Page 12 of Love Marks
Pushing down the sadness that threatens to bubble up, I force an uncaring grin, hoping it looks more convincing than I feel.
“Pierre sacked me. Whatever. The point is I need to find a new job, ASAP. Unless our luck has turned, and Joe is a Moroccan prince of some kind?”
“I don’t think they have Moroccan princes in Long Island,” she says, handing the ice cream back to me. “We met at chemo. His brother has prostate cancer, stage one.”
“How romantic. I bet the IV fluids really turned him on.” She throws one of the couch pillows at me and it hits me smack in the face.
It’s quiet for a moment as we eat our ice cream. I wonder what my mom is thinking. Is she upset at me for getting fired? I think about telling her the whole story but if there’s anyone to get fired up about injustice, it’s my mom. Melanie Taylor is a fighter through and through.
“I really like him,” she says, almost too quiet for me to hear.
“Why didn’t you tell me about him? Didn’t you want me to meet him?” I ask.
“Well, definitely not like that,” she replies, a slight trace of humor in her voice. Her gaze turns thoughtful. “I did. I do. I just didn’t want it to be too soon.” She shakes her head. “C’mon, let’s go on Glass Window, or whatever it’s called.”
“It’s GlassDoor,” I groan, knowing what awaits me.
Job applications. Nothing worse than the constant stream of rejections from jobs I don’t even really want.
Why me? Why did evil Ian have to ruin my life? Couldn’t he have blamed it on Samantha, or Jodie, or Elise, the new girl? I doubt he even knows her name. I’m the only one who ever took the time to get to know the new hires, and this is how I’m rewarded. With a proverbial kick in the nuts.
“Stop sulking. There’s a million restaurants in this city, and one of them is about to gain the best hostess around,” my mom says, jostling my shoulder a little as she picks up the Chrome Book that we share.
Sighing, I reach out to take the laptop from her and force a smile. My mom is right, I don’t have time for a pity party. Time to buckle down and figure this out. I’m sure I’ll find a new job in no time.
Chapter 5
Wesley
This is shaping up to be the most stressful week of my life. Even Ben took back what he said on the phone and declared last Saturday to be in his own top ten worst days, as well as mine. After I got off the phone with Pierre, the owner of The Phoenix who informed me that Miss Taylor would be terminated from her position immediately, the day somehow got even worse. My mother called back and informed me that my dad had checked himself out of rehab and was on his way to the city to talk to me.
Since the leak included the name of the rehab center where my father was a patient, the paparazzi showed up on the front lawn. He got a heads-up from one of the nurses and managed to sneak out the back and had his driver pick him up in his private car — a Honda Civic. My father may be an asshole, but he’s smart when he needs to be.
I spent the rest of the day finding a new upscale rehab center that would take my father in on such short notice with him sitting across from me, insisting that this rehab business is “unnecessary.”
“This is a blessing in disguise, son. Now that everyone knows I’m a drunk, I can resume my rightful place at the company and put this all behind us.”
His denial was truly incredible to witness. Still, I was in no mood to get into it with him about his alcoholism and the fact that he wouldn’t be returning into his old position anytime soon, or ever. I eventually secured him a spot at Golden Lakes, another premiere rehab center in the Hudson Valley.
Since then, I’ve hardly seen my family. George and I should have direct brain transmitters at this point. I’m on the phone with him every waking minute figuring out the details of the merger and our rollout plan with the staff. The botched announcement caused a few higher-level staff to quit on both sides, so it’s been an HR nightmare too.
Thankfully, it’s almost settled. We’re moving into their offices in Midtown next Monday. I don’t like it but it’s not like I have a choice. I like being downtown; plus, it’s much closer to my apartment in Dumbo, where I’m currently sitting at my office desk.
Staring out at the Brooklyn bridge, I suppress a sigh. Ever since we confronted my dad about the drinking and found out about the company’s losses, my life has been turned upside down. It started with me taking over as CEO, a decision he still resents me for. Sure, the company was always meant to be mine — but in ten years, not now. I’ll be the youngest CEO of the Marks Group at the ripe age of thirty-two. As if things haven’t changed enough, in a week, I move into the Penthouse suite of the Midtown Hyatt. Permanently.
It was George’s idea, and I couldn’t really say no with the current circumstances. He thought me moving into the Hyatt would truly show my dedication to this merger. Plus, our first joint property will likely be uptown, and my commute will be cut down to a thirty-second walk across the street to the office.
Obvious advantages aside, I don’t want to do this. Mostly because I love my apartment. Ben doesn’t get why I would choose to live in Brooklyn and not just get a high-rise closer to the office and all my so-called friends. He also hates that he’s on the Upper West Side and our distance gives me more excuse to avoid babysitting duty.
The truth is I just like Brooklyn. Something about sitting in the backseat, driving over the bridge and out of the city each evening and coming back to my quiet apartment. I spend every waking moment in the city. My apartment is my sanctuary. Perhaps that’s why nobody ever comes here. Not even the women I’ve dated.
Not that there haven’t been women. I just never brought them here. We’d usually stay at a suite at one of my hotels, or I’d go to their place. Most of my romantic arrangements have been casual and mutually beneficial in nature, so there’s not much need to bring them into this space.
I grew up on the top floor of a gorgeous, classic building in Soho, my mother’s favorite of our properties. She’s still there, alone now with my father gone. When she found out about my temporary move to Midtown, she tried to convince me to split my time at the Soho apartment, but I managed to avoid it. I hate to think of her all alone in that giant penthouse, but us living together in any capacity is a mistake.
My phone buzzes with a message from Ben:
Want to get dinner?