Chapter 2

Wes

“I told you no black on black,” Evie Jordan, my personal publicist – well now the entire Wilcox family personal publicist – scolds, long, red hair scattering all around. “You’re not Johnny Cash.”

“We both knew I was going to.” I casually slide my hands into my black suit pants. “I’m predictable.”

“ Reliable ,” she chastises with a small point in my direction. “It’s all about marketability.”

My best friend is the literal embodiment of the word.

From looks to speech to the woman of the week he finds himself photographed with, J.T. manages to demonstrate a level of relatability in the same breath as inaccessibility, which is essentially the ying and yang of the best enterprises.

Consumers appreciate his charm.

Investors admire his credibility.

I may feed the money machine to guarantee it continues to produce, but it’s him who maintains the audience that wants to be fed.

Contrary to what social media likes to say, I don’t take him for granted.

I’m absolutely aware of how much this company needs him.

I’m thoroughly aware of how much I need him.

Especially in moments like this.

“Your long black,” an unfamiliar, slender woman cradling a tablet announces upon her arrival. “And your dry-cleaning rush order has been confirmed.”

Evie accepts the beverage from the stringy haired blonde prior to introducing, “Wes meet Jenni. Jenni officially meet the boss.”

“I thought you were my boss,” squeaks the young, mousy female.

“I am your boss,” she snips in obvious annoyance, “but this is my boss; therefore, by proxy, your boss.” She lets her hazel gaze glide over the jittery individual. “Understood?”

“Mmmhmm.” Jenni enthusiastically nods. “Totally! One hundred thousand percentsky!” The head bobbing continues as she extends her empty palm out to me. “I’m Jenni. Jenni Cohen. Evie’s new assistant!”

We briefly shake. “Wes.”

“Weston William Wilcox, sole heir and primary shareholder to Wilcox Enterprises, currently engaged to Brynley Elizabeth Winters, the only daughter to Lauren Winters Baker, the woman who runs the household department of your personal estate who is currently on her honeymoon in Switzerland.”

There’s no stopping my eyebrows from twitching in question.

“I study!” Her eagerness to please threatens to make me smirk. “ A lot. ”

Evie waits until my stare swings back to her to sigh, “I had to fire Dina ten days ago after I overheard her saying some very unbecoming things about your physical appearance to another employee in Julia’s department.”

Unsurprising.

The horrible comments and judgements regarding my disfigurement that I anticipated receiving if I ever returned to the public continuously make themselves known.

And add to the reason I decline the offers to do magazine covers or features.

I don’t need pity from the public.

From anyone.

“And then Julia let me have Pruitt who was perfect until I caught him jerking it to Bryn’s photo during a long lunch on Monday.”

Low grumbles of disapproval receive an eyeroll.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Gaston has already been blackballed from the village, Mr. Beast.”

Jenni openly giggles at the joke despite my glaring.

“Which brings me to Jenni who was the only person I interviewed that didn’t recoil at your photo-”

“They’re just scars,” she says on a casual tossing of her hand.

“-who didn’t wanna bang your fiancée-”

“Total snipe but I prefer redheads.”

“-or your best friend-”

“I’d rather bang one of the bunnies than the boys.”

“-and understood the difference between an americano and long black.” The coffee slowly creeps towards her lips. “Plus, she was willing to start immediately.”

“I was taught always be ready to hit the ice.”

Another twitch of my brow prompts my publicist to add, “You get used to the hockey talk.”

“My big bro just got traded to Dalvegan!” Her tiny white top covered shoulders excitedly bounce. “They suck but top league is top league, right?”

I wouldn’t know.

Sports aren’t exactly my thing.

Getting our brands into sporting events, however, is on the list of goals now that this merger is officially done.

Today’s signing is purely ceremonial.

“You ready?” J.T. unexpectedly inquires over my shoulder from where he’s entering the spare conference room we’re occupying at The Frost Luxury Hotel. “The Romulans are waiting.” When no one makes a retort or smiles at his statement, he unhappily grumps, “Where’s Uhura when you need her?”

“Saving seals or sea lions or something,” Evie murmurs between sips.

“ Sharks ,” the three of us correct in unison.

