11. Graham

"Yes, I received the report and I went through them yesterday, but it needs some serious editing," I say into my phone as I walk through the sliding double doors.

The lobby is expansive, with high ceilings and polished marble floors. I nod once at the staff manning the reception desk and they offer me a smile back. Over the phone, I receive a reply to my request.

"Mr. Steele, the board meeting is in two hours. It'll take time to edit the entire report. If you could just tell me what exactly the problem is so I can pass it along to the team in charge." My secretary's voice is business-like—clear, concise, straight to the point.

She doesn't take any bullshit. It only took me two days to realize how effective she is. That was three weeks ago, and we've been working together ever since.

"If they can't figure out the problem on their own, Ms. Evans, then maybe they shouldn't have their jobs in the first place," I point out.

"You don't mean that," she says astutely. "And I'm sure you've already made the corrections, sir. So if you could hand it over, I'll be sure to revise appropriately and inform them of the mistakes."

I smile. She's good. "Playing hardball, Ms. Evans?"

"Of course not, Mr. Steele."

"Alright, I'll be up there in a second. I'll send the file to you then."

I hang up and enter the elevator that has a couple of our employees inside. They all offer me short nods and smiles.

"Good morning, Mr. Steele," a red-headed woman greets as I stand next to her.

"Hello, Linda. Wonderful day, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

The ride is comfortably silent as we go up. By the time I get to the topmost floor, I'm the only one left in the elevator. This floor is reserved for only the CEO of the company and, recently, the vice president. My office should be on the floor before this, but my father moved me up here when I got the position because, in his words, I need to be closer so he can monitor me better.

Although, really, he's only made use of the proximity to yell at me for every little thing that goes wrong.

Taylor's standing beside my door, holding a cup of coffee. She's wearing a burgundy two-piece suit, her brown hair twisted into a bun. I'm still not sure why she's working here and she hasn't told me. A part of me believes that she was only employed because her father and mine go way back. I've known Taylor for a long time. Our families are close, business partners, our fathers are best friends.

When she got the job, we agreed to keep things strictly professional. I'm her boss, she's an employee, that's it.

"Good morning, Mr. Steele," she greets.

"Ms. Evans," I say, accepting the coffee cup with a grateful smile. "How was your night?"

"Quite well, thank you," she replies, following me into the office.

I take off my jacket, hanging it on the coat rack by the side of the office before sitting down. Taylor stands in front of me.

"What do you have for me?" I ask.

"These require your signature," she says, dropping a couple of files on my desk. "You have the board meeting at ten and then a meeting with the head of our factory in New Jersey at two. I tried to schedule the conference call with the investors in Japan but they don't seem interested in speaking to you, sir."

My jaw clenches. "Alright, is that all?"

"Also, your father asked you to come into his office as soon as he arrives. His assistant informed me that he would be here in ten minutes."

I sigh, rubbing the space between my eyes. What does he want to yell at me for now?

"Got it. Thank you, Ms. Evans. I'll send the edited version of the report to your email now."

Taylor nods once before walking out of the office. Once she leaves, I decide to sign as many documents as I can before my father arrives. Exactly ten minutes later, Taylor calls to inform me that he's here. I stand, adjusting my tie before walking to his office.

I knock on the door and wait for him to call me in before entering. He's seated at his desk, wearing tiny spectacles and poring over some files. He doesn't immediately look up at me.

"Good morning, Father," I say, crossing the length of his office to sit in front of him.

He nods but continues to make me wait. He doesn't look up until he's done reading whatever it is in front of him. He likes ignoring people like that, making them uncomfortable. It's a business tactic he's honed perfectly. Or maybe he's trying to teach me patience. I resist the urge to start tapping my feet. It'll only get me a lecture about how I need to learn better control or whatever.

When his looks at me, his eyes are hard.

"Tell me about the press release," he orders—no greeting, nothing. "Which reporters were contacted to make an appearance?"

