Chapter 2: I Always Win

Hobbies?

Cole: Running and rock climbing.

Bridget: Spending time with my family. Wait, that’s not a hobby?

COLE

“So, are you going to tell me?” my brother Mason asked as he stood below me on the padded floor of the gym. “Or are you waiting to make a formal announcement at Mother and Father’s tomorrow?”

I stuck the grippy toe of my climbing shoe onto the hold on the bouldering wall and scanned ahead for the next one. “I got it.”

“I knew you would.” He stretched up to pat my butt. “Another Campion enters the CEO’s office.”

“Hands off my ass,” I growled. But I couldn’t keep the grin off my face. Despite how everything had gone down today, he was right. This week, I’d convince Bridget that the office she currently occupied as COO was as good as the CEO’s office, and by Monday, I’d take sole possession of the corner office. In ninety days, the board’s pathetic experiment would be over, and I’d be the victor of this farce.

Sure, I’d been upset when Ned, the board member who’d brought me in to Apex almost a year ago, had explained the fucked-up scenario to me. I wasn’t proud of the mini-meltdown I’d had that may have involved kicking a chair and scuffing my left oxford. Ned hadn’t minded, but I’d been thankful Bridget was somewhere else. I’d have hated for her to see me lose control. I’d already made that mistake once.

The first time I’d met her, I’d been enchanted by her elfin features, the beautifully sharp expression in her teal blue eyes, the confident tilt of her chin as she outlined the changes she’d made in operations. I’d wanted to prolong our handshake, guarding her small hand in mine as I lost myself in her gaze, but then I’d remembered that Ned had told me she was the top candidate for the CEO position. She was the competition, and she was using her sex appeal to distract me. So I’d ripped into her budget in front of everyone to prove—mostly to myself—I wasn’t the kind of man who could be led around by his dick.

“CEO at only thirty-four,” Mason crowed. “I was thirty-eight, and Dad was a geezer at forty-seven.” He pointed. “Not that one. Put your right hand in that pocket and pull up.”

Grunting, I stretched for it. “Thanks.” There was no need to tell my big brother the embarrassing part of the announcement. Let him think I’d lived up to the family expectations for one more day. I’d disappoint him and everyone else at dinner tomorrow. “They said they’re tired of the status quo. They want fresh blood. Fresh ideas.”

Movement caught my eye, and I glanced to my right. A kid was climbing the board next to mine. I shimmied to my left to hug a sidepull.

“And since you’ve been there less than a year, that’s exactly what you’ll bring,” Mason said. “Knowing you, you’ll start blowing shit up on day one.”

“Exactly. I’ve got this great idea for a partnership with…” I squinted at the white-knuckled kid. I didn’t like the way his arms trembled as he gripped the holds. I scrambled back to the right until I was beside him. “Hey, you all right?”

The boy clinging to the wall looked to be a few years older than Caitlyn, about twelve or thirteen. His arms and legs were skinny, and they shook from the effort. Only Mason stood on the mat below. Who’d let him climb the advanced route? And why was no one spotting him?

“I…I don’t know. I might be stuck.” He swallowed. “I don’t want to fall.”

“Ah.” We weren’t too high up, but a group of girls chatted on the couches behind us, occasionally stealing glances at my new friend.

“Don’t look down,” I said, scanning his route. “We’ll do this together, okay? And if you fall, no big deal. My brother Mason will help you land safely.” I glanced down at Mason, who pretended to be bored with standing in one spot and sauntered to the right until he stood below the kid. I waited until the kid nodded.

Gripping the wall with one hand, I pointed. “Grab that pinch with your left hand, pull up, and put your foot over there.” He did it, and as he climbed his route, I ascended mine, matching his pace. After a few more suggestions, he started to choose his own holds. Slowly, we crawled up the wall.

We were both sweating by the time he slapped his hands on the top hold and let out a whoop. Mason cheered from the mat, and the girls on the couches clapped. “Way to go!” I said as I tapped my top hold.

We used the jug grips to lower ourselves until we were close enough to jump to the crash pad. I fist-bumped him. “Great job, kid. Knew you could do it.” It was a lie, but what was the benefit of being honest here?

“Thanks, man.” He strutted off to chat up the girls.

