Page 13 of The Negotiator
“The company is yours.”
“Only part of it. Both my dad and Paul have bigger shares than me.”
She takes the cup of brewed coffee I just poured for her and wraps her hands around it. “You never told me about your mom. You never mention her.”
Mom. The only one who ever cared for me and who wasn’t afraid to show me what love was. The one I ran to when I had problems at school. The one whose loss still hurts me. The one I never stopped grieving.
I take out the bacon and put it over the paper napkins on the plate before dropping the sausages in the pan. While they cook, I slice the tomatoes and arrange them on a different plate, adding a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of salt.
“Mom was amazing,” I start, still a bit unsure about what to say. I’ve never spoken about her for so long, especially to Paul and Dad. After her death, it was like they wanted to completely forget her existence. But not me. “Before she married my dad, she was a flight attendant. They met when he flew first class instead of his private jet. They fell in love and got married within three months.”
The sausage is done, and I add it beside the bacon before continuing, “They had Paul the following year and me three years later. When I was eight, I remember coming home and finding her by the swimming pool, a glass in one hand, lying on the tiled floor and staring at the sky.”
Memories rush at me, along with the all-too-familiar guilt. “That became a common scenario. Mom drinking wine at all hours of the day, staring into space, and just … not being there. Some days, she recognized me. Others, she didn’t even know I was there.”
I carry the plates one by one to the table. “When I was in ninth grade, I came home, and she was gone. She mixed wine with sleeping pills.”
“Oh my God.” Tears pool in her eyes, her fingertips flying to her open mouth. “I am so sorry, Oliver.”
“She called me Oli, too. The only one who did.”
“Oli.”
“She would have loved you, Ol. She would’ve enjoyed being in your home. Mom was a fun, free-spirited soul, just like you. She liked beaches, nature, and just … laughing until her stomach hurt. She had millions in the bank and a shopping allowance of one hundred thousand a month, but she wasn’t happy. I did my best to make her laugh, and she did, but I also heard her cry in the bedroom late at night when she thought I was asleep.”
“I would’ve loved her too, you know.”
“I know.” I step closer to her and wipe the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I planned to make this a memorable breakfast, but I only succeeded in making you cry.”
Olivia shakes her head and kisses my palm. “No. Thank you for sharing that with me, and thank you for this breakfast.” She sniffs once and grins. “Now let’s eat. Mom and Sammy won’t be awake in at least an hour, and I’m starving.”
A sudden knock on the door makes Olivia frown, and I’m equally puzzled. Based on what I learned these past few days, visits from neighbors are pretty rare, and if they do come here, it’s never before lunch.
“I’ll get it.” Olivia gets up to answer it while I take two more plates full of bread and bacon. The door swings open, and the last person I expect to see is on the other side—Paul.
He doesn’t look pleased. His lips are pressed into a tight line, and he wears a stony expression, which is usually reserved for our employees.
Not today.
“Hello, brother. Can I just say? I expected a phone call from you days ago telling me it’s a done deal. Imagine my surprise when I find out you’re being domestic and shit.”
I set the plates down and stride toward him. “Let’s talk outside.”
Paul follows me without another word toward the small cabana in front. The beach stretches out before me, the white sands almost glittering. Waves lap against the shore, and it doesn’t do anything to calm the raging storm inside me.
“You wanna tell me why you’ve been dodging my calls? The staff at the resort said you’d been hanging out with that girl.”
That girl. The condescending tone only makes me angrier. “Olivia.”
“What?”
“That girl’s name is Olivia Lang.”
“Don’t care. So, did she agree to the terms?”
“No.”
Paul moves in front of me, his nostrils flaring. “Then what the fuck are you still doing here? Is this your method to win her over? Try to do the boyfriend act?”