The Amendment Page 4

  My phone rang and I hit speaker, settling back into my chair with a grin.

  “Mad Dog.”

  Maddox Riley of BAM, and one of my closest friends, chuckled. “I heard there were celebrations happening in BC. I wanted to call and say congrats on the promotion.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “Were you surprised?”

  “Totally. I never saw it coming.”

  “You deserve it, although Bent thinks you should turn it down and come here.”

  Bentley Ridge was the owner of BAM—our most successful client in Toronto and now completely under my jurisdiction. He often told me I had a job with him any time I wanted one. It was a standing joke between us since he knew I would never leave The Gavin Group.

  “Tell Bentley to dream on. Besides—he gets the best of both worlds. He has Becca there, and I’m still overseeing the account,” I pointed out. “He gets me without the pay grade.”

  “Or the ego,” Maddox teased.

  “Whatever.”

  He snickered. “How’s Katy? She must be excited.”

  “She is. We went out to dinner last night to celebrate. I think she’s planning something this weekend.”

  “Of course she is. Your wife is awesome that way.”

  “Yep. How is Dee? Still loving the condo?”

  “She’s great. The condo is perfect. We love it.”

  My office door opened, and a young guy sauntered in. Tall, lean, and dressed in an expensive suit, he had his hands stuffed into his pockets as he walked around, looking at my shelves.

  “Hold up a sec,” I said into the phone.

  “Can I help you?” I asked the stranger with a glare.

  “Nope, I’m good. I’ll wait until you’re finished.”

  “Is Amy not at her desk?”

  “I think she’s in the file room.”

  “Do we have an appointment?”

  His smirk was wide. “Nope.” He flung himself into a guest chair, crossing his legs and pulling out his phone. “We’re good, man.”

  His too-long blond hair caught the light as he pushed it off his forehead. His light-blue eyes alternately gazed at his phone and at me. He was young—early twenties, if I were to guess his age. There was a brashness to his stare, and he seemed at home in my office.

  I bristled at his arrogance, his interruption, and his lack of respect.

  Who the hell was he?

  “Listen, Maddox, I need to call you back. I have an unexpected visitor.”

  “No problem. Call the office later. I know Bent and Aiden want to say their own congrats.”

  “Will do.” I hung up and studied the kid in front of me. His focus was on his phone, his thumb moving quickly over the screen.

  I cleared my throat, and he glanced up.

  “Oh, hey.”

  “Who are you, and why are you in my office unannounced?”

  His smirk was wide, and he leaned back, resting his arm across the back of his chair.

  “Uncle Gray said to come find you, so I did. I wanted to check out my new digs.”

  Uncle Gray? New digs?

  Jesus.

  This was Brad?

  “Uncle Gray?” I repeated.

  He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His hair fell into his eyes, and he flipped it off his forehead, only for it to fall back. His words confirmed my fears.

  “Yeah. When I was little, I couldn’t say Graham. Gray came out, and it stuck.”

  “I thought you were arriving tomorrow.”

  “I got here early. Wanted to check out the place.” He sat back again, flipping his phone constantly between his hands. “I heard we’ll be working together. I wanted to introduce myself and say hey.”

  I was silent, studying him. When I spoke, my voice was low and controlled.

  “And you thought the best way to say ‘hey’ was to barge into my office, unannounced, interrupt a personal call, and make yourself at home? You really thought that was the appropriate approach?”

  His grin faded. “Uncle Gray said the office was casual.”

  I stood, tugging on my cuffs. “Casual is not the way you’re acting. Rude is. You knock and wait to be told it’s okay before you come into any office in this place, do you understand? Even better, you check with the assistant.”

  He pushed his hair back again. “She’s in the file room.”

  “Then you show some manners and wait.”

  “Oh yeah, okay. My bad.”

  My bad? That was this kid’s apology?

  “And so we’re clear, we’re not working together. You haven’t earned that right yet. You work for me. Until I’ve moved, this is my office, not yours, so remember your place. And when you’re referring to your uncle, it’s Graham during business hours, not Uncle Gray. Your family ties holds no weight for me.”

