“Then…what the hell am I supposed to tell Anton?”
Anton.
Anton Cutter didn’t have an official role at Ryder Holdings, but unofficially he oversaw the entirety of our illegal operations. He’d been a constant presence in my and Scott’s lives for as long as we could remember. “Uncle Anton”—that’s what he insisted we call him back then.
But he preferred to stay in the shadows, pulling strings here and there, never making a big show of his involvement in the company. And more than that, he was ruthless. Scott was right to fear coming to Anton with bad news.
“You don’t need to tell him anything,” I said. “I’m making the call, so I’ll break the news.”
“I still think you’re making a huge fucking mistake, Jason. And it’s not too late to turn back.”
“I’ve made my decision. I made it a long time ago.”
“It’s because of her, isn’t it?” Megan, he meant. Of course he did.
“Scott, you’d better be really careful with your next words.”
“I don’t need to say it. You know it’s true.”
I let the silence hang, and every word that comes to mind is one I might not be able to take back.
“I think you need to remember your place. I’m the boss here, bro. Don’t forget it.”
Scott was pissed. “You’re going to drive this company straight into the fu—”
With that, I hit the “end call” button. Scott’s image vanished, replaced by a black deep enough to reflect the bookshelves on the opposite side of the room.
Fucking hell. I clenched and unclenched my fists and took several deep breaths, doing my best to let the tension flow from my body.
The situation with Scott was becoming dire. I could give him orders, sure, and he’d have to obey them. But I knew it was only a matter of time before he’d decide enough was enough, and that being the one in charge suited him more than being bossed around by his big brother.
And even beyond that, there was the matter of moving Ryder Holdings away from our illegal businesses. Even if I’d happened to have a COO I could count on, it was still a tall order. Getting out from under what my father had built carried with it no guarantee of escaping scot-free—so to speak.
I started the espresso machine and made my way over to the floor-to-ceiling office windows overlooking Midtown Manhattan. It was getting later in the morning, the rising sun casting the glass-and-steel buildings of the city in a golden glow.
Right at the moment my espresso was ready, the chime of my intercom sounded through my vast office.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Ryder, your nine-thirty is here.” The voice belonged to Shauna Reed, my personal assistant.
I cocked my head, scanning my mental calendar for what she might be referring to.
“What’s my nine-thirty?”
“The interview for the nanny—April Flowers?”
Now there was a name. Recollection hit me. My eight-year-old daughter, Willa, was in desperate need of a nanny. Summer was nearly here, and with school out, I wouldn’t have nearly enough time to look after her.
“Send her in.”
“Will do.”
I sat on the edge of my desk facing the double doors to my office, sipping my espresso.
Then the doors opened and Shauna stepped in. She was in her late twenties, and with her slim physique and striking features, was quite pretty—not to mention very good at her job.
But my attention quickly went to the woman at her side.