Bro Code(53)

Sometimes, I feel like he calls people in for meetings just so that they can ogle the place. The second you walk in the view is enough to knock you down a peg—the entirely glass walls look out over the water taxis and barges headed down the Chicago River. Not that Mr. Lyons gets to enjoy that view—his desk faces away from the windows, leaving whatever poor sad sack he’s meeting with to squint into the sun for the full duration of the meeting. Today, that poor sad sack is me.

An email from the boss popped up in my inbox last night asking me to be here at 11 am sharp. I wasn’t planning on coming in on a Saturday when I could possibly work from home, but whatever Lyons says goes. So, I left my apartment early not wanting to chance my luck with the weekend traffic. Luckily, I’m on and off the road before any of the tourists start driving into the city. I make it to the office with enough time to grab a coffee before I settle into the leather chair that faces Mr. Lyons’ desk.

“Good morning, Barrett. You’re here early.” There is no surprise in his voice; he’s simply stating a fact.

“Early is on time and on time is late, just like you always say, Mr. Lyons.”

I can almost detect a smile creeping onto his face as he thumbs leisurely through his portfolio, leaving me in anticipation as to what he needs me for that couldn’t wait until Monday.

“Mr. Roland and I spoke at length last night of the importance of your attendance at tonight’s meeting with the factory staff,” he says, not bothering to look up from his paperwork. “Having grown up in that town, we feel that your word on the takeover may be more influential than Roland’s. You’ll be a more familiar face, far more trustworthy. And if that stubborn girl running the factory is ever going to budge on signing the place over, we’ll need her whole staff on our side.”

That stubborn girl?

My stomach twists and tightens, and my hands ball into fists as I squeeze the armrests of the chair. Of all the reasons for calling me into work on a Saturday morning, this is certainly the worst. I’m filled with equal parts dread and rage. I’d rather draft and redraft a hundred new merger agreements while naked and being roasted over a fire than have to stand in front of Ava while I blatantly lie to her whole staff.

“You’re a persuasive man, Barrett.” He finally closes his portfolio of paperwork and graces me with eye contact. “And these Indiana factory men can relate to you. You’re one of them.” He glances over my suit and tie then adds, “At least, you used to be. They know you. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble getting them on board, as long as you keep it vague about the terms and conditions of the agreement.”

“Is there any possibility of modifying that agreement?” I know it’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try. If I’m as persuasive as Mr. Lyons thinks I am, maybe I can pull this off. “I’ve been giving a lot of thought to the contract and what would be the most beneficial for all parties involved. If Roland Enterprises would be willing to keep the facility running, we could save a lot of jobs in this community. Roland could always use the factory space. Maybe we could organize an emergency meeting with Mr. Roland before he meets with the factory staff tonight. Do a bit of revising.”

Mr. Lyons shoots me his patented over-the-glasses look and the vein in his forehead throbs. I guess that’s a no.

“Barrett, you wrote the damn agreement yourself. If this was a concern of yours, you should’ve voiced it a long time ago or you should have excused yourself for conflicts of interest. Roland Enterprises wants that space for a storage warehouse. End of discussion.”

“But-”

“No buts about it.” Mr. Lyons pushes himself out of his chair and walks along the edge of his office, taking in the view outside. “Need I remind you what you stand to gain here? The corner office, your name on the door, a major salary increase. That’s just the start of things for you. This is a lot bigger for you than one silly factory. This is the future of your career.” He snaps back around to face me, his arms folded tightly over his chest. “Are you going or not?”

Why does he phrase it as if I really have an option?

“I’ll be there.”

The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile. Returning to his chair, he brings his attention back to the paperwork on his desk.

“That's what I thought,” he says offhandedly. “You might use that three hours in the car to work on your speech. Good luck. I’ll expect a summary of the meeting in my inbox by tomorrow morning.”

I wait another moment to ensure Mr. Lyons is done with me, but he shows no intention of looking back up from his paperwork, so I take that as my cue to head back to my car.

Had I been given any advanced notice about this, I might have been able to drive out last night, try to meet up with Ava and patch things up a bit before tonight's shit show, but instead I’ve got five hours until the meeting, and not the faintest clue what I’m going to say to these people, or to Ava. How do I tell her that I love her and then destroy her company in the same breath?

Fuck.

I love her. So damn much.

I guess I knew, but I hadn’t admitted it to myself yet. I love her, and I’m about to let her down again.

Tourist traffic has started up, so I sit bumper to bumper with everyone else in the city for a solid hour before I make it home. That leaves me with only four hours and still no plan. Shit.