One Night Expectations
Auteur·e
LaQuette
Lectures
17,9K
Chapitres
22
One
“I said what I said.”
Amara Angel Devereaux-Rodriguez sat at her desk on a Zoom call with her grandfather, internally reeling from the five words he’d just spoken. His tone was casual, as if he was sitting at home with his feet up reading a newspaper, not discussing contracts totaling more than a quarter of a small country’s GDP.
But that was what made her grandfather so good at what he did. He was so unassuming, he was deadly. By the time opposing counsel figured this out, he’d already have the deal signed, sealed and delivered.
“You can’t do this, Granddaddy.” Her voice was calm but her clenched teeth and stiff body language accurately relayed her displeasure. “I’ve put in too much work for this company for you to pull the rug out from under me like this.”
He was unmoved as he sat in the den at Devereaux Manor, dipping his gaze to read the document he was holding. Only when he was finished did he pull off his readers and look up, finally acknowledging her presence on the video call.
“Can’t?” He raised a brow as he sat up straight in his chair. “As lead counsel for Devereaux Inc. and your boss, I can do whatever I want. Just because I’m out of the office spending time with your uncle Ace while he’s sick doesn’t mean I’m not still in charge. My decision is final. I’m not retiring until after this Falcon Development deal is closed.”
She folded her arms, trying her best to suppress the anger boiling inside. “I have closed more deals and made more money for this company in the last three years than any other lawyer here, including you. You were poised to sail off into the sunset and give me the reins. Then all of a sudden you’re changing your plans and pushing me to the sidelines. What the hell, Granddaddy?”
She realized two seconds after she’d said it her mouth had written a check her ass couldn’t cash. David Devereaux might’ve been her sweet grandfather, but he didn’t tolerate disrespect from anyone. And by the way he was slowly leaning into the screen, she realized shit was about to get very real.
“That right there is the reason I’m not handing the reins over to you yet. You’re brilliant and determined. But you don’t know how to get what you want without bulldozing your way through every problem.”
“My methods have never been a problem before, certainly not when I was making this company more money than it could count. I fail to see the problem now.”
“The problem...” He paused and stared into the screen. She could tell the moment his features softened and his shoulders relaxed that he’d gone from seeing her as an insubordinate employee to his only grandbaby.
He calmly leaned back in his chair, folding his long arms across his chest. He was tall and lean, wearing the navy blue Brooks Brother suit he adored. Even though he was working from her uncle’s home, the power suit dominated any corporate space he was in, whether it was the office or on the computer screen.
The same kind, dark brown eyes that had always shone with pride in Amara were tinged with sadness that moved something in her, even though she tried hard to ignore it.
“The problem,” he continued, “is that your all-or-nothing approach doesn’t work for some deals. Your greatest strength and weakness is that you always go in for the best financial deal. Money is great, but it ain’t everything, baby girl. And the fact that you don’t know that yet troubles me. It’s gonna land you in a world of trouble. Success comes from the heart, not the bank account. And because you don’t understand that, you let Falcon stipulate that we’re responsible for securing the building permits from the city council in exchange for a better financial return for Devereaux Inc.”
She shrugged. He was always going on about heart. Heart didn’t pay the bills, though. Only cold, hard cash did that.
“I fail to see the problem. We’re getting more money in exchange for dealing with the permits ourselves. It’s bureaucracy. We have experience cutting through red tape. What’s the issue?”
He shook his head as he looked up to the ceiling like he was asking for celestial grace to deal with her.
“You’re right. Bureaucracy usually wouldn’t pose a problem for us. But the particular area where we’re building is smack-dab in the middle of Lennox Carlisle’s district. If you’d bothered to learn anything about the councilman, you’d know he blames companies like ours for gentrification and running residents out of this neighborhood. And now he’s running for mayor on the same issues. That’s why Falcon made it a contractual obligation for us to get the permits instead of them. Carlisle has been slapping Falcon down every chance he gets. Now we can expect similar treatment. But your zeal to secure the bag blinded you to that. So here we are.”
Amara flinched as if he’d struck her. Sure, this city councilman hadn’t factored into her thinking when she inked the deal. But she was meticulous when it came to wheeling and dealing. If this bureaucrat was so problematic, she would’ve known about it.
“This isn’t a big issue, Granddaddy. It’s a minor detail.”
