Sloane.
"Would you trust the future of company on that alternate source?" I ask.
"Stop, I know what you're doing."
But the truth is, I can't stop. There's no way I'm allowing Sloane to have the upper hand in this. So I continue, "And is that alternate source of funding prepared to give you what I can?"
She looks up at me. "You know what you're problem is?"
"Enlighten me," I say, trying not to roll my fucking eyes.
"You think you can have anything you want."
I laugh. "Think? I know. I do get what I want, and I wouldn't be standing here in front of you if that wasn't true."
"Arrogant," she murmurs, almost under her breath. I barely catch the word before it's carried off in the wind.
"When you're older, you'll realize …" I begin to say, and then realize that I didn't mean to use that tone; I didn't mean to make it sound like she was a little girl, so I correct myself. "By that I mean, when you've been in business for as long as I have, you'll see that it's not arrogance; it's confidence. There's a difference. When you want something in business … in life … if you don't go out there and get it, you'll never have it."
Natalie stares at me, her blue eyes brewing a storm. She's refusing to hear a fucking word I say.
"I think you should be ready to not get everything you want," she says with finality, and without allowing me to get another word in, I watch as she turns on her heels, and walks away. I stand on the sidewalk, watching her hair dance in the tendrils of the wind, giving me a mocking wave.
Fuck.
I look out across the sidewalk, at the throngs of people shuffling across the intersection, and I decide to go back to my apartment. There's no fucking sense chasing after her right now. Right now, I need to decide what to do about Sloane.
I dig into my pocket and take out my cell phone. I text my driver, and he immediately responds, letting me know he's on his way and will be here in a few minutes.
Just as I'm about to shove my phone back into my suit pocket, I see a new text, and this time it's not from my driver. It's from a name that puts my mind into overdrive.
Linda.
What does my ex want?
I click the message, and realize it's a group text. I begin to read it.
"We all need 2 have dinner tomorrow nite. 6pm. The Oak Room. I've made reservations."
Great, I think sarcastically. Fucking wonderful.
Natalie
I look at my smartphone as I climb out of the taxi, realizing that I’m already half an hour late. Crap! I bet they’re already at the restaurant, and I really didn’t want to be the last one in today. Oh well, there’s nothing I can do now.
I stroll inside of The Oak Room with my head held high, ready to face the scrutiny of my oh-so-friendly family. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought this dress, low cut and tight fitting, but I couldn’t help myself. Sloane and Drake are going to be here, and I have to dress to impress. Besides, my mother hardly approves of anything I do, so why bother?
The three of them are sitting at a table on the far end of the room, and that’s where I head to. “Sorry I’m late, the traffic was --”
“Of course you’re late,” my mother tells me, turning her bright eyes toward me. H
er lips are pursed, and there’s a frown on her face; she hates people who are late with a passion, and I guess that hate extends to her own daughter.
“Well, you know me,” I shrug, taking my place at the table without looking at either Drake or Sloane. I don’t want them to think I’m playing favorites.
“I do know you, Natalie,” she says with a faux sigh, and I almost expect to add an ‘unfortunately’ at the end of her sentence. That’s my mother, always eager to praise her daughter. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate my mother; it’s just that she’s hard to love.
God, I need a drink.