I provide him with detailed information on the press release for the upcoming launch. We're launching a new catalog of products targeted at children, a demographic we've never been concerned with before. But a couple months ago, my extremely brilliant nephew pointed out that we could make toys for children that would also have security and health elements. Like a teddy bear with a heart-rate monitor. Or a toy car with a motion sensor. There are several other products like that in the line and it"ll be officially released to the public in a week.

I took over the project when I was appointed as vice president and I've been working on making sure the launch is successful and goes by without a hitch.

"And you've prepared what you'll say at the press conference?" my father presses.

"Of course. I've got my whole speech memorized."

He makes a small noise of acknowledgment. "And the board?"

"The report on the expected revenue will be presented during the meeting today. I'm sure they'll be happy with it."

Another small noise of acknowledgment. My old man's words always seem to fail him when it's time to tell me I'm doing a good job. I'm pretty used to it, though.

"This launch has to be successful, Graham. With your brother's wedding so soon, we're being scrutinized. Everyone's watching us like hawks and we can't allow any weaknesses. The wedding's sure to bring about some negative press, which is why I insisted the press conference and the launch be next week."

"I'm aware, Father."

"Alright. Just make sure you do a good job."

"I'll always do," I state. "Is that all?"

He nods and as I get to my feet, he watches me carefully. He's been looking at me like that a lot. I can tell he's waiting for me to screw up, but that's not going to happen.

"Graham," he says before I turn. "How are the preparations for your move?"

"Mostly underway. It's nothing too complicated. I'll only be spending a couple of months in New York, anyway."

"Alright. And has Ms. Evans agreed to go with you or will you be hiring a new secretary when you arrive there?"

"Yeah, she agreed," I reply.

My father informed me a couple of weeks ago that I'd have to move to New York to oversee matters with our branch. It's a fairly new addition to our company and the lack of appropriate leadership has led to underperformance. Considering New York is our biggest market for the new launch, it makes sense for the vice president to go there to straighten things up.

I was pretty surprised when Taylor agreed to move there with me. But according to her, it wasn't a hard decision considering her mother lives in the city or something. It doesn't really matter to me.

"Okay," my father says, clearly pleased. He's always liked Taylor for some reason. "You can go. I'll see you at the board meeting. And I expect to see you at dinner tonight."

That gives me pause. I open my mouth to make up an excuse as to why I can't come but my father's faster.

"You'll be at the dinner. I don't care how busy you are. Your mother claims that she hasn't seen you in weeks."

"That's because I've had a lot of work."

"Regardless, you'll make time tonight. Are we clear, Graham?" he says, voice hard.

"Crystal," I mutter before finally leaving the office.

As always, talking to my father puts me in a bad mood. I pull at the tie around my neck as I head back to my office. Thankfully, the rest of the day goes by without any further hiccups. It's tonight I'm dreading. I not only have to see my mother, I have to eat at a table with both my mother and father.

It's not often that happens. Our family's almost never complete at the table. Dad's either busy with work or I make myself scarce when I know he'll be there. We still won't be complete considering Xander and Nate are in New York. It'll just be me, Mikayla, and our parents.

The dinner can go two ways. We could all be on our best behavior and get through the dinner awkwardly but without incident. Or my father does something that sets me off. There's a reason I avoid being in the same room as my parents at the same time. Seeing them together always manages to piss me off.

The chandelier hanging in the middle of our dining room casts a soft glow as we have our meal. The silverware in my hand feels heavy as I cut into the steak on the plate in front of me. So far, Mikayla and my mother have been carrying the conversation, discussing the only topic that seems to matter to them at the moment: Xander's wedding.

"What time is your flight to New York this weekend, honey?" my mother questions.

My mother has an aura of elegant grace that she developed after years of being Richard Steele's wife. She's a beautiful woman in her late fifties with delicate brown eyes and pin-straight black hair. I look nothing like her. I don't know why that irks me, but it has always has.

"Four p.m. I still can't believe Katerina asked me to a bridesmaid," Mikayla says, beaming.

"You've said that at least twenty times, give it a rest, Kay. We know you're happy." I roll my eyes.

"Don't be a sourpuss, Gray. I know you're secretly pleased Xan asked you to be his best man."

