"Son, you're being unreasonable."
From across the room where he stood next to the small mahogany bar in his father's office, Damon Moore let out a bracing breath and began making himself a drink with steady, practiced ease. It was only about four in the afternoon, but the sun was nearly set so he splashed in half a finger more than his usual; it was going to be a long day.
Drink in hand, he turned toward his father, Harold Damon Moore, a distinguished looking man in his mid-fifties. His hair, once jet-black had begun to gray at the temples, but he still had the same fierce eyes and hard-set mouth that had, in Damon's youth, scared the living hell out of him. Harold was a man used to getting what he wanted, both inside the board room that he dominated like a dictator, and in his home, which he'd ruled over through three wives, and his only son—Damon, whom the executives and business media had dubbed, "The Heir."
And it was true. From the moment of his birth—to Harold and his first wife, Maggie—Damon had been groomed and bred in preparation for one day taking over the family business.
Damon snorted to himself, taking a long swallow of scotch, relishing the way it burned the back of his throat.
Family business
. It was so quaint-sounding, really. But there was nothing quaint about Harold Moore's single-minded style of doing business; his father was the American Dream come to life. He'd earned every cent he'd ever made and, if dollars were a true measure of success, then Harold had it—about one-hundred-and-fifty million times over. And that success was measured partly by the fact that whatever Harold Moore demanded was done immediately and without hesitation.
Not anymore, though; at least not where Damon was concerned. He was through being lead around by his father's iron will. It was time he put his foot down and there was no better time to start than now. "Dad," he said, advancing slowly toward his father's desk. The older man had tossed his suit jacket across the back of a leather chair that cost more than most people made in a month.
Damon caught the smell of the cigar his father had been smoking.
Cubans, of course.
"I'm not getting married just so you can make a business deal."
"What the hell kind of thing is that to say?" his father exploded.
Damon shrugged. "The honest truth. Beth and I are through." Meeting his father's hard eyes, he ran his free hand through his hair. "Look, I know you and her father have been friends for God knows how long, but..."
"But what, Damon?" Harold shoved back from his seat and stood, pressing his fingers to the polished surface of the immaculate desk. It was all Damon could do to keep from visibly gulping down his apprehension. "What? You're not done carousing around like some damn idiot? Sleeping with every female that crosses your path? You're not done wasting my money and my time with your little hobbies and projects?"
Damon bristled; his shoulders clenched and his father, very aware of the reaction, shot up a derisive eyebrow. "By all means, say what's on your mind."
The younger man, his eyes the same slate-gray as his father's, took a deep breath. "I'm sorry you feel like I've been wasting your time and money, but that has nothing to do with the fact that my relationship with Beth is over."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes."
"Then perhaps you'd like to explain to me why the society pages were full of pictures of you carousing around Monte Carlo? Without Beth? Your fiancée?" Harold held up a hand to silence Damon's reply. He eased back into his chair and stared up at his son. "You're messy, Damon. Careless. You and I both know that I'm no angel when it comes to women," his mouth twisted, and Damon knew he was thinking about Karen, his father's current wife who was in the process of filing for divorce. "But I think Beth is good for you. Refined. Elegant. Level-headed. She handled this whole Monte Carlo debacle rather well, considering. And I don't have to remind you that her father is the CEO of Galaxy Airlines. There's...potential there, son."
Damon met his eyes straight on. "You mean business potential. Potential to make money and expand the reach of Moore Corporations. Sorry if I draw a line between business and relationships."
Chuckling quietly, Harold regarded his son with cynical amusement. "You're serious? After all these years, you still think that in the world of big business, there's an honest separation between relationships and money?" Harold shook his head. "Everything—
everything
—comes back to money."
"I don't believe that." He refused to believe it.
"Then I failed with you in more ways than I thought."
Damon's jaw clenched, but he kept himself under control. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. Now if we're done here, I'm going to get back to my office. I have a few phone calls to make." He took a step toward the door.