“And here’s to hoping she doesn’t get eaten by one because that’s negative press we don’t need.” Evie tips her cup in a cheers like fashion before proceeding. “And speaking of your underdressed bride to be and negative press, she needs to send me over the photos of her potential dress choices for the Morgan merger event this weekend. I’ve sent her at least sixteen reminder texts and received nothing in return.”

She still struggles to give a shit about her phone.

Where it is.

Who’s calling.

While I can honestly say it’s not a habit I typically enjoy, I appreciate that when we’re together, we’re together. She’s not busy texting her friends or coworkers or scrolling social media in search of unrealistic standards to meet.

No.

She’s present.

Purposeful .

However, when we’re not together, it would be better – for everyone – if she were a tad easier to get in touch with.

Particularly when she’s on a rescue dive on the other side of the fucking country.

“Where’s Douglas Morgan?” Inquires our publicist, eyes scanning the fairly vacant room. “We need to go over public positioning one more time.”

“It’s a simple press gathering, Evie.” My head tilts condescending to one side. “Not a prom photo.”

“And you will be doing puff pieces for practice with private prep school pipsqueaks if you fuck this up.” Her bitter smirk slides in between statements. “Find him, Jenni.”

“You got it, Coach!” A tiny cringe is flashed. “ Boss. ”

Once she’s out of earshot, my best friend warmly states, “I like her.”

“ Don’t ,” is all that leaves me.

“While we’re on the subject of don’ts ,” our stiletto tapping leader interjects, “let me remind you, Wes, don’t grit your teeth, that’s not smiling. Don’t fidget, that’s not confident. Don’t fold your arms, that’s defensive. Don’t hide your hands, that’s not open. Don’t clear your throat, don’t touch your forehead, and don’t volunteer any information about your personal life. This is strictly about showcasing the unity of this merger and the growing of the Wilcox Brand.”

In spite of being overwhelmed with her notes, I force myself to nod.

I hate interviews.

I hate the lights.

I hate the flashes.

I hate the crowd.

I hate their voices.

I hate being the center of anyone’s attention that isn’t Bryn’s.

“And you, Mr. Reese…”

He quirks an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Remember your left side is good,” she gently taps on that side of his chin, “but your right side is better.”

My best friend smugly smirks as he adjusts his dark navy blue suit jacket.

Kiss ass.

I swear his nose hasn’t been this brown since college.

“ Found him! ” Jenni squawks from across the room. “He was having trouble getting past security!”

Good.

It means they’re doing their job.

Rising to the increased expectations that came about after last year’s shitstorm with Penny Baker, Clark’s only child.

Luther’s discovery regarding her true identity warranted a restructuring of his entire system. Not only did he run deeper background checks on all current estate employees, he wrote protocols that we’ve rolled over into the company, in which anyone I may have physical contact with within the building is subjected to the same scrutiny. Aside from that, I – along with Bryn and J.T. – are always to be equipped with a member of my in-house security team that Luther has personally vetted whenever we’re on property that isn’t owned by me or my company. The extreme lengths may be viewed as overcompensation for the poisoning incident; however, I believe it’s anything but.

What happened to Lauren should’ve never been possible.

Yet it was.

Ensuring that a repeat of such unfortunate events doesn’t happen is needed.

Necessary.

I may have showed mercy once by sending Penny to Switzerland to receive mental help, but I will not show it again.

For anyone.

Our transition from one conference room to the other is thankfully smooth.

Hill and Hurst escort me, J.T., and Douglas to the front of the room where we pose with a ceremonial copy of the contract in the exact position Evie instructed enroute.

We allow what seems to be an endless number of photos to be taken.

We scribble rather meaningless signatures on the document.

We engage in cordial handshakes and hugs and grins to communicate to those that are witnessing the event a sense of togetherness.

This merger wasn’t about the apex predator devouring the weak and swallowing it whole.

It was about aiding in someone else’s dream coming true.

Assisting in them rising to higher levels.

Ranks.

It was about expanding the legacy my father left behind and venturing into new frontiers as a brand.

Wow.

Did I really just have a Trekkie moment all on my own?

J.T. gestures an open palm to a dark umber skinned male in the far left corner. “Justin Lakes, with Financial Investment for the Highland Herald .” After receiving a nod of approval from me, he inquires, “Mr. Morgan, are you nervous about giving up complete control of your company to a corporation who has absolutely no current footing in the brewing industry?”