"He didn't have a choice considering he has no close friends."

And I'm pretty sure he did it to keep up appearances, as well. My brother and I still have complicated relationship, but in the past few months, we've grown closer, talking more often. It's mostly business talk, but there's no animosity like there was before. While we're a long way from a close brotherly relationship, we're working on it. That being said, I was shocked when he asked. And a little honored that he did. It's a testament to how far we've come.

A few months ago, Xander would have rather stood in front of that church pew alone than ask me to do so beside him.

"Whatever you say," my sister says. "When will you come to New York?"

"A day before the bachelor party," I reply.

Mikayla arches an eyebrow. "You can't come sooner? It's your brother's wedding. Isn't it the best man's responsible to plan the bachelor party?"

"Sure, but I hired an event planner for the job." I smirk.

Mikayla glares. "You're annoying."

The bachelor party's only a formality—something else Xander's only doing for appearance's sake. Most of the men coming are from families that have an alliance with ours one way or another. In our world, genuine relationships are rare.

Growing up, people only liked us for our last name. In high school and college, Xander and I simply leaned into that reality, tried to enjoy it. By the time he finished college, though, my brother was too busy for friends. He had a kid to take care of and he started working in the company.

"Mom, did you already pick up your dress?" Mikayla questions, already moving on.

She opens her mouth to reply, but my father cuts in.

"Mikayla, I believe we've all heard enough about the wedding. If you don't have anything else to say, then keep further discussions relating to the topic until after dinner."

Silence fills the room and the tension turns up a notch. Mikayla clears her throat, shifting in her seat. I think she forgot Father was there since he's been so silent the entire night. She practically shrinks and my jaw clenches at the sight.

I don't say anything, though. It's not like we're not used to it. A minute or two later, my father looks at my mother, addressing her.

"Ava, ask someone to bring another wine. I'm no longer in the mood for white."

My mother nods and, like a robot, she gets to her feet to fulfil his request. He could have said it kindly. She's not his maid. This is the reason I can't be in the same room as both of them. Because he treats her like dirt and I hate having to watch it.

My hand tightens around the fork in my hand. I promised myself I wouldn't lose it tonight. It's not like it'll change anything. So I stay quiet, I finish my meal, I reply politely when I'm addressed. And as soon as we're dismissed, I leave.

My mother must have been anticipating my quick departure because she manages to catch up to me.

"Graham," she says softly.

I suck in a deep breath before turning around. "Hey, Mom," I greet.

"Hi, sweetheart. How are you doing? You didn't say a word to me at dinner."

"Because I had nothing to say."

She nods. "That's okay. I just wanted to check up on you. You've lost weight, honey. I really don't understand why you insist on staying in that house all by yourself when you could live here."

I level her with a hard stare. "You don't understand? Really, Mom?"

She can't seriously be asking me that, especially after that disaster of a dinner.

She sighs. "Okay, I get it. But I hate not seeing you often. And now you're moving to New York."

"Take it up with Father. New York wasn't my choice," I say, shrugging.

She doesn't speak for several seconds. "You're not even going to look at me?" she asks.

I keep my gaze fixed to a point above her head. Here's the thing—I love my mother, I really do. She gave birth to me, after all, and she's a wonderful woman. But she kept secrets from me and I feel like she betrayed my trust.

"I'll see you at the wedding, Mom," I manage to say.

She inhales softly. "Take care of yourself, Graham. I love you."

I manage a small smile before hurriedly leaving the house. I honestly can't wait for the launch and for the wedding to be over so I can finally find some peace.

The past three months have been a rollercoaster. But it'll be over soon. I'm vice president; I managed to convince my father and the entire board I was responsible enough for the position. I've worked as hard as possible and I tried to mend my relationship with the family members I hurt.

Isabella was right. I had shit to do. But now I'm about to achieve what I've always wanted, and she still hasn't shown up. There's a small part of me that believes she's probably forgotten about me, moved on. Maybe she doesn't care anymore. It's been three months since we saw each other and so much could have changed within that time.

I'll find her, though. She made me a promise—and I made one to myself as well.