“The fact that you don’t see this as a problem is why I can’t have you leading this deal. Carlisle can’t be swayed by the trappings of wealth like other politicians. And since your focus is always money, he’ll never give us what we need if you take the lead on these negotiations. He needs heart, Amara, and you don’t speak his language. My decision is final. I want you nowhere near this deal.”
“You’d never do this to my mother. If she were still practicing here—”
“If she were still practicing here,” he interrupted, “I wouldn’t have to tell her this. She’d know it already. Your mother retiring from practicing law was the worst hit this company has ever taken. If she and your father weren’t so happy traipsing around Brooklyn so carefree, I’d still beg her to return. She understood that you need both heart and skill to win. I’m still waiting for you to learn that lesson.”
She thought to defend herself for a hot second, until she saw disappointment cloud his eyes. Nothing she said would matter. Especially not when he was yet again comparing her to her mother. No one could reach the pedestal Ja’Net Devereaux-Rodriguez had been perched on since she graduated law school decades ago. Least of all Amara, the daughter who had her brains, but not her grace.
“I don’t have time for this. I have to call Jeremiah and get him down to the office. Martha’s up to something and whatever it is, it can’t be good. We have to be prepared if she tries to disrupt the vote to appoint Trey CEO today.”
Amara wasn’t just using a diversion tactic, either. The company her great-uncle Ace Devereaux had turned into a billion-dollar enterprise was in crisis now that he was ill. His fiercest protector, Jeremiah Benton, whom Ace had taken in as his ward when Jeremiah was sixteen, had been leading the business, trying to keep Ace’s sister, Martha, from staging a boardroom coup and destroying everything he’d built. And now Jeremiah had a new ally in Trey Devereaux, Ace’s granddaughter who’d recently rejoined the fold after years of estrangement. Trey was up for appointment as CEO in accordance with Ace’s rules of succession. Which ruffled Martha’s feathers, to put it mildly, since she thought she was owed the job.
Amara inhaled slowly before getting in the last word with her grandfather. “You’ll regret this.” Her voice was full of calm and control, as befitted her upbringing. But before he could respond, she ended the call.
She wouldn’t allow him to raise her blood pressure over this. Devereauxs didn’t get mad. They got even. She just had to figure out what that looked like in this situation.
“If all you’re going to do is stand there staring at me and not help me to stop Jeremiah and Trey from stealing this company, you can scatter like the rest of the scared little roaches that just left this room.”
Amara stood in the mostly empty conference room staring at her great-aunt Martha. The impromptu board meeting that Amara had worried so much about had taken place a few moments ago with pleasing results. Well, pleasing for the company and those trying to save it. Not so much for Martha after the board had voted Trey and Jeremiah in as co-CEOs.
“Aunt Martha,” Amara began carefully, “I know today’s events were...disappointing for you. But I think if you took the time to get to know Trey, you’d feel a lot more confident with her and Jeremiah running the company. I know you can’t see it now. But this is best for Devereaux Inc., for the family.”
Martha stood up slowly, splaying her fingers flat on the large conference room table. “Best for the family?” Her voice was eerily calm, making the hairs on Amara’s neck stand on end. “Sweet Amara. You most of all should understand that what’s good for the business and family never seems to be good for the women doing all the work.”
“What are you talking about, Auntie? Trey is a woman in this family.”
“Trey is a puppet being used to keep my brother’s antiquated succession rule in place long after he’s dead and gone. Those of us who would breathe life into the company, take it in a new direction, are always sidelined.”
Amara tried to make sense of Martha’s words. “Auntie, it’s been a long few days dealing with Ace’s unexpected hospitalization and now this. My brain is too tired to piece together the meaning of your riddles.”
Martha’s smile sent a cold chill down Amara’s back. The older woman casually grabbed her clutch and placed it under her arm.
“Amara, you’re smart, determined, and you buck against every rule my brothers have established for how this business is run. You more than anyone should understand what I’m talking about. Everything you’ve ever wanted has been denied you because you don’t do things the way your grandfather wants, while he praises your mother, a woman who did everything exactly according to his rules.”
She stepped closer to Amara, placing a hand softly against her cheek and offering her a soft, sincere smile that shook Amara to her core.
“Do you enjoy being treated as an afterthought in the family? Do you feel content to live in the shadow of you mother’s accomplishments?”
Amara didn’t answer, partly because Martha’s questions were rhetorical. But mostly because she feared what her answer would actually be.
“Grandniece, if you don’t fight for what you’re owed,” Martha warned, “you’ll find yourself in the same place as me, villainized, rejected and forgotten by those who are supposed to love you.”
