Page 61 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
"Wish I could say the same. I didn't know you were back in town."
"Your brother just flew in this morning," my father answers for him.
"I see. Is this meeting as much a surprise for him as it is for me?"
"Nope," George admits, smiling happily. "I knew I'd be here, and I knew you would be here, too."
"How nice for you. Once again, Father, despite my position as CEO, I'm the only one you chose to keep out of the loop." I saythe words casually, but there's enough of a bite to make George's smile drop and that familiar look of guilt appears on his face.
I hate it when he does that. It's worse when he goes apologetic. If it were me, I'd stand on my ground, take the hit and keep pushing. If he has the balls to marry my ex—the woman he slept with while I was still with her—he should have the balls to face me properly. I'd rather he tell me to get over it than roll over and show me his belly, like some kicked puppy.
"Well, Grayson, that's because you would have made yourself scarce if you knew he was at this meeting," my father speaks up.
"True," I say, and take a seat across from him at our father's African blackwood and burgundy-leather desk. "So, Daddy dearest, you've gone to a lot of trouble to get us in the same room. What's the occasion?"
My father laces his fingers together on the table, unlaces them, and laces them again. A nervous man's tic. "I'm thinking of reorganising things a little," he says. "Just for the time being."
"Meaning what?"
"Grayson, I want you to show George the ropes of running the main division." He meets my gaze head-on. "From today, I want both of you to work together in operating it."
Ah. Of course. "Why? Is he going to be taking my job?"
Dad sighs and repeats the finger-lacing. "You know how hard I've worked for this company, and you also know I've always wanted the Wolfe Group to be a business with continuity—something to be passed down the generations. I want it to be led by a Wolfe after I die… and after you die, I want one of you to pass it on to one of your sons."
"What about daughters?"
"Sure, if the sons aren't capable. But preferably the male child." He looks at me as if this were practical business strategy rather than antiquated paternalism. "The thing is, althoughneither of you has children, George is engaged—and he's younger. Better odds for conceiving, you see."
"And so am I," I say, because I'm not about to let that one slide. George's head snaps to mine.
"You are what… getting married?"
"Yes. You met my fiancée Jenna over breakfast earlier this week, remember? Surely the old fool hasn't forgotten already."
"Yes, yes, of course." He blinks several times and looks almost relieved. "I didn't realize you were serious about her."
"Did you think I would put a girl through the nightmare of introducing her to you and our mother unless I was serious?"
"Well…" His expression falters. "Perhaps not," he finishes lamely. "But the important thing is that George has been with his fiancée for longer?—"
"Technically, I was with her longer than he's been. She was with me for over four years before he decided to fuck her over his desk."
George jerks like he's been struck. Dad gives me a disapproving look.
"Whatever the case may have been," Dad says quickly, "for now they've been together longer than you have been with your fiancée. I believe they will have children sooner. But anyway, this meeting is about the company, and who is to be the permanent CEO, not about?—"
"You don't know that," I interrupt him. "You don't even know if either of us can father children. Maybe George here is firing blanks. It's never been tested." Silence lands in the room like a landed bird; it's clear this possibility had not occurred to them.
"Is this because Mom doesn't like Jenna?" I continue. "Because I thought she didn't like Marina either. As for the company, I'm the acting CEO, and the firm has been doing fine under my leadership. Why rock the boat? Shareholders won't like it, and neither will our major clients. They trust me. Georgewould be a relatively unknown quantity. You'd be creating risk for no reason."
"This isn't about what your mother likes," Dad says. "This is about being realistic about the business. Let me remind you, Grayson, that you are not the CEO—you are only the acting CEO. You were chosen because we needed someone to step in immediately when I had my stroke and George was away in London. It was a matter of expedience."
We both know that's nonsense. They would have preferred me for the job in any case. But the old games of favor and lineage are back in play, and Mom's disapproval—her quiet, corrosive voice—still carries weight.
"I don't know yet which one of you will take the permanent position," he continues. "But whoever it is, I don't want them to be incompetent, so I need you to bring George up to speed."
"No."
