Scrooge

2. Alexander Jackson

2

ALEXANDER JACKSON

A s I look out my office window at the city below, my scowl grows heavy. The streets are busy, the ongoing development increasing. New apartments, more high-rises, and Jackson Enterprises is at the forefront of it all. My father started a legacy, and I plan to make it bigger, better, and more profitable than even he thought possible.

“Excuse me, sir. Sheridan and Laurent are here for their three o’clock,” my assistant’s voice sounds through the room, knocking me from my thoughts, and I step over to the intercom.

“Send them in,” I tell her as I flatten my tie and look over our agenda for today, brow furrowing when I realize there isn’t one.

“Alexander,” Laurent says, the hint of his French accent now almost all gone. “Thanks for your time.” My PR manager has been in New York for most of his life. His Parisian roots only come out when he is in my London office, the one he and I left twelve months ago to return to New York.

“This better not waste it,” I say, wondering why they requested to see me. I’m a busy man, and I have met with them both already today to talk over our budgets for the next quarter. I’m making some moves on our real estate portfolios, increasing leases to ensure we are getting top dollar. I have property to develop. I need to continue to expand, and there’s no time for rest or distractions.

“We won’t.” Sheridan, the head of People and Culture breezes into the room behind him, and I give them a nod as I take a seat behind my desk. It was my father's desk up until the day he died. Large, heavy, mahogany, something he had for decades, and I didn’t want to get rid of it. It reminds me of him, so I kept it as my own. When I was a kid and came to see him at work, I used to hide underneath it and listen in to his phone conversations and he would feed me candy to keep me quiet.

Once I graduated from Yale, I worked beside my father for years. I was eager to. It was what I’d always wanted, having watched his passion and countless accomplishments. Until now, he kept me out of the spotlight and hidden in London, where I managed our European operation. Always protecting me, even in my adult years. But in his passing, I have stepped up and into his place. In more ways than one. My bank balance is full, my body and mind both fit and healthy, and my bed is always kept warm with the barrage of female attention I receive. No strings. No hassles. No commitments.

“We need to talk to you about your… profile,” Laurent starts, seemingly hesitant, and I look at him sharply.

“My profile?” I question him, feeling my shoulders stiffen.

“Yes, well, since you took over as President of Jackson Enterprises, there have been substantial changes, and your likeability is…” Laurent wavers, and my eyes narrow.

“Is what, Laurent?” I bark, and Sheridan jumps in her seat. Swallowing harshly, I wait for him to continue. And I hate waiting.

“Down the toilet internally,” Sheridan says, and my eyes flick to her. I scowl again, the move almost a permanent one for me these days, but I appreciate her direct nature and her honesty.

“And… down the toilet externally as well,” Laurent finishes.

“So?” I ask them as I lean back in my chair. I don’t need to be liked. I don’t give a shit what people think of me. I am building my father's business to surpass the success of anyone else’s in this country and soon the world.

“Staff engagement has decreased since you stopped the quarterly bonus structure and canceled leave,” Sheridan continues, and my eyes narrow.

“Those bonuses were hitting our bottom line every quarter. I have a huge team of staff and paying each person a bonus just to do their goddamn job—which they are being paid extremely well for anyway—was ridiculous,” I tell her simply. I may be wealthy, but I am not a fucking bank.

“Your father didn’t think so,” she says, and I grind my teeth.

“Our suppliers are preferring to work with other businesses. You are not being invited to the president forum this year,” Laurent says, making my head whip to him.

“The one my father started?” I question harshly, and Laurent swallows before nodding.

“Why the fuck not?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“Because you are…” he says, his hand rolling in the air as he thinks of the right words.

“Hard to deal with,” Sheridan tentatively finishes for him, and I look back at her and raise my eyebrows at her tenacity.

“But we have a plan to turn it around!” Laurent says positively, giving me a smile that has me holding back a groan.