“You’re better with kids than you think,” Mason said.

To hide my discomfort, I examined a split nail. When Caitlyn was little, she was easy to please, happy for any time I could spare with her. Now she was eight, I could only impress her if I kept up a frenzied pace on the weekends I had her. Something her mother complained about when I returned her, overstimulated, on Sunday afternoons. “Tell that to Zara. She thinks I’m a poor excuse for a human.”

“No, she thinks you’re only a terrible father and husband.”

“Ex-husband.”

“All you need is more confidence.” He shook his head. “Wow, that’s a weird thing to say to you.”

“Confidence? Not something I lack. I don’t know what I needed with Zara.” I picked at my nail. Climbing was hell on my manicure. “I was never enough for her.”

“You know, they have products for that.”

“For—” I looked up from my hand to find my brother smirking. “Did you just disparage my dick, you utter dick?”

He shrugged. “If it’s not enough to satisfy…”

“It’s plenty to satisfy, thank you.” Not that I’d had much practice lately. The CFO position had been more work than I’d anticipated. I’d found that Apex had surprisingly low rigor in its finance department, and I’d worked hard to bring it up to the level it needed to be. Plus, I had to get rid of a trio of assholes who were poisoning the culture, and that required the exhausting process of hiring and training and stabilizing the team. Between work and every other weekend with Caitlyn, I had little time for recreational pursuits.

“You, um, miss it?” Mason asked. “Being married?”

“No.” The word shot out of me like a bullet. “You and Sheila duped me into thinking marriage was this amazing partnership where we’d support each other and fill in each other’s gaps.”

“But the reality was that you wouldn’t admit you had any gaps or time to support her needs?”

“Have I told you lately that I hate you?”

He cuffed my shoulder. “Telling it like it is, bro. Come on, let’s pack up. I’m starving.”

I scooped up my chalk bag. “You might be a CEO and a paragon of family life, but you’re full of shit. The only reason you made it to where you are is because Sheila is a low-maintenance unicorn. The women I meet want more than I can give.”

He sauntered toward the locker room. “You mean emotional connection and partnership?”

“Fuck you.” I yanked open the door and didn’t bother to hold it open for him. “I have the kind of career that makes it difficult.”

He caught the door as it swung toward his face. “Plus the type of personality that makes it impossible.”

I flipped him the bird. My personality was perfect for what I wanted, which was the CEO position.

Emotional connection? Total waste of time.

* * *

The next night, I followed the maître d’ down the aisle of plush patterned carpet between the rows of white cloth–covered tables at my parents’ club. Since my parents always sat at the same table, I could have breezed past the host stand. Though my mother would have scolded me to act like a civilized person, and I needed a strong first impression to offset the not-quite-excellent news I had to share.

“Cole.” Mother tipped her head to present her cheek, and I kissed it. Her Givenchy L’Interdit tickled my nose and brought back memories of her bringing me here for lunch after swim lessons, tennis, and golf as a kid. She never let me order from the kids’ menu. Instead, I ate the fish of the day or a filet with green beans as befitted a Campion. By the time I was eight, I didn’t even want to eat a hamburger or chicken tenders with macaroni and cheese.

I straightened and shook my father’s hand, then Mason’s. Finally, I circled the table to my sister-in-law, Sheila, and kissed her cool cheek. She never wore perfume, and I smelled only oaky chardonnay. “Doing all right?” I asked as I took the vacant chair between her and my mother.

“Fine, fine.” She sipped her wine.

“That bad, huh?” I murmured.

A faint smile creased her cheek, then was gone.

“You’re late, son,” my father boomed from across the table. His square jaw was the same as mine, though the lines around his mouth were deep. “Burning the midnight oil?”

I went through the motions of showing my teeth in an approximation of a smile. “It’s only eight thirty. I had some things to wrap up at the office.”

“I like your diligence, but delegation is what you need to cultivate to advance,” he said.

To keep from rolling my eyes, I raised a finger to catch our server’s eye.

“We ordered for you, Cole,” my mother said. “You missed the salad course.”

“Can’t disrupt the Campion schedule,” I grumbled.

“Our nanny gets double pay after eight,” Sheila murmured. “And Mason hasn’t seen the kids all day.”

