“On the day of my graduation, they throw this bomb at me saying that they're trying to sell the company, a fact that I had no idea about, and then they tell me not to worry. Well, I am worried. And I don't work there now, but maybe I should. Maybe then this sort of thing wouldn’t be happening.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Ellis says.
We talk about this for a long time until last call. Sometimes Ellis isn't a very good friend, but tonight she is. And I really appreciate that. The only problem is that I wish I could tell her more. I wish I could tell her what my parents told me about Franklin and I wish I could tell her that tomorrow I have a meeting with him to talk about whatever the hell all of this is. I wish I could tell her the truth because someone should know. Someone besides me.
28
Aurora
I arrive at his penthouse at seven the following evening. He has invited me here, I said no, and then my mother called me and begged me to hear him out. Somehow, she has persuaded me that by taking this meeting I could convince him to simply purchase Tate Media and not include me in the process. Not knowing what else to do and wanting to help my parents, I reluctantly agree.
Franklin’s home is beautiful and extravagant and modern. But mostly, it looks like it belongs to a bachelor.
It doesn't matter that it is a five-thousand square-foot apartment in one of the most prestigious areas of the town, all I see is the pool table in the middle of the dining room and the obnoxious black rug underneath.
His tailored suits and the location of this place made me think that he may have some style and fashion sense, but this atrocity reveals the truth; he's just an overgrown fraternity brother.
Still, I'm pleasantly surprised when he meets me at the door and is not intoxicated.
After inviting me inside, Franklin offers me a drink. I decline and he pours each of us a glass of water, showing me to the sitting room.
The view from up here is magnificent. There are floor-to-ceiling windows lining the entire south facing wall of his apartment, looking out at the twinkling lights outside.
“You have quite a beautiful apartment,” I say, looking around.
“I'm glad you like it,” he says, leaning back against the couch.
The statement is a bit off-putting.
I watch him run his fingers through his thick hair and take a sip of his water.
“Are you not drinking today?" I ask him.
“Actually, I'm doing a cleanse. If you can believe that.”
“I can believe many things,” I say.
“Well, you don't know me very well. Actually, that reminds me. I wanted to apologize for what happened at the gala. I acted like a total asshole and… I'm sorry about that."
I sit up a little in my seat and tilt my head.
“Thank you," I say after a moment.
“I appreciate you saying that.” He gives me a knowing nod and finishes his water.
“Can I get you another one?” he asks, heading back to the bar.
“No.” I point to the nearly full glass in my hand. “I'm good.”
“I wanted to congratulate you on finishing your PhD program. That's quite an achievement,” Franklin says, taking the seat next to me this time.
Our knees are almost touching, but he's careful to avoid actual contact.
“Thank you,” I say with a slight smile. “It was a lot of work and it has been very rewarding.”
“What are your plans now?"
“I'm not entirely sure, but I’m considering my options at Tate Media,” I say. I’ve had enough of the small talk and want to wind this conversation toward what I'm here for.
“And what kind of options are you considering?” Franklin asks, leaning back against the couch.
“I'm not really sure right now. But my father has informed me that you are actually interested in purchasing the company. Is that correct?"
“Yes, it is.”
“So, if that is the case, I guess I don't really have a future there, right?”
“That depends on you,” Franklin says.
Our conversation is going in circles and I'm getting tired of it.
“Okay, let me put it this way,” I say, placing the glass carefully on his coffee table. “My parents have informed me that in order to complete the sale of the company, you are interested in marrying me. Is that correct?”
I wait for him to apologize and make amends or at least explain himself. But instead, he just says, “Yes, I am interested in marrying you."
“Why?”
“Why am I interested in marrying you?”
“Yes, of course. We hardly even know each other. Besides, you told me that you are not interested in marriage at all, not to anyone.”
“Well, let's just say that you have changed my mind.”
“You don't know me,” I insist. “You would hate me.”
“Why don't you just leave that to me?” he asks.
“Because it's not gonna happen,” I say, shrugging my shoulders.
I get up and walk away quickly. Before reaching the door, I spin around on my heels and find him only a few steps away from me.
“I'm not going to marry you,” I say, staring straight into his eyes. “You can't ask for me as part of some business deal. I'm not for sale.”
He laughs, tossing his head back.
“Everybody is for sale.”
“No, they're not,” I say. “And definitely not me.”
He doesn't say anything in response and I'm about to spin back around and head toward the door when something else hits me.
“Is that why you gave him the job?” I ask.
“Who?”
“Henry Asher, my boyfriend.”
“Oh, yes.” He laughs. "I heard the unfortunate news. I'm really sorry to hear that you two have broken up. Henry mentioned something alluding to that.”
"No, you're not,” I correct him.
“No, I'm not.” He laughs.
“So, is that why you offered him the position? And is that why you have been keeping him in Kentucky and West Virginia and God knows where else all of his time?”
“Of course,” Franklin admits. "What's the easiest way to break up two people who are very wrong for each other? Add a little pressure and a little distance and poof, the relationship evaporates.”
“Why don't you just go to hell?” I say and walk away from him.
“I will, don't worry!” he yells after me. "But you're going to be right there with me.”
At the door, I turn around one last time and say, “And just in case you are wondering, no, I won't marry you. I will never marry you.”
The following morning, my doorbell rings and I am greeted by my mother, who is completely distraught and in tears.
I haven't seen her like this in… I have never seen her like this.
“What's wrong?” I ask, pulling her close to me.
She sobs and cries and mumbles something that I can't make out.
I ask her to calm down and to tell me what's going on.
“They have arrested your father,” she finally manages to say. “They showed up this morning at six and pointed a gun in his face. And when they were taking him out to the car, he had a heart attack.”