  He swallowed, suddenly still in the chair. “Of course. I apologize.”

  “Better,” I acknowledged. “Now, I have work to do. Go find Graham or Laura, and they’ll direct you to HR. Get your paperwork done, and come back and see me—knock this time before you come in. We’ll talk about my expectations.”

  With another hair flip, he headed for the door.

  “One last thing,” I called.

  He turned.

  “Get a damn haircut.”

  He left, pulling the door shut behind him. I sat down, staring at the closed door. I was somewhat amused, a little annoyed, and mostly confused.

  What the hell was Graham thinking?

  It wasn’t long before I had my answer. Graham appeared, pausing in my doorway, lifting his hand to knock.

  “May I come in?” he asked, his eyes dancing.

  I waved my hand. “Funny.”

  He sat across from me, still grinning. His wife, Laura, followed him in as he sat down.

  I stood and greeted her, accepting her kiss on my cheek and smiling at her. You had to smile at Laura—it was impossible not to do so. She projected a warmth I had tried to fight against at the beginning, but now accepted and liked.

  She sat beside Graham and spoke first.

  “I understand Brad made an appearance this morning.”

  “Appearance is one word for it.”

  Graham chuckled. “A grand entrance is more like it, from what I heard.”

  “He said that?”

  He shook his head. “Amy overheard most of your conversation.” He quirked his eyebrow. “I told you to knock him down a peg or two, Richard. Not bulldoze him.”

  I was about to defend myself when I saw the amusement in his eyes and the way Laura’s lips quirked.

  “I simply gave it to him straight.” I ran a hand over my chin. “Did he complain already?” If he had, we were going to have major issues going forward. I didn’t need him running to Graham every time I told him off, which I had a feeling was going to be often for the first while.

  Graham shook his head. “Nope. Other than to tell me he had met you and had an errand to run, he didn’t say anything.”

  I looked at Laura. She returned my gaze, amusement in her expression. “He said he thought maybe you got off to a rocky start.” She paused. “Then he asked me where the closest barber was.”

  I had to laugh. Graham and Laura joined in, all of us sharing a brief moment of humor.

  “His mother will thank you, Richard. She’s been trying to get him to cut that hair for years.”

  “I may have been a little harsh,” I admitted.

  Graham shook his head. “Nope. He was rude walking in, and he did need a haircut. If I told him to get one, or if Laura did, he would shrug us off. But he listened to you. That bodes well for going forward.” He leaned back. “Leave him a little spirit. He is very talented—he needs a strong hand and some guidance.”

  Laura leaned closer. “He’s a good boy, Richard. His father died when he was seventeen, and he went a bit wild and never has settled. My sister has never been able to say no to him. He needs that. I think you’ll help him find his place.”

  I blew out a long breath. “That’s a huge responsibility, Laura. I don’t know if I’m up to it, to be honest. My earlier lifestyle wasn’t exactly exemplary. Wouldn’t Jenna or Adam be better? They’re family after all. They know him.”

  “Which is why it would never work. They think of him as that annoying kid they’ve known all their lives, and he doesn’t see them as his superiors. You’re removed enough, he does have that respect. I think you’re the perfect mentor because of the fact that you weren’t always the Richard you are today. You changed and grew. I think if you took him under your wing, it would benefit him a great deal.” She hesitated, then spoke again. “Please, Richard. I’m asking this as a personal favor.”

  I studied her earnest gaze. “He gets no preferential treatment.”

  “None. Handle him just the way you did this morning.”

  Graham interjected. “Be sure to praise him as well when he does something right. You know how I feel about positive reinforcement.”

  “I can do that. I looked over some of his work you left me. It shows promise, but it’s scattered. Unfocused.”

  He nodded in agreement. “You can give him that focus, Richard. I know you can.”

  I scrubbed my face. “Fine.” I narrowed my eyes at Graham. “My office had better be spectacular.”

