Page 87 of Bridesmaid Undercover
Dear friend,
Now is the time to be an ally for the flamingos. Now more than ever they need you. We appreciate your donation, but to truly be an advocate, we need you to be the voice as well. Help us spread the word that a simple donation of $5 can help our researchers provide a safe and healthy environment for these majestic creatures.
Join us this Saturday as we spread the word through social media about the loss of habitats and the nearing of endangerment for the flamingos.
Side with the pink!
Squawk.
JP Cane
“Why are we doing this?”I mutter to Hudson as he presses the elevator button that leads up to our father’s office.
“Because he called, and even though we don’t answer to him anymore, we still need to save face with the man. He’s our father, after all.”
“Well aware he’s our father, but there is nothing productive that will come from this meeting.”
“Maybe not,” Hudson says, “but I think we at least owe it to Haisley to go.”
And there’s the one thing that will make me do anything: the mention of my sister’s name.
After her wedding, things went downhill for our family. Hudson and I stepped out, not putting up with our dad’s manipulative ways. We took Haisley with us and teamed up with his competition. It’s been a smart plan, although stressful, given our dad’s very vocal disapproval. But we’ve watched how he runs his business for a while now, stepping on the toes of those who are smaller than him so he can gain an inch. Hudson and I would rather lift up the smaller businesses and invest in them than try to steal their ideas and create cheap knockoffs.
We want the best minds working for us…working with us.
We have the almond company leading the way with profits with a meeting with Maggie’s friend, Hattie, who lives in Almond Bay, and who sells the best almond extract on the West Coast.
Maggie just opened her storefront for Magical Moments by Maggie, and her schedule is becoming increasingly busy to the point that she’s starting interviews for another employee.
Brody and Jude are working on five multiuse event spaces like the one we’re using for the bridal shower, while our small marketing team is starting to create materials that will change the course of pop-up shops and meeting spaces in the Bay Area.
And Haisley is working on two more themed vacation rentals, one in San Francisco and one in Almond Bay.
We’re all connected, and Hudson is leading the charge.
We’re already successful. There’s no reason to be at our father’s beck and call anymore. But I understand needing to play the game even though I don’t like it.
The elevator dings and opens up to our father’s office floor. The dark paneled wood walls, gold fixtures, and black tiled floors feel stuffy now rather than what my father intended—an intimidating symbol of wealth and power. In all honesty, the façade of it all just feels ridiculous. To me, with wealth comes responsibility, the duty to help others around you, to promote and support them. My father treats wealth as if everyone around him should bow before him, beg him for eye contact, only to offer it to no one. A disgusting outlook on business.
We’re stronger in a group, stronger when working together. Stronger when endorsing rather than tearing down—a motto my dad would never adopt.
His assistant sits at her desk, her phone perched at her ear as we make our way toward our dad’s office.
Instead of bypassing her, something our father would do, we stop at her desk where she tells us that our dad is expecting us and to let ourselves in.
We offer her a nod and with Hudson leading the way, we push through the heavy door of my father’s office. He’s sitting on the couch, smoking a cigar, with one leg crossed over the other.
Even though he watches us walk through the door, he doesn’t bother to move, doesn’t even flinch. Instead, a billowing puff of white smoke leaks out of the corner of his mouth and right into the air, clouding his face and filling the room with a familiar sickly-sweet scent. “Take a seat, boys.”
Immediately, the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. Something doesn’t feel right.
Something screams revenge.
Pushing past the uneasiness, Hudson and I both take seats across from him and match his casual stance as we lean into our seats and wait for him to lead the conversation. He’s the one who called us into this meeting, after all.
Unsurprisingly, he goes for intimidation. He taps his cigar on his ash tray and then takes another puff.
Oldest trick in the book.
