keep our restaurants fresh and competitive.
And even though I loved the guy, his attitude reflected what he was feeling at all times, and that was fucking stressed and usually pissed off.
“You don’t have time for that,” I told him. “You’re running the kitchen of LA Charred and controlling operations at hundreds of our restaurants.” I looked at Hart and winked. “I’ll have Hart cook for me.”