“As I said, I don’t really care what people think of me,” I tell them, waving off their concerns. So what if I am not invited to the biggest business summit in the country? Those fools wouldn’t know a good businessman if they tripped over one. Half of those assholes have been bankrupt more times than I change my socks.

“Sir. Staff morale is declining, and people are leaving to go and work at our competitors. We are no longer seen as a great place to work,” Sheridan adds, and I rub my temple, feeling a headache coming on.

“I can’t get you on any business panels or speaking engagements. All they see is some rich asshole who’s cutting staff entitlements and doesn’t even give a cent to charity to help their fellow man. Your profile as the country's biggest and best businessman is floundering because you are screwing all our suppliers down on price, have less tact with journalists, and it didn’t help when, last month, you told the editor at New York Business magazine that he was, and I quote…” Laurent says, looking at his paperwork in front of him before back at me. “An ant that you will squash with your shoe…’” he says with an obvious wince, and I roll my eyes.

“He looks like an ant, does he not?” I ask them both, leaning back in my chair, steepling my fingers at my chin as I think about what they’re saying.

“You are in the gossip pages for your philandering ways, a different woman every week…” Laurent says, and my nostrils flare at that.

“Who I fuck and how often is not anyone’s business,” I grit out. So what if I like the companionship of a female regularly? We’re adults. It is consensual. It’s in the privacy of my goddamn home.

“When you parade it around town, it is. You are getting a reputation, Alexander, and not the good kind.” Laurent’s eyebrows lift as he stares me down, and I take a deep breath.

“Your father—” Sheridan starts, and I snap.

“My father is dead!” I shout, sick of everyone comparing me to a man who is incomparable. My mother died in childbirth, so it was always just Dad and me. He raised me to always be the best and strive for the best. And that was easy for him, because he was the best. His shoes are big, and the pressure I have to fill them is immense.

“And you will be, too, in the eyes of the city business elite, if we don’t make a change,” Laurent continues quietly, and I simmer down a little. The last thing I want to do is tarnish my father’s name, and while I hate having to change my initial business strategy or my lifestyle, there is some truth to what they are saying.

“We propose to reinstate the bonus system,” Sheridan says, and I run my hand through my hair. It’s a hit I can take, even though it’s substantial.

“We also want to do a big holiday party for staff and their families, clients, suppliers, and friends,” Laurent says, and I send him a glare.

“Don’t we just give them each a turkey?” I ask, because the cost of a fucking turkey for all our people and stakeholders is again another substantial outgoing that I wanted to cut from our budget, but left in, thinking that would suffice and keep people happy. Clearly, that is not the case.

“That is for Thanksgiving,” Sheridan says, almost mocking me.

“We also propose we pull together this party in Central Park, like a magical fairy tale at Christmas with rides, sideshows, food, and, of course, toys and Santa.” Laurent’s face lights up with what can only be his deep desire to organize an event and make it all look fabulous.

“Oh, maybe we can get that Santa from Tucker Toys! He is great.” Now it’s Sheridan’s face brightening. I remember that Santa. My father used to take me every year when I was a kid. I thought he was the real deal until I was about twelve. I was devastated when I learned otherwise and never wanted to go back.

“This all sounds like it will cost a fortune. Maybe we can just do some light refreshments in the staff kitchen?” I tell them, trying to get them back on track.

“It will. But it will get us the front pages of every business magazine and newspaper in the country. We will get on TV and our competitors will be extremely envious that they didn’t pull off something this big for themselves,” Laurent says, his smile wide.

“Staff will love it. Especially since they can treat their kids and families. People will want to work for us, we will get an influx of resumes, which will help with our recruitment drives well into next year, and in turn, lower our overall recruitment costs,” Sheridan adds, and I consider her words more this time. I do need staff. My expansion plans are ambitious.

“I’m not much of a party guy…” I murmur. I hate the idea, but I hire good people like them to tell me how to manage things, so I am not going to dismiss this insanity entirely.

“No kidding,” Laurent quips, getting sassy with me.

