Page 54 of The Betrayer
Chapter 22
Will
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IHIT THE BUTTON TOend the call with Paul, my annoyance flaring hotly. Resentment welled behind it. My son had basically given me what amounted to a verbal pat on the head for not messing everything up.
It had been two weeks, and he was still ribbing me about responsibility and being there. Hadn’t I shown him that he could rely on me when it counted? And another thought—why did I have to prove myself? In the end, this was my company. I was the CEO. He might have come in and made it run more smoothly, but in the end, his work was built off what I had created.
I felt bad and wanted to find a way to make it up to myself. Along the way, I found myself caught up in the fun of my business again, for which I was grateful. But enough was enough—he wasn’t the CEO yet and would never be the founder. I was still firmly in control, and the time to apologize for what had happened at the gala was over.
What had started as a good morning suddenly felt as stormy as the gray clouds hovering over the city, promising rain at some point during the day. I could even feel it on the eddies of the stiff breeze as it blew through piles of dried leaves collecting on the sidewalk.
Rita looked up as I yanked open the door to the coffee shop, and her expression creased. I must have had a stormy expression on my face, probably the first she had seen. It wasn’t my normal state of being.
“Something wrong?” she asked.
“My son can be”—I searched for the right word—“condescending when he wants to be.”
“That the one who’s in China for the big business deal?”
“Yep. You got it. One big business deal, and he thinks he’s Mr. Bigshot now. Thanks.”
We had taken to buying each other coffee in turns, and Rita was already sliding the takeaway cup with the triple shot of espresso across the table toward me. I took a long drink, willing my frustration away. But the words found their way out soon enough.
“It all started because he told me we have an important business dinner on Monday evening, and he kept repeating how important it was that I was there and on time. I already told him I would be.”
Rita shrugged, taking a sip of her latte. “Trust is a hard thing to win back, Will. It’s probably going to take a lot longer than two weeks to show him you’re really serious this time.”
I stuffed a bite of pastry into my mouth to cover my growl of annoyance at her words. Maybe they were true, but I would be damned if I was going to let Paul act so condescendingly while he was deciding whether and when he could trust me again.
“Just think about it—from all you’ve told me, you lost interest in the company in many ways and let Paul take over. You said that you let things slide when you shouldn’t have, including your obligations to the business.”
I suddenly regretted spilling everything I had to the young woman, including who I was and my history there. But Rita was easy to talk to and a good listener, as any half-decent journalist should be. I’d realized, sitting there talking to her over the past two weeks, I didn’t have many good listeners in my life. Too many of the people surrounding me either liked to hear themselves talk too much to listen or were simple yes men who had no idea how to add value to a conversation. Never mind the vacuous young women I had made a part of my life. Sure, they pretended to listen—or maybe they did, who knew—but they certainly hadn’t known how to carry on an intelligent conversation.
But I hadn’t, after all, chosen them for their conversating abilities. Other things had been on my mind.
Rita was refreshing and bright and knew how to carry on a conversation. I found her fascinating, full of life, and even at her young age, worldly. Her insight provided new perspectives that hadn’t occurred to me.
Nor was Rita shy about sharing her opinions, like now. Whether I wanted to hear them or not. And I really didn’t today. Not after my conversation with Paul.
“What is it with the younger generations?” I huffed, taking another long drink of my coffee. “You think you know absolutely everything, even though I have dozens of years on you both.”
Rita’s mouth quirked with amusement, and she flicked a piece of long, straight hair back behind her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure it’s because we aren’t stuck in our ways. We see things with a fresh perspective.”
“You see things without the benefit of years of experience,” I corrected her.
An eloquent shrug was my reply. “There are benefits to both.”
