Personal: The Extended Edition (Private #3)

Chapter 13

Wes

“You’re telling me that we convinced the shareholders to expand internationally, and now, we’re not?” J.T. stops pacing and leans his midnight suit covered ass against the arm of the dark leather gray cushioned chair closest to him. “Care to explain?” His expression struggles to remain even. “Particularly in great detail?”

I lean into the corner of the couch I’m occupying across the room and extend one arm around its curved back. “I believe we’re moving too fast.”

“What?”

“I believe we are expanding our reach faster than we’re increasing our profits, much like our pacing for investing in new companies. That, too, has exceeded limits, I believe we should be abiding by. We’ve become overzealous in new endeavors when the truth is we should be more cautious.”

My righthand in the company cocks his head curiously to one side. “And what exactly – may I ask – have we been overzealous about?”

“Sully’s limited-edition flavors, for example. The ROI isn’t stellar.”

“Its job isn’t to be stellar. Its job is to pay a pallet tribute to the generations before us. The ROI has always been something you could take or leave as long as you felt you were doing the Wilcox legacy justice.”

Ignoring the truth of his statement isn’t easy.

However, it’s done.

“Our beer distribution isn’t steady in the areas we’ve already moved into, yet we continue to widen the territory we’re covering.”

“Growth – for both the Morgan Brand and Runt’s – are quite steady in profits which is why we can comfortably explore new regions in the Midwest such as Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota.”

“Plus, we haven’t managed to secure their positions in the entertainment circuits – particularly arenas or sponsoring concert headliners – so searching for new roots to put down on foreign soil seems a bit… premature. ”

“You mean like your wife going back to the office,” he heartlessly stabs.

“ Excuse me? ”

“That’s what this shit is really about.” His slow headshake is proceeded by an annoyed eyeroll. “You couldn’t control Bryn’s decision to go back to work, so here you are overcontrolling everything you can where you work.”

“I do not appreciate what you’re insinuating.”

“I’m not insinuating shit, Wes,” J.T. bitterly chortles. “I’m flat out fucking saying it.”

The narrowing of my eyes is instant.

“You’re pissed you can’t puppet master her which is why you’re back to overly puppet mastering me .”

“I-”

“Should trust that Catwoman will tell you when she needs help to avoid returning to her life of crime and that I – Nightwing – have done this shit long enough to be okay protecting Blüdhaven all on my own.”

An impish grin grows on my face against my own volition.

“You like that last part, huh?” Arrogant chuckles bounce his entire frame. “You’re proud that I’ve read enough comics to know where Nightwing protects shit without the Bat.”

“I’m…” there’s no stopping my head from bouncing side to side, “ amused. ”

“Your wife would be impressed. ” A small toss of his hand in the air precedes him adding, “She’d also accuse me of Googling that shit versus having actually read it.”

One eyebrow is immediately quirked. “ Did you? ”

“That’s not important,” he brushes off in such a way I can’t help but lightly laugh. “What is important is that you at least do me the courtesy of reviewing all the data again before definitively deciding to stop international expansion.” His demeanor shifts to serious once more. “You cannot take your marital frustrations out on this company.”

I can.

I just shouldn’t.

Rather than verbally acknowledge his request, I simply nod.

Glace over my shoulder out the window at the city skyline.

I didn’t struggle this much when Bryn went back to work after Wy was born.

Perhaps that was because she eased into it.

Worked a bit from home.

Took him into the office with her for a couple hours.

They’d begin touring the aquarium only to be joined by me half-way through, at which point she’d then pass him off to me and get a few more things done while we finished up on our own.

She transitioned back into her role.

She didn’t just give me a week to figure out how to adapt to her decision.

On the thought bubble to the left, I’m merely grateful she allowed for some sort of timeline versus just waking up, getting dressed, and jumping back into her career; however, on the one to the right, shouldn’t I have a say in this shit?

Shouldn’t it have been a discussion?

Shouldn’t my concerns regarding her safety – particularly with an unidentified assailant still out on the loose – be considered more than they were?

Sure.

She’s been back over a week with absolutely no issues.

Even the plain clothes details have had nothing to report other than her walking suspiciously close to a hard to identify blond male surfer type today.

And that male was most likely Calen .

I assumed this day was coming.

I wasn’t actively trying to keep them apart, but I didn’t mind their distance while it lasted.

Sue me.

“Mr. Wilcox!” Hasty knocks on my office door across the room suddenly occur. “Mr. Wilcox!”

“How is it she only has two pitches?” My glare cuts over to the other man in the room. “High pitched and higher pitched?”

“How is that a me question?”

“You hired her.”

“You fired her.”

“And you hired her again in the same sentence.”

“Yeah, it’s a ‘can’t believe they didn’t cancel this season’ miracle she’s lasted this long.”

“ Mr. Wilcox! ”

“Enter.”

Zaidee peers her panicking face around the blockade and announces, “Um…you have an emergency call from a Mrs. Presley Collins regarding your son on line one.”

My brow instantly furrows. “Did she use the word emergency or are you?”

“She did.”

The speed I use to go from sitting on my light gray office couch to hovering over the nearby matching desk on the phone is damn near superhuman. “ Wilcox. ”

“Hello, Mr. Wilcox, this is Presley Collins-”

“What’s wrong with my son?” Every muscle in my body stills at the same time I instantly ask the owner of the private early education academy he attends the standard emergency line of questions, “Is he sick?”

“He-”

“Is he injured?”

“He-”

“Did he hurt another child?”

“He-”

“Was he hurt by another child?”

“He-”

“Is this going to be a discussion that requires me to call legal because-”

“ Mr. Wilcox ,” she interrupts, her tone suspiciously calm considering the ceaseless interrogation, “Wyland is currently in his classroom healthy, happy, safe, and completely unaware of the incident that I would prefer to discuss with you in person at your very earliest convenience.”

“Which is now.” I don’t bother checking my watch or my phone or my calendar knowing he’s the only thing that matters. “ I’m on my way .”