The Dreams We Keep - EDITING

Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

-THEO -

I slam the office door behind me as I press my phone to my ear, barely registering Kasper's jovial greeting on the other end. My mind is elsewhere, momentarily transfixed on that little black haired beauty with big doe eyes and full, pouty lips. Who the fuck is she, and why is she here?

"Theo? You there?" My friend and business partner's voice breaks through my mental fog.

"Yeah, I'm here." I sigh, running a hand carelessly through my hair. Stalking back over to the desk, I unbutton my suit jacket and drop into the leather chair. God dammit, get your shit together, Theo. There are bigger fish to fry.

"Good, cause man, shit is about to hit the mother fucking fan." Kasper divulges the information Billy, our entrusted rat, uncovered. As he talks, my eyes wander over to the spreadsheet of numbers that don't add up laying haphazardly on my father's desk.

Thing is, we've hired Billy countless times to do our dirty work, to scrape the bottom of the barrel in order to get inside information on our competition. To get a leg up, legally or otherwise. But this time, Billy's following a lead in our own company, Chamberlin Architect Co.. Turns out, Billy might've just gotten us closer to the truth behind the millions of dollars that have slowly disappeared from our accounts over the past 5 years. And it doesn't fucking look good.

God have mercy on the fucker who has been fattening their pockets on our behalf. I may not have built this company, but I'd fucking die for it. Kill for it.

My father, a despicable man and the bane of my existence, is the founder of Chamberlin Architect Co., and built the company from the ground up with the financial support of my beloved grandad. My father's work was his one true pride and joy, not his devoted wife and certainly not his children. He couldn't give any less of a fuck about my championship hockey games or Emily's dance recitals growing up. The only time my old man ever paid me any mind was when I was desperate for his attention and begged to be hired as an intern at his company at the ripe age of 15. I thought I was ready and wanted to give him a reason - any reason - to be proud of me. My mom took pity on me and finally convinced him it was a good idea. In retrospect, it wasn't. And it's a choice that I've regretted every fucking day since.

My father may have built this company, but I let it soar to new heights. In the past three years as acting CEO, I secured a lifetime of work with TD Garden, where the Celtics and Bruins play, and we've graciously been listed as the top prestigious architect firm in Boston by the Boston Globe two years in a row. I fucking did that, not him. And I intend to rub it in his goddamn smug face for the rest of his miserable life.

Kasper, my COO, cuts off his rant to take yet another call from Billy. Odds are, there's more news and we're chomping at the bit to figure out whatever the fuck happened to our money. $5 million dollars doesn't just disappear...

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" My father's voice booms behind me. His tone was firm, controlled, jarring me from my thoughts.

"What does it look like?" I counter, leveling him with a look of indifference as I lean back in his chair. I prop my leather Hermès loafers on the polished mahogany desktop, just to spite him. I take great pleasure in watching his bloated face turn red and the vein on his temple tick.

His fingers squeeze into fists at his sides, but he knows what will happen if he acts on his anger. I arch a condescending brow, tempting him. It's been a while since the old man and I have come to blows. And this shit with Billy already has me on fucking edge, I'm ready and fucking willing.

The silence is thick, his anger palpable. Like a bomb, set to go off. After a pregnant pause, I drop my black loafers back to the floor, slowly gather my documents from the desk, folding them in the inside pocket of my suit jacket and stand. Buttoning my jacket again, I stalk around the desk, coming toe to toe with the man I despise. I tower at least 4 inches over his stout frame, and I use my height to glare down at him, knowing good and well that he fucking hates it.