A weight settled on my chest. “Sorry, Sheila.”

“Show up on time,” my sister-in-law said. “Then you can choose your own meal.” She squeezed my arm, softening her words. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

“What’s that?” my father asked. The server whisked away his empty glass and replaced it with a second—third?—double scotch. He set another down in front of me, and I signaled for an ice cube. If I was going to choke down Lagavulin, I was going to do it my way.

“I got the job,” I said without preamble. The server flashed a congratulatory smile as he used tongs to lower an ice cube into my drink before discreetly retreating.

My mother sucked in a breath. “You’re CEO?”

The peaty whisky burned a path down my throat. “Yes. They’re making a public announcement tomorrow.”

“Congratulations, son.” My father shoved back his chair and came to shake my hand. My mother reached up to clasp my other hand. I let myself bask in the perfection of the moment. Soon, I’d be able to accept their praise for real.

“I’m sure you already have a long list of changes to make,” my father said, “starting with that COO. You’ve got to clean house by removing opposition.”

“Actually, there’s more.” I cleared the bitterness from my throat. “I’m sharing the role with the former COO.” Mason frowned, and I briefly regretted not telling him last night at the gym.

“What?” My father’s grip loosened.

“It’s a ninety-day trial period. A competition, if you will. Though I’m confident I’ll beat her out.”

His steel-gray eyebrows lifted. “Is this about diversity?” His carrying voice lowered on the last word as if it were obscene. And maybe it was, here in the dining room with its white diners and mostly brown serving staff.

“Possibly.” Ned had hinted at that. But he’d also mentioned her long tenure. “Bridget’s been at the company for years. They may have felt they owed it to her for her loyalty.”

My father returned to his seat. I sank into my chair and tossed back the pungent whisky. The ice did little to dilute the scotch’s bite.

“Ninety days?” Mason asked. “I suppose you have a plan?”

“Of course I do,” I said. “I’m working on a big deal. I’ll start strong so she’ll be in reaction mode. She won’t have the time or focus to launch her initiatives.”

My father lifted his glass. “Excellent plan.”

“Now that you’re CEO,” my mother said, “you should send Caitlyn to St. Marcellin. I’m so embarrassed when I have to tell people she goes to a public school.”

I didn’t give a shit about her embarrassment, but fond memories of my school days drifted into my mind. I’d made lifelong friendships at the private school every Campion man had attended since my grandfather, and now it was coed. I caught my brother’s eye. “You think Caitlyn’s got what it takes to be a Marcellin man like we were?”

“Of course she does,” he said. “She’s half yours.”

“We love it,” Sheila said. “The boys are thriving there.”

“She’ll never get into Harvard from that mediocre public school,” my father said. “She needs the advantages of St. Marcellin to succeed.”

I couldn’t imagine living without the privilege that had opened the world to me. I certainly didn’t want an ordinary life for my daughter. “You’re right.”

“What do you think Zara will say?” Sheila asked.

I grimaced. My ex-wife was a staunch believer in public schools, and since she had primary custody, she sent our daughter to her neighborhood school. It was fine for regular kids, but it was no St. Marcellin. Caitlyn would never meet a future CEO, senator, or ambassador there like Mason and I had. “She won’t be a fan.”

“They don’t have a bus service. It’ll be inconvenient for her to get Cait there from Walnut Creek,” Sheila said. “I don’t know how the mothers who work do it.” She curled her manicured fingers around her wineglass, clinking her diamond-encrusted wedding ring against the crystal.

“If you had primary custody, you wouldn’t have to worry about it,” my mother said. “St. Marcellin has a residential option. Caitlyn could live at St. Marcellin, and it would be convenient for everyone.”

Zara would hate the thought of Cait going to a private boarding school, but it would certainly be convenient. She could see Caitlyn on the weekends and school holidays, like I did now. Perhaps if I had primary custody, Zara would have the time to advance in her job as an industrial designer, and she and Eli could afford to move closer to the city—and St. Marcellin’s campus.

Everyone would be better off, especially Caitlyn. She was so smart, with a glowing report card every quarter. About once a month, she beat me at the daily game of Mathlon we played. Even at a better school, she’d be a star. And she’d grow into her full, extraordinary potential.