The sandy shaded man to my left gives his thick salt and peppered beard a single stroke prior to smiling widely. “Let me start by saying, I am not giving up complete control, Mr. Lakes. Mr. Wilcox and I have worked closely together during every step of this process to guarantee what we present is a collaboration of creation. While Mr. Wilcox-”

“ Wes ,” I politely insist.

“ Wes ,” he casually corrects further painting a friendly partnership, “may lack a specific beer-based reputation – at this time – the Wilcox brand is irrefutably one of the biggest in the alcohol industry as a whole. With that reach and level of respect, I have no doubts that they will not only make an amazing first impression into the world of brewing using Morgan Beers as their vehicle of transition, I believe they will – we will – rise to the top of this field as well.”

I allow a natural smile to expand.

Hearing his unwavering belief in me…in the company…in what I’ve managed to accomplish thus far in my term at the top has my chest swelling in pride.

No.

Not all of my past choices would’ve made my father proud, but ones like this?

Ones where both parties can profit and benefit?

One where their brand has a chance to rise while our legacy has the chance to reach new markets?

These are the ones I know he would commend.

The ones I feel in an inexplicable way, he is .

“And was the idea to scrap the current logo to replace it with something that incorporates the Wilcox insignia much bigger and bolder, an agreed upon decision or primarily Mr. Wilcox’s?” rudely questions an unidentified female somewhere in the crowd.

“Agreed upon,” I retort in spite of not being able to see the attacker. “For better brand association.”

J.T. quickly moves onto a peach skinned, round-faced, wavy-haired woman closer to the front who is eager to pipe in. “Courtney Peeps with Arts and Lifestyle for Cliffsworth Chronicles .”

She’s presented the same nod of approval to continue as her predecessor.

“Will there be some sort of public social event to commemorate this merger?”

“Unfortunately, not.” The sympathetic smile on my face is forced. “We decided it would be more beneficial for Morgan brand employees who have stayed on through the acquisition if we hosted a private gathering in which they can meet and mingle and merge – small pun intended,” light snickers from the crowd are expelled, “with those from Wilcox Enterprises who they will be working with going forward. We wanted something lowkey to allow both sides to come together like a family,” another polite grin delivered, “which is what we prefer to think of ourselves as.”

“Then why isn’t your own family currently in attendance?” the voice from earlier bites back. “Your fiancée,” the woman continues while my eyes scour the scene, “is nowhere in sight this morning. In fact, she has yet to be seen once at your side during this merger.”

My eyes finally land on the young, fair skinned, dark-haired woman who looks uncomfortably familiar.

“Could it be because she doesn’t support or agree with your hostile takeover of a defenseless brand?”

“It wasn’t hostile.”

“And we weren’t defenseless!”

“Oh, then perhaps, she just doesn’t believe in backing your continued monopolization of the alcohol industry.”

There’s no stopping myself from glaring. “ I heard no question. ”

“Yet you made no argument regarding the inference.” She flashes a blindingly white tooth-filled grin. “Monica Simmons. Global Laundry. ”

The magazine that first published my fucking face.

That changed my entire goddamn life without my permission.

Why am I not surprised they’d send someone here to what was supposed to be local press only to continue their campaign against me?

“Do you have an actual question, Ms. Simmons?” J.T. calmly redirects. “ About the merger ?”

“Mr. Wilcox, you are implying that this merger is more of an expanding family than the overthrowing of an indefensible organization, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Then what does it say about your family dynamics if your own fiancée can’t be bothered to show up in support of the expansion?”

My mouth lowers to reply despite Evie’s headshakes appearing in the corner of my vision.

“What does it say about the nature of your relationship if she’s willing to put her needs above yours?”

A single twitch is barely made.

“What does it say about your company when the woman marrying into it, the woman who will inevitably then have shares in it , can’t even be bothered to take the day off of work to make a minor appearance at such a major event for your family’s legacy?”

Air traps the rebuttal in my throat.

“Is this because – unlike Mr. Morgan – she doesn’t believe in this merger’s success?” The devilish smirk I’m shot stops my ability to breathe. “ In yours? ” Her face cranes villainously forward at the same time she coos, “ In. You? ”