Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Uncle Stokes continues, “I’ve been having a few health issues—nothing that’s too concerning at this exact moment, but Greg was clear that we needed a path forward. For the future.”
“What kind of health issues?” Mom asks, frowning.
He’s quiet.
“Jesus Christ,” Dad mutters, but Mom pinches him, and he holds his tongue.
“For the sake of transparency,” Uncle Connor says, “I think we should know. It’d give us a clearer timeline.”
“He’s not dying,” Aunt Poppy clarifies.
“But I will eventually be stepping down as CEO,” Uncle Stokes says. “I’m supposed to choose a successor…a protégé, before I do. Greg wants me to teach them everything I know, and his last wish was for that person to be family. So it’s going to be family.”
“No, see, we did this before.” My dad releases his grip off the workbench and steps forward. “I had to compete with my brother, with Daisy, with Lily for the CEO position at Hale Co. And it was a hell that none of us wanted but we were fighting for—and I’m not doing that to my kids. Over my dead fucking body.”
“But we were at least given the choice,” Aunt Daisy says. “We all chose to compete for the CEO position.”
Mom raises her hand like she’s in a classroom. “Maybe we should at least tell the kids. They can decide for themselves. They’re old enough to make those decisions.”
Aunt Rose has stopped pacing. “They need to be informed that this choice will come with a gallon-sized tank of pressure. No sugar-coating shit. Taking over an entire company for some of them will be more like an ugly fifty-pound lesion growing on their back. Whatever future they want, it won’t look like how they’ve imagined. It’ll be fucking obliterated. Forever changed and spoken for, by a legacy they never wanted or asked for.”
Uncle Garrison clears his throat. “Not that this isn’t the wildest and weirdest thing I’ve been a part of all day—Willow and I have no stake in this. We’re related to the Hale side, not the Calloways. But I figured you invited us here as the cool aunt and uncle, and seeing as how we’re the youngest and understand what the geriatrics might not—”
Dad interjects, “I wish we all had glaucoma so we could unsee the ugly blob on your neck.” It’s a Batman tattoo.
Uncle Garrison lets out a dry laugh. “All I’m saying is that I remember being twentysomething-whatever and being faced with crossroads. I didn’t always know exactly what I was going to do with my life, but having options opens doors. One of them could want it, and you just don’t know it yet.”
Aunt Willow nudges up her glasses. “They might’ve thought Sam would never step down.”
My aunt is right. I’ve never imagined Fizzle as something to obtain. I always thought Uncle Stokes would be CEO forever, and then maybe a board member would ascend to the position. I didn’t know how important it was to my grandfather for the company to be run by family.
The boathouse falls hushed again.
And as eyes shift, my dad looks to the window. I pop down below the sill. Charlie has pulled slightly back, hidden too. Did they see us?
Are they coming over here?
My heart pounds in the silence.
Uncle Connor says, “Who would even be in contention?” I exhale. “Half the children have careers. Some are too young.”
“For fuck’s sake, are we seriously going to do this again?” Uncle Ryke questions.
“They need to make this choice, not us.”
“An informed choice,” Aunt Rose snaps.
Uncle Connor replies in French, and mine is too rusty to understand anything except the word darling. It sounds like he agrees with her.
“What kind of choice is this?” Mom asks. “It’s just pressure to be the one who sacrifices their life for the legacy.”
“Maybe one of us should do it?” Daisy asks, and I imagine she’s looking between her sisters. “We’re the Calloway sisters. Dad wanted us to have it in the first place.”
“You can’t,” Uncle Stokes says. “The board will want someone from the next generation. Someone I can train and mold.”
“You’re not playing with goddamn Play-Doh,” Dad cuts in. “These are our kids.”
“I’m aware, Lo. I get it,” he breathes out, tired almost. “But I can’t change Greg’s will or the board or any of this fucking shit. It’s just the way it is.” He must look at Uncle Connor because he says, “And to answer your question, who would be considered? We’d obviously be looking at the ones who don’t have current jobs and are at least eighteen—or about to turn eighteen.” He’s implying Xander, but he goes ahead and lists, “Charlie, Eliot, Ben, Xander, and Luna—”
“Keep Luna out of this,” Dad interjects again. “She’s had enough problems.”
My heart catapults to my throat and rises to my ears. My pulse hammers so hard it’s difficult to listen, and I feel a tug on my hand.