will manage this company successfully thus ensuring the board will shut the fuck up about it. After which you two can do as you please. Get a quiet divorce. Whatever your heart desires. Scott can go back to doing whatever the fuck Scott does and you will continue to helm this company as a Blackstone. Have I made myself clear?”
He hadn’t been kidding when he said he needed time––and he’d spent that time drawing up the plans from hell. Frank, however, had always valued my opinion and my metaphorical balls. He would’ve never made me second-in-command otherwise. I had never shied away from giving it to him straight before and this time was no different.
“I…can’t.”
Frank frowned. More a puzzled look than one of disapproval. After a meaningful pause, he asked, “Are you in love?” Doubt softened his tone. As if it only now occurred to him that I could be unavailable. Then again, in all the years I’d known him I’d never brought anybody to any of the numerous company events I’d attended. And he had no idea about Josh.
“No.”
“Dating anyone worthwhile?”
I almost laughed. Dating? What was that? I hadn’t had time for a date in double-digit months. Working seventy-hour weeks wasn’t exactly conducive to a kick-ass social life. “No, of course not––”
“Then what’s the problem?” he said, jumping in. “Or is it the marriage you take issue with? Do you consider it sacred?”
That pulled a smile out of me. “No.”
“So there’s no ideological reason you’re refusing to close the deal of the century?”
Frank and his hyperbole. I had to put a stop to this thing before it gathered steam. “Permission to speak freely?”
“Permission granted.”
“How can I put this nicely…Scott’s a pig. I wouldn’t marry him if I had a gun to my head.”
Frank chuckled. “He’s rough around the edges.”
Understatement of the century. “I’ve always loved your ability to look on the bright side. He’s the worst misogynist I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”
His grin widened. “He’s a man’s man.”
“C’mon, Frank. Even you know––”
“Fine. He’s not your type. I get it.” He leaned forward in his chair. As if everything he was about to say next was going to be of the utmost importance. “He doesn’t have to be, Syd. He only needs to be your husband for enough time to show the board that you’re more than capable of taking charge of this company. And for that to happen without them trying to undermine you every step of the way, you have to have Scott at your back. He’ll be a powerful ally.”
Scott––an ally? He was barely awake during the day, but whatever. I wasn’t about to quibble over details. My resolve was fading fast, however. I didn’t want much. Outside of my career, I didn’t expect anything out of life. My childhood had taught me that the hard way. Wanting led to disappointment and that I’d had plenty of. But this…this I wanted, this made my blood hot and my pulse quicken. Running Blackstone Holdings would be the crowning achievement of my life.
Sinking further into the chair, I tipped my head back and studied the original René Magritte painting on the wall. A business man with a window to a cloudy sky for a face. I was pretty sure there was heavy meaning in there somewhere. “Can I think about it?”
“Sure. You can contemplate it on the way to Wyoming. The Blackstone jet is on standby at Teterboro.”
Frank was railroading me, and I was letting him. He’d had a way of sucking me into his schemes from day one.
“But…”
“Sydney…” Frank’s expression was suddenly grave. “You’re the son I never had. I won’t rest in peace knowing anyone else will take my place.” The heartfelt sentiment wrapped its fingers around my throat and squeezed. “You’ll have status, money, the front cover of Forbes, possibly Time magazine, in exchange for a mere three years of your life.”
If I did this––and it was still a big IF––I wouldn’t be doing it for status (which I didn’t give a flip about) or the cover of Time magazine (which I did) or money (which I had already). I would do it for Frank.
“What’s in Wyoming?” I sourly muttered.
A slow smile spread across Frank’s face. “Your husband.”
“My husband…” I repeated, head shaking at the absurdity of it all. This was shaping up to be a perfectly normal Friday until this. “Does Scott know––about your illness? And this cockamamie plan?”
“Not yet.”
Weighty sigh. My eyes fell shut as I rubbed the throb developing between them.