Page 13 of Omega's Midlife Love
Chapter 6 - Alan
Iscrubbed a hand down my face and stared at the papers spread across my desk. Somehow I didn’t seem to be making any headway, and I wasn’t sure why.
Was Robert trying to sabotage me? There wasn’t any benefit to it. I’d left the company in his hands, and even moved across the country. I wasn’t trying for any sort of competing business. I just wanted to join the boards of a charity or two and live a quiet retirement.
Then again, he’d always had a vindictive streak. He might still be angry enough at my voicing opposition to his changes to make my life miserable.
As much as it hurt, part of me was glad that my brother Clarence was no longer around to see what his son had done. He’d gone to his grave believing that Robert would run Beischel Equity as he had, with an emphasis on rehabilitating struggling companies, not buying them to tear apart and resell the highest-valued segments.
I’d believed it too, right up until he used his controlling shares to install mindless sycophants on the board.
I’d tried, for more than a year I’d tried to make him see the value in what we did. That we ultimately made more by investing the resources to have healthy companies. It was slower, but it wasn’t as if we needed immediate cash.
But that wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted the quick flip, and if we burned bridges in doing so, well it wasn’t as if we didn’t have the capital to force the issue.
He’d never learned that there were always more potential stakeholders than just the ones sitting across from him at the bargaining table.
It was a lesson I would do well to remember myself. If Robert actually was using his connections to try to block anything I wanted to do, then my best course of action would be to find the power players that he would have overlooked: receptionists, assistants, and volunteers. The people who had the ears of those higher on the chain because their skills were needed.
I turned to the computer, ready to start researching staff, when there was a soft knock at the door.
I glanced up to see David standing there, tray held aloft.
“Antonio said you wanted lunch about now?” he asked.
I glanced at the clock, and nodded. It was half-past noon, and right when I’d told my assistant that I would want lunch.
“Thank you,” I said as David walked in.
He smiled, and carried the tray over. “Where do you want it?”
I cleared a few pieces of paper from the side of my desk. “Here is fine.”
He set the tray down, and for a moment I wanted to tug the handsome man into my arms and bury my nose in his neck. The soft traces of his scent that lingered in my home had been like a balm on my frayed nerves the past couple weeks, but I needed more.
I glanced at the food, and raised one eyebrow in question.
David smiled. “Antonio said that you had a meeting tonight at La Cravate Noire. I thought something light was best so that you could better enjoy your dinner.”
I nodded. The sweet omega was considerate like that. Part of it was his job, but in all my years of having private chefs, none had ever handled everything quite so fluidly.
Then again, perhaps my infatuation made me see him with rose-colored glasses.
“Also,” he said, fidgeting slightly. “I’ve noticed that you’ve seemed stressed lately. And, like I always tell my daughter, ‘Complicated food and complicated thoughts don’t mix well.’”
I blinked. “Explain.”
He rubbed his jaw, then nodded to himself. “Eating is an experience; it’s flavor and texture. It’s a symphony of ingredients paired with preparation. But it also takes thought and effort to appreciate. One might not eat steak or go to the opera three times a week because by the third time it takes more effort to enjoy. Your ability to savor it is diminished because you have to search for new nuances. It’s the same when you’ve had a long day, or have a lot on your mind. Your thoughts are elsewhere, so you don’t have the energy to delve into how everything dances on the tongue. But a simple meal? It’s not overwhelming when you’re focused on something else. It’s delicious because it’s not complicated. It doesn't add to the mental burden.”
I stared for a moment, then started laughing. “That actually makes sense. So what did you bring me?”
He smiled, and oh I could look at that smile forever.
“Same thing I’d bring my daughter when she was stressed or busy. Tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich. I’ve just upscaled yours and made it seasonally appropriate. You’ve got gazpacho with a roasted red pepper panini.”
My mouth started watering. It actually sounded… perfect. No heavy creams or sauces to weigh me down. Nothing pretentious to it. Just simple food.
I took a sip of the soup, and fresh flavor burst over my tongue. It was cool and refreshing, and just what I needed.