"Sit down, son," Harold commanded tersely. When Damon reluctantly obeyed, Harold steepled his fingers and gazed out the window as if gathering his thoughts. Finally, he looked at his son. "We have a problem."
"Oh?"
Nodding, Harold began thrumming his index fingers against his chin. "Your...relationships. They worry me. I don't care what you do or with whom—to a certain extent. But...it's as if you don't care anymore. How many times have I told you that you're the face and—"
"...future of Moore Corporations," Damon finished the line he'd heard over and over again for as long as he could remember. It had become grating, really. Always being labeled in terms of his father's legacy, rather than as an individual separate from Harold Moore, the business magnate.
"See, you can say the words," Harold murmured slowly, "but I feel like you don't really know what they mean. Or maybe it's just that you don't care."
Damon was slow to reply; he honestly didn't know if he cared or not. He wanted to. He knew he should, but he was so damn listless lately.
"So, I just wanted to let you know," Harold continued. "I'm flying your cousin Simon in from New York next month."
"Excuse me?" Damon sat up ramrod straight in his chair. Simon was a slick-as-oil businessman who, on Harold's dime, had gone to the best schools in the country to earn a degree in business and his MBA in record time. Damon, too, had finished school and earned the top degrees and credentials to appease his father, but Simon—he had a cutthroat blood-thirst for the industry that Damon couldn't match, which Harold constantly pointed out. His cousin's impending arrival couldn't be a good thing. "Why is Simon flying out here?"
Suddenly looking tired, Harold relaxed back into his seat. "I'm considering giving him half of your twenty-five percent share in the company. Until you turn 26, it's still mine to do with as I please."
Jumping to his feet, Damon couldn't control himself as he bit out, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Nothing's decided yet. I'm just considering options. Seeing how Simon fits into the company. Hell, I might send him back to New York after a few days. Who knows?"
Damon was incredulous. "All of this just because I broke things off with Beth? You're in the middle of your third divorce for God's sake!" Spewing a colorful string of curses, he stalked toward the window, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He heard his father push out of his chair, move almost soundlessly across the carpet only to stop a few feet behind him.
"I've been through divorces. I've been married. Had a child. Hell, I was on the way to making my first million when I was your age. You, on the other hand, just seem like you're floundering. And that's a damn unsettling thing from where I'm standing, Damon. Especially when you're supposed to be taking over the company that I sacrificed three marriages in order to build. I just want to see some commitment from you. Something. Anything that says you've got your priorities straight."
Turning to face his father, Damon met his eyes and set his jaw. "My first and only loyalty is to this company." Up until the moment the words left his mouth, Damon hadn't realized how true those words were. As much as his father frustrated, angered and exasperated him, Damon lived and breathed Moore Corporations. It was all he knew; it was all he'd ever planned to know. The prospect of failing, of being replaced by his damned bastard of a cousin was enough to make him swear to run a marathon if it meant his father would change his mind. "Give me a chance, Dad. I know where my priorities lie."
The phone on Harold's desk started to ring and, uncharacteristically, he didn't go immediately to answer it. "Then I guess you'd better prove it, son. Simon arrives in three weeks." And then he was walking toward the phone, all business and formality again.
Damon was left staring at his back, wondering just what the hell he was going to do.
The next morning, Damon was still at a loss for what action to take. He hadn't been able to sleep, either, what with having so recently broken off his two-year engagement with Beth, and the fact that his father was now threatening to take away half of his share of the company. The whole thing was almost enough to make Damon consider calling Beth to tell her he'd changed his mind; that he wanted to give their relationship a second try.
But even as the thought occurred to him, he dismissed it. He'd been with Beth for a long time; they'd known each other through their fathers and had a few mutual friends, but when he'd interned for Walker Wallace, Beth's father, they'd gotten a lot closer. At the time, Damon had really liked her. She was intelligent, gorgeous and fun not to mention the fact that she had a way of babying and pampering him that was endearing. Things with Beth were easy; they always had been. They both came from the same world, knew the same people and, for the most part, they knew what to expect from one another.
