At the penthouse, the scent of espresso and burnt waffles is everywhere. Owen Evans has a cartoon, covered plate in one hand and his phone in the other as he looks at his four, year, old niece, Lola, who is spreading blueberry yogurt all over her highchair tray.
"No," he says into the phone, his voice flat. "The helicopter is not a toy. It's a logistical asset. Tell him to charter a jet like a normal person."
"A jet is a better option not the damn helicopter! Dammit!"
"That helicopter is an asset!"
Lola picks a strawberry and plays with it. She drops the fruit. It comes down to the floor with a dull wet slap. Owen did not even blink.
"Asset," Lola parrots, smearing yogurt into her hair.
"Exactly, kid," Owen mutters, ending the call. He plucks a damp cloth from his shoulder, he'd draped it there an hour ago, a tactical move and starts wiping down the tray. Lola grabs for the cloth. He holds it just out of reach. "Nope. This is mine. You have your weapons. I have mine."
"But, you look cute kid, just like my sister."
"Mama!" Lola's eyes beemed at the talk of her mother.
"Yes, your mother who is enjoying a great time while I'm here in misery."
"Misery?" Innocent Lola mimicked him.
"Yes misery, ah, girl, you are so smart."
"She took after someone after all."
The elevator chimes and makes a sound. Then the doors open silently, and Kieran Harrington steps in as if he owns the place, which, being Owen's oldest friend and company CFO, is actually quite true. He is dressed in a five-thousand dollar suit, holding two cardboard coffee cups and a paper bag that smells of grease and sugar.
"The cavalry is here, " Kieran says, putting the coffees on the marble counter.
He eyes the yogurt battlefield. "I see the tiny tyrant is winning."
"She's deploying asymmetrical warfare. I respect it." Owen takes the coffee Kieran offers. "You brought bribes."
"A strategic peace offering." Kieran takes out a chocolate croissant from the bag and lifts it close to Lola's face.
After that, Lola simply couldn't take her eyes off the croissant as it was the most interesting thing to her now.
She freezes like a yogurt smeared statue.
"Works every time."
After Kieran had taken the croissant, he broke off a little piece and gave it to her. She accepted it with solemn, sticky fingers. "My sister said seven a.m. to seven p.m. She did not specify the year."
Kieran leant on the counter as he was drinking the coffee. It's hard for me to imagine that Hannah would trust you with a human child.
"She trusts my security system. And my chef. And my nanny, who is currently in Bali because I may have given her an all-expenses-paid vacation to avoid this exact scenario." Owen runs a hand through his hair. It's already a mess. "It's fine. We're fine. We've defined clear operational parameters."
"Your parameters are a waffle carcass and a child using Greek yogurt as a hair conditioner."
"She's exploring textures." He argued
Owen's phone buzzes on the counter. The screen lights up with the name 'LENA'. He doesn't move to answer it.
Kieran peeped at the screen then a slow and evil grin spread across his face as he fought hard to stifle his laughter.
"Ah. It's Uncle Owen's aftermath of the Gala. Let me guess... she left something behind in your car? Something Lacy?"
"Shut up."
"Or maybe she's calling to thank you for the unforgettable evening. The one you allegedly don't remember."
"After all you never fail to impress them, isn't why they keep buzzing all over you?"
The phone stops buzzing. A second later, a text preview pops up. 'Last night was… magical. Your place or mine tonight?'
Owen flips the phone face down. The solid thunk against marble is a full stop.
Lola, having finished her croissant piece, points a blue finger at Owen. "Who's that?"
"That's Uncle Kieran. He's mostly harmless." He then eyed his best friend, "Or is Uncle Kieran here for trouble?"
"Mostly?" Kieran lifted his eyebrow.
"It's me who keeps all the details, Mr Evans. Like when you tried to buy a zoo after having three martinis."
"It was an aquarium. And it was a sound investment. The tourism potential alone—"
"Haha, how about the time you said I was beautiful?"
"That… it was because it's rear to see you wearing normal clothes other than tailored suits."
"But you referred me to as beautiful not handsome, hahahaha."
Owen sighed, his friend wasn't going to let him be so easily. And just as he thought the worse has already happened with Lola making a mess around.
Kieran opened his mouth again, "Hmm, I also remember how you wanted to name a penguin after your third-grade teacher." Kieran takes a long sip of coffee. "The point is, your judgment gets… creative after midnight. And last night was well after midnight."
Last night. The charity gala. The endless champagne. Lena from the venture capital firm, in a dress that was more suggestion than fabric. Her laugh, sharp as broken glass. The blur of the drive back to the city. His own penthouse, feeling alien. Her perfume, something cloying and expensive, still clinging to his sheets this morning. He'd stripped and took care of the bed himself, shoved everything, the sheets into the chute before Lola arrived.
"It's handled," Owen says, his voice not allowing any room for disagreement .
"Is it?" Kieran's tone is light, but his eyes aren't. "The board is looking for stability, Owen. Not tabloid fodder. 'Evans's Sinful Soirée' doesn't look great next to the quarterly earnings report."
"The earnings are stellar. They can cope."
"Your new executive assistant starts today. The one you didn't interview. HR is terrified of her. Says she's all edge and no polish."
Owen finally looks at him. "Good. I'm tired of polish. Polished people say what they think you want to hear. I need someone who'll tell me the helicopter is a stupid idea."
"You just said it was a logistical asset."
"It is. But it's also a stupid idea. Both things can be true."
The phone buzzes again, skittering nonstop on the marble counter. 'LENA' again. Owen stares at it. The buzzing is an insistent, angry insect. Lola mimics the sound, her lips vibrating.
Kieran watches him. "You gonna answer that?"
"No."
"You should. Politely. Firmly. Before she starts thinking she's the future Mrs. Evans."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not the one who got down on one knew and proposed to a supermodel in Vegas."
"That was annulled in forty-eight hours."