“Aunt Martha,” Amara interrupted. “I’m not you.”
“You’re the me of your generation, grandniece. And if you’re not careful, you’ll end up dedicating years of your life to this family and to this company with nothing to show for it.”
“I think you’re exaggerating a bit, Auntie.”
Martha lifted a brow, giving Amara that “young’un, you don’t know what you’re talking about” look.
Silent, Martha placed a gentle kiss on Amara’s cheek and exited, leaving her there to comb through everything the woman had said.
She didn’t want to admit it, but Amara saw the parallels between Martha and herself. The worst part however wasn’t admitting Martha was right. The worst thing was the fear that her pain might one day make her just as bitter and resentful as her great-aunt.
“Amaretto sour, Ian, and your best bag of pretzels.” The friendly bartender at The Vault threw Amara a nod as she secured her phone inside her assigned locker and headed for the empty stool at the end of the bar.
If you were wealthy with any hint of celebrity, a membership at The Vault meant you could have a drink or five and not worry about it ending up in the tabloids. Electronic devices were prohibited, and the Brooklyn VIPs and power players entering the premises had to relinquish their phones in order to gain entry and be served.
“Rough day?”
Rough didn’t begin to describe it. “If you call losing the promotion you were primed for because your boss sees you as too aggressive to get the job done right, yeah, it’s been a rough day.”
“Damn, someone at work actually played the aggressive Black woman card with you?” He shook his head. “Sounds like you deserve a double, then.” He poured a healthy dose of the cocktail in her tumbler and slid it to her with a large bowl of pretzels. “Let me know if you need a refill on either.”
“Definitely a refill on the drink. An order of hot wings would be great, too.”
He gave her a thumbs-up and put her order in.
Relieved to have a moment of solitude, she looked at her drink and the bowl of pretzels and sighed. How cliché was her existence that she was sulking about the developments at work, nursing her wounds with alcohol and carbs at a bar. But Ian was right. Her grandfather had played the aggressive Black woman card and the more she thought about it, the more it pissed her off.
Being born to an African American mother and an Afro-Cuban father, she’d long ago learned how Black women were stereotyped. What was throwing her here was that it was coming from her own family.
Amara had never wanted to work anywhere else but Devereaux Inc. Why would she? It was a “for us by us” situation where she didn’t have to navigate the misogynoir present in many corporate spaces. She could display her brilliance and excel without having to deal with bullshit. Except her grandfather’s refusal to step down and allow her to lead was another kind of foolishness altogether.
She was the best Devereaux Inc. had to offer, and it still wasn’t good enough for her to get the promotion she deserved.
“How did I end up here?”
“Not sure.” A smooth, deep voice pulled her attention away from the pity party of one she was trying to have. “But I can’t say I’m necessarily mad you are.”
There was a smart-assed retort on the tip of her tongue until she looked up and saw the face that went with the voice. The man had golden-brown skin, hazel eyes, and a thin, dark brown goatee framing thick, full lips. She was so busy soaking up his good looks she couldn’t find the sour retort she’d usually have waiting for a weak line like that.
But there was something more than his good looks that captivated her. He was vaguely familiar.
He stretched out his hand as he offered her a wide, easy smile. “I’m Len.”
When she didn’t immediately respond, he dropped his hand while dipping his head in an apologetic nod.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll leave you to your drink.”
She looked into his eyes, and recognition hit her. This was Lennox Carlisle, the very person at the center of her work woes. She searched his eyes, waiting to see if he recognized her as well. But to her surprise he didn’t seem to.
“It’s fine,” she responded. “I’ve just had a long day. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Wanting to be left alone with your own thoughts isn’t rude. And just because I wanted to speak to you doesn’t mean you’re obligated to give me the time of day. I apologize for interrupting you.”
He stood up, tapping the counter to get the bartender’s attention. “Hey, Ian, anything she orders tonight is on me.”
“That’s not necessary.”
He shrugged. “It’s not. But everybody deserves a break here and there. Hope your day gets better.”
He smiled once more then turned toward the long hallway that led to the restrooms and offices. She watched his retreating form, not exactly certain of what had just happened, but not exactly put off by it, either.
While her grandfather had proven himself to be a misogynistic jerk, this stranger had offered her a small measure of kindness that somehow sparked hope inside her. Hope for what? She had no clue.
But she was curious to find out.
