Maybe Later(85)

Hazel Beesley

Her long brown locks draped over her bare shoulders. Those mesmerizing hazel eyes stare at the camera, and her smile is wide and bright. Of all the unforeseeable curveballs thrown my way, she’s the biggest, brightest and best I’ve had to confront in my entire life. She’s the most terrifying challenge, and the most amazing reward. My heart aches with her absence, just like my skin withers without her touch. She makes me want to be a better Scott Everhart.

“My family,” I don't elaborate any further. “If that’s everything, Miss Krauss, I have a plane to catch.”

“Your relationship status is on the do-not-ask list, but is it true that you’ll be merging your company with Beesley Enterprises?”

My pulse accelerates as she’s about to ask about Hazel. She’s not up for discussion. I dislike when people try to pry into my personal life, but I hate more when they drag her along.

“Is there some insider information you’d like to share, Miss Krauss?” I counter. “The last time I checked, Grant Beesley isn’t planning on retiring.”

“Well, no, I assumed since Miss Beesley, his granddaughter, and you—”

“I think you have all you needed, Ms. Krauss,” I grind my teeth, keeping my temper under control. I exhale, trying to relax my shoulders as I massage my temple, calming my tone. “Turn the draft into my public relations department for review, have a nice day.”

I punch the speaker button ending the call before she has a chance to respond and dial my younger brother’s number.

“You’ve reached Fitzhenry Everhart, you know what to do…beep,” his voicemail picks up on the fourth ring.

Fuck!

I grab my cellphone and try a couple more times. Each call does nothing but add to my anger.

“I swear … Scott,” Fitz yawns. “What do you want?”

“The contracts for the acquisition,” I say, refreshing my inbox. “You haven’t sent anything yet.”

“It’s three in the freaking morning.”

“In California,” I protest, checking my watch. I have a flight to catch in less than two hours. “I have to review them and signed them before noon.”

“I have plenty of time—”

“The contracts, Fitzhenry.”

“You can’t expect me to have everything ready every time you snap your fingers.”

I exhale, rubbing my face. He’s got to be fucking kidding me. He’s not just my brother, he’s my lawyer. I should’ve sent them to Hunter.

My fingers are already typing the message before Fitz has a chance to respond.

Scott: Can you check your email, I sent you a couple of contracts. They need to be signed today. I need you to read my notes and amend them.

Hunter: As I told you the last time, we restructured the law firm. Fitz oversees the business, entertainment, and International cases. Not me.

Scott: But you are a lawyer, Everhart Industries is also yours, and I need them today.

Hunter: Do you ever sleep?

“Why the fuck are you sending them to Hunter?”

“Because the acquisition of Byrne and Murray Consultants closes tomorrow. They need the contract today—by noon. You should’ve sent them over to me before you left for San Francisco,” I reprimand him.

“I was busy helping Hazel get her shit together. Do you remember Hazel?” He uses a sarcastic tone. “Not that you’ve paid much attention to her, but she moved out of New York.”

Of course, I remember her. I remember everything about her. I remember the first day I met her the summer she came to live with her grandfather, Grant Beesley. He has been my mentor and a huge supporter since my parents died.

“Your point?” I feign disinterest, he doesn’t have to know that the distance between Hazel and me is killing me. Being without her causes pains in my chest so deep I didn’t know I could feel. She’s not mine anymore.

“You’re an insensitive asshole,” he declares.

“Look, I have a company to run, a plane to catch, and you haven’t finished the one thing I asked you to do days ago.”

The sound of tussling of sheets and movement comes from the other side of the line. “Fine, I’ll get them ready. Give me an hour. Anything else?”

“Yes, I’ll send you a list.”

After hanging up, I email him the list of what I needed to be done ASAP. Then send another to Hunter.

Scott: The company isn’t just mine, you have to put a little more work into it, Hunter.

Turning off my laptop, I stuff it in my backpack and make sure I don’t forget anything before heading to my room. Once I check my bag, I close it and roll it into the living room. The grandfather clock next to the glass doors indicates it is fifteen minutes past six. I have a couple more minutes before the service car arrives to take me to the airport.

Fitz: I sent you the first one, email me any changes or the signed copy.

I move toward the terrace, where my mother used to spend most mornings. The sky is dark gray, and the ground has a thin layer of snow from last night’s flurries. The place looks dead during the winter. I don’t know if Mom would approve of it if she were alive. The child in me believes that my parents’ spirits are around the house—watching me, protecting me.

“Would you be okay with what I’m about to do?” I glance around the house, asking no one—yet waiting for their approval. I believe they would. My parents always told me to fight for what I loved, to never give up unless someone is getting hurt by my actions.