Page 20 of Shattered Crown
"The succession provision, the employee retention guarantee, and the requirement to maintain the hotel’s exclusivity."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. David Sterling was proving to be a difficult negotiator. Eighty-three years old and sharper than men half his age. He didn't want to just sell his hotel, he wanted to ensure its legacy. Every meeting, every document, every conversation circled back to the same questions: What would happen to his staff? Would the traditions be maintained? Would the new owners understand what the Sterling hotel meant to him and his family?
Sentimental concerns. It just complicated what was supposed to be a clean acquisition.
"Send me the flagged sections," I said. "I'll review them tonight."
"Also, Richard called about the Chicago zoning issue. He needs a decision by the end of business tomorrow."
"Tell him I'll call him in the morning."
"And your mother called. Twice. She wants to confirm you're attending your grandmother's birthday dinner on the twenty-third."
The twenty-third. Six days away. I'd been avoiding thinking about it.
"Tell her I'll be there."
"She also asked about Evie. Whether she'll be attending."
I looked through the windshield at the foundation's glass doors. Inside, I could see movement—volunteers crossing the main room, someone arranging flowers on the reception desk. No sign of Evie. No sign of Aria.
"I'll discuss it with Evie and let her know. Anything else?"
"Lono Kalahale’s representative just got back to us.”
My interest spiked. The Kalahale Grande. The old man had been extremely elusive, dodging my calls, ignoring my emails. “So? Are we moving forward with the contract?”
“No. He’s insisting you meet in person. In the hotel.”
Damn it. “I’ll deal with that when I get back.”
I hung up. Set the phone on the passenger seat. Everyone was being difficult this month. Evie, David Sterling, Lono Kalahale, and especially Aria Kealoha. I blamed all the present chaos in my life on her. If she hadn’t mentioned this volunteer position to Evie, then she’d be at her violin lesson, and I’d be at work as I should be.
Then there was the bloody dinner.
My grandmother would hold court at the head of the table, dispensing judgments disguised as observations. My mother would hover, smoothing over tensions before they could surface.Xavier would arrive late and leave early, charming everyone in between. Isabelle would be there too, flying in from London, and she'd spend the evening deflecting questions about when she planned to settle down and produce heirs.
And I would sit at my designated place, wearing the appropriate suit, giving the appropriate answers, being the appropriate son.
My phone buzzed again. A text this time.
Grandma Dubois
Sebastian. I trust you haven't forgotten about Thursday. Your grandfather's watch needs to be worn. It's been sitting in that safe too long.
My grandfather's watch. A Patek Philippe from 1962. She'd given it to me after the funeral, along with the expectation that I would be the man he'd been. The man my father had failed to be, in her eyes.
Sebastian
haven't forgotten. I'll wear it.
Her response came immediately.
Sebastian
Good. And bring Evangeline. She needs to spend more time with family. Not strangers.
Strangers. She meant the foundation. She meant Aria. My grandmother had opinions about everything, and she shared them freely. She'd already made her feelings known about Evie's ‘volunteer work’: a raised eyebrow here, a pointed comment there about how charitable endeavors were fine for adults but children needed structure, discipline, proper influences.