“At St. Marcellin, Caitlyn will be a winner like us.” I nodded at Mason. “I’ll talk to Zara about it.”

“No doubt.” Sheila leaned back as the server set her dinner in front of her. “Just don’t expect Zara to be happy about giving up custody.”

I was certain she’d fight me on it. “Eventually, she’ll see reason.”

“Sure, she will,” Sheila said. “Like she saw reason about your eighty-hour work week schedule and lack of emotional support.”

I frowned at the swordfish the server set in front of me. I hated swordfish. “She wants what’s best for Caitlyn. I’m sure I can convince her that St. Marcellin will give Cait the advantage she needs to compete in a cutthroat world.”

“That’s the spirit, son.” My father beamed at the swordfish on his plate. “Campions are winners. You’ll win this one too.”

That was one thing I could agree with my father on.

* * *

Two days later, on Friday, I rocked up to Zara’s door. I was still in my suit, full of that winning spirit as my black Porsche 911 idled at the curb.

Zara closed her red front door behind her and stood in front of it like a palace guard. “You’re late.” Her natural curls were shiny, and her crimson lipstick matched her dress.

I resisted taking a step back on her porch. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No. You’re late again. And now I’m late.”

I summoned up my reserves of patience, which were never full. “I know. I had some work to finish up. I was promoted to CEO this week.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows smashed together. “Congratulations?”

“It’s a huge career milestone. CEO before thirty-five.”

“What does that mean for Caitlyn?” She crossed her arms.

“It’s huge for her too. We can get her into St. Marcellin.”

“You want to change her school?” Her lips flattened.

“As a CEO, it’s practically expected of me to send my daughter to prep school.”

“She’s in third grade.”

“When I was in third grade, we were doing pre-algebra. Caitlyn’s class is still learning their multiplication tables, which she’s known for a year. The way they’re holding her back, she’ll never get into Harvard.”

“She should be making friends and loving learning. Not prepping for college.”

“It’s never too early to prepare. Especially for girls. The world is stacked against them.”

Her eyebrows flew up. “You think I don’t know about the corporate world being harder for women?”

“No, of course not—”

“I know what’s best for our daughter, and that’s being in her neighborhood school.”

My pulse pounded in my ears. “I also know what’s best for our daughter, and that’s getting better educational opportunities.”

She leaned closer. “Too bad I have primary custody.”

“We could revisit that, you know.”

“You want to revisit our custody agreement? Right as you’re starting your big job?”

I flipped up my palms. “What better time?”

“Cole, you never had time for her when you were a manager or when you were a vice president or a CFO. As a CEO, you definitely won’t have time to nurture her like she needs.”

“That’s the fantastic thing about St. Marcellin. They have a residential option.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” She held up a hand. “You want custody so you can send her away?” She shook her head. “This is a terrible idea, Cole. If you proceed, I’m going to fight you on it.”

“Fine.” Although our divorce had been amicable, our relationship had never been smooth. “I’ll be prepared.”

Without taking her eyes off me, she opened the door and shouted, “Cait! Time to go.”

Three seconds later, Caitlyn barreled through the door, clutching her tote bag with her stuffed iguana poking out of the top. “Daddy!”

Zara’s husband, Eli, stepped up behind Zara and put a hand on her shoulder.

I bent to hug Caitlyn, rubbing my cheek against her soft braids, each of them tipped with a pink bead. “Hey, baby. It’s good to see you.”

She patted her bag. “I’ve got my Halloween costume.”

“That’s great.” I pretended I hadn’t forgotten. “We’ll go trick-or-treating in my building.” I’d have to sneak out to buy candy and plant it with my tech-bro neighbors. None of them had kids. “What are you dressing up as?”

“A warrior princess.”

“That’s my girl. Before trick-or-treating, how about we go to the rainforest exhibit at Cal Academy? Maybe we’ll see a real iguana.”

“Ooh, fun!”

I looked up at Zara and smirked. “I knew you’d like it. Okay, baby. Let’s go.” I took her tote bag from her.

Zara said, “See you Sunday.”

“See you Sunday.” I’d fill our daughter’s weekend with enough entertaining and educational activities that she’d talk about it nonstop for the next two weeks. Maybe I hadn’t won the war yet, but I’d won today’s battle.

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