“You catch more bees with honey, Alexander…” Sheridan adds, and I huff, ignoring her silly statement. “Your severe hand at fiscal management needs to lighten, and you have to learn how to actually talk to your people, network without bullying the media.”

“You also need to find someone,” Laurent starts in an uneasy tone.

“Find someone?” I ask, confused, having no idea what he is now talking about.

“You need to find a steady girlfriend. Commit to someone,” he states, and I almost laugh, but it doesn’t come. I haven’t laughed since my father passed.

“Don’t need to. Don’t want to. Won't be,” I say, planning to remain single for eternity, because the last thing I want is commitment. I want full control of my money, my time, my possessions, and my sperm.

“If the city and your stakeholders can see you committed to someone, then they would feel better about committing to you, whether that is in business, working for you, or seeing you as the leader you want to become,” Sheridan says.

“So you are saying I need to be committed to someone in order to be taken seriously?” I scoff, shaking my head. It is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.

“A girlfriend,” Laurent confirms.

“Not happening,” I say quickly, not even entertaining it.

“Alexander. You are almost thirty; your playboy ways need to stop. You need to commit to someone for people to start taking you seriously,” Laurent confirms, and I feel bitterness settling at the back of my throat.

“We can find someone for you. You need to show people that you don’t just think about yourself. That you are concerned about others and that others are concerned about you. Maybe even position you as a family man of sorts,” Sheridan says, and I’m already scowling, hating the idea.

“I am not getting a girlfriend. But if you want a holiday party, put together a detailed proposal and have it on my desk by next week. I will consider it,” I tell them, wanting to wrap up this meeting and knowing that this is the fastest way to do it.

“Really?” Laurent looks taken aback.

“We will. We will get it to you early in the week,” Sheridan adds as she stands, pulling Laurent up beside her. I nod, remaining in my seat, thinking about things.

“Any plans for Thanksgiving, Alexander?” Laurent asks. Small talk is not something I do, so I know he has an ulterior motive for asking.

“Cabo,” I quip. The lie comes out so quickly it is frightening. But they don’t need to know that I will be sitting home alone. No parents, no siblings, and probably no turkey. It’s my first Thanksgiving without my father, and I don’t really feel like celebrating.

“Well, don’t create a disturbance and don’t flash around some other young blonde in skimpy clothing. We don’t need another PR disaster to manage.” His warning makes my skin prickle.

“Anything else?” I ask as I stand behind my desk, waiting for them to go, ignoring his statement.

“Have a good weekend,” Sheridan says as she turns and walks out, Laurent following, and my door finally closes. As they and most of my staff either head home for the weekend or maybe out for after-work drinks, I walk back to the window and look out again. It isn’t snowing yet, but I can feel that it will come early this year. It is already cold, and the clouds are hanging lower than usual. They are easier to see from my office that sits over sixty floors up. My father always used to say when the clouds are touching the top of the Empire State Building, snow is not far away.

There is a knock at my office door, and I look at the time. Five on the dot.

“Enter,” I bark, knowing exactly who it is and what they want.

“I am leaving for the day, sir. Is there anything else you need before I go?” Angela asks as she stands at the open door. Angela has been here for years now, assisting my father and now me. She is the one constant I have, and while I know I am hard to handle, she puts up with me.

“No, thank you,” I say, and she gives me a small smile as she starts to back away.

“Angela?” I get her attention quickly before she closes the door entirely.

“Yes, sir?”

I swallow as I look at her. She is a great staff member, and before my father died, we used to be close. But I roll my shoulders, knowing that I am not the same man I was before.

“Have a good weekend,” I say to her, nodding, the words feeling foreign on my tongue.

She pauses, looking almost shocked before she gives me a warm smile. One I feel a mother would give their son.

“You have a great weekend too, Alexander,” she says warmly, then closes the door, and I am once again alone. Light rain drops scatter on the window, and I take in a breath.

I need to go for a walk.