3. Drew: Why Me

Chapter three

Drew – Why Me

"Why me?" I shout across the kitchen at my brother and two sisters. The last thing I want to do is to leave my perfect Manhattan penthouse to explore some dinky town in Florida. "For the love of all things good, I can't even find it on the map," I say, looking down at my phone.

Troy points out that I'm looking at a map of the US, not Florida specifically. "It helps if you use your eyeballs," he says, with a laugh. "Okay, you've got me there," I sigh. "But why me? Isn't there anyone else on the team who can do it?"

Troy rolls his eyes like I'm a child. "Little bro, you're more likely to fit in if you give up your fancy clothes and designer shoes for a few days, and I'm much more needed here at headquarters. Besides, Mona can't fly at eight months pregnant and Lillian is too shy to say hello, let alone scope the place for a buyout."

"Thanks a lot," Lillian says, with sarcasm dripping off her tongue.

"Then why not push Lillian out of her comfort zone and make her go?" I smirk at her as she sips her morning coffee. "Call it character building." I can't hold back the amusement I feel when I see her eyes widen with fear.

"Normally, I would agree with you, but we need to have this done right the first time," he says. "Not to say that she can't do a good job," he adds quickly. Sometimes I feel like he has a superiority complex because he's the oldest sibling and runs the company. Most of the time, however, he isn't wrong.

As the oldest, his face is better known than mine, but that's also by my design. I avoid the spotlight. When people know you're the son of a multimillionaire, everything about their relationship with you changes. Suddenly, they're your best friend in the whole world—until they figure out how to get what they want from you.

Thankfully, my BS detector is pretty sharp, but it wasn't always. I've been burned too many times to let people in. My family is all I need. No one else needs to know who I am.

I'm good at what I do, but I try to maintain as much anonymity as possible. I don't attend grand openings with cameras and reporters. I dress for the office when I'm there, but the second I'm not, I'm in jeans and a nice polo, looking like every other guy walking down Manhattan's streets. But now it looks like that choice is about to bite me in the butt.

"I understand that the Bellamy Hotel chain wants to enter the Florida market, but is a buyout the best way? Can't we look at undeveloped land instead? We wouldn't have to deal with owners, staff changes, and all that crap."

Once again, Troy has all the answers. "Beachfront land is basically impossible to find in any place with even a modicum of tourist appeal. Seaside Cove is poised to grow rapidly if the plans for a huge discount mall that I am hearing about go through. We want, and need, to be on the front end of that, and this little hotel is the perfect beginning.

So go and do your thing, Drew. We all know that you're the best at these conversions and we need the best on this."

I roll my eyes at his boardroom vocabulary. He's going to need more lip balm if he thinks kissing my butt will help his cause. But yes, I am the best at getting good deals on conversions. The family name definitely plays into it, I'll admit, but there's a strategy when it comes to closing deals.

It's the best kind of mental chess game you can play, and for some reason, my brain has a knack for it.

"He's right," Lillian says. "And the reward for hard work is more hard work, right?"

"Easy for you to say, Little Miss Recluse," I sigh, as I pour another cup of coffee before joining them at the table. She's always been the queen of Zoom meetings and closing smaller deals over email. It's not like she's not good at it. She's the best and very hard to argue with, but she does it all remotely. I just wish it was her going to Florida instead of me.

"Remember what Dad used to say," Troy offered. "Sometimes the best things are found in the most unlikely places. Have some fun, and maybe get a tan while you're there. You never know, you might even enjoy yourself."

"You know that's a lie," Mona says, as she joins us at the table, already eyeing the iced fresh fruit her pregnancy cravings have been demanding. "The man hates sand."

"Who can relax when sand gets into places sand should never be?" I ask, which only prompts an outburst of giggles. I shake my head.

It's not that I don't enjoy a bit of travel every once in a while. I do. It's actually one of the best parts of my job. I just know where I'll feel the most confident in getting the best results. A small town in Florida is not it for me.

In New York City, no one really cares who you are unless they're about to close a deal with you. People know how to mind their own business. Plus, the city has everything you could ever need. I'm never bored here.

Spending weeks in a small town that's barely on the map, surrounded by sand, without even a Starbucks for miles, and with everyone knowing everyone's business, is my idea of a nightmare.

But there are times when I can't help but wonder if there is something more to life outside of my family's business, outside of the Bellamy name. It's all too apparent how alone I am when I come home to a frozen dinner and a cold, empty, king-sized bed.

Every morning, the same thing happens. Even though I know I went to bed by myself, I still reach my hand across the cool sheets, as if a beautiful woman will be there waiting for me to wake her up. It's only when my mind fades out of dreams and wakes to reality that I remember that I'm still alone.

The only thing accompanying me in the early morning hours is my screaming alarm clock reminding me to start yet another day working for the Bellamy name. It sucks, but it's better than life in a small-town fishbowl.

"No, you're just a grumpy workaholic who doesn't like change," Troy says. "Suck it up, buttercup. Call it character building."

Touché.

"There's nothing I can say to get me out of this?" I check.

"Your flight leaves on Friday," he says, as he sends me my itinerary. "Non-refundable, I'm afraid."

I look over at Lillian, who grins mockingly. "Better you than me," she says.

"Bummer," is all I can think of to say in my defense. "How long do I have to be there?"

He smirks. "As long as it takes." And so, the nightmare begins.