  He threw back his head in amusement. “Done.”

  Katy’s delight was evident as she lifted Heather to her shoulder, rubbing her hand up and down her small back in a soothing motion.

  “He’s going to give you a run for your money.”

  I drained my wine and set down the glass with a groan. “I know.”

  Brad had reappeared after lunch, his hair short on the sides, and the top brushed back, no longer flopping into his eyes. He
appeared in my doorway, and knocked, waiting until I waved him in. He sat down, his phone flipping in his hands, always in motion, and I realized it was one of his nervous tells. He relaxed when I commented on his hair, then I opened his portfolio and we began to review the few campaigns he had been part of. I pointed out different aspects, and we discussed why they had or hadn’t worked. He had some great ideas, although his execution left a lot to be desired.

  I studied him over my folded hands. “You need to stop trying to find shortcuts.” I tapped the picture on the top. “If you had extended your train of thought here—removed some of the overkill, this would have worked better.”

  “I thought it was eye-catching.”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s over the top and distracting.”

  “I don’t see it.”

  I sat back. “That is when you get the rest of your team around you, and they help. We help. We work together here.”

  He shifted. “I’m not used to that.”

  “Neither was I when I got here. This place, the people, are different.” I studied him. “Graham told me he offered you a job right out of school, but you refused. May I ask why?”

  He was quiet. “I thought Uncle—I mean Graham—was boring. That his company was old-fashioned and dull, which is why I went to Calgary and got on with a different firm. I wanted to make a mark. My mark.”

  “Graham is anything except dull. This company is one of the most respected marketing firms in the country—the world, in fact. Dull isn’t a word associated with The Gavin Group.” I indicated the walls and the awards sitting on my shelves. “Their track record speaks for itself.”

  He stared, not saying anything.

  “Never confuse integrity and class with being dull, Brad. Be proud to be part of this team. Use it and learn. This place will make you better.” I closed the files on my desk. “This is an opportunity to grow.”

  He stood, contemplative and silent. He took the files I held out to him and headed to the doorway. He paused and looked over his shoulder.

  “I hear you, Richard, and I get it.”

  “Good.”

  He glanced around my office, his lips pursed. “Still, I think this office needs a younger vibe to it. I’m going to add my own stamp here.”

  He walked out.

  “I thought I got through to him, and the one thing he had to say was my office needed redecorating.” I ran a hand through my hair, tugging on the cowlick. “I’m not sure how I’m going to get into that thick head of his.”

  Katy smiled, tilting her head as she studied me. “You will. He’s young and trying to find his place. You’re a tight team at GG, Richard. Even being related to them, he’s coming in with nothing except his uncle’s backing. He’s going to push back because he knows who you are to Graham. What you are to him. Give him some time. Show him some of the patience you show Gracie.”

  I looked toward the end of the table where Gracie was dozing in her highchair. Applesauce clung to her cheek, her hair was wild and curly in ringlets around her face, and her hand still held the spoon she’d been eating from when she’d crashed. Or somewhat eating, since most of it seemed to be on her face and the area around her.

  “She’s far cuter,” I mumbled and moved toward her to carry her upstairs and get her ready for bed. “And she doesn’t talk back as much.”

  Katy rolled her eyes. “Give her time. That part is coming.” She laid a hand on my arm as I passed. “You can do this, Richard. Lead by example, and Brad will find his place. Be as patient as you can be.”

  I dropped a kiss to her head and settled Gracie into my chest. She rubbed her cheek on my shirt, smearing applesauce on the white cloth. I sighed, knowing I should have changed before sitting down to dinner, but I didn’t have it in me to care much. A soiled shirt was nothing compared to the feeling of having Gracie snuggled into me.

  I decided Katy was right. I needed to take the patience I had at home and try a little harder with Brad. Once he settled in and I could help guide and harness his creative side, I was certain he would be a good fit at The Gavin Group.

  Patience. It was a lesson it took me a while to learn, but I finally grasped it.

  I could do this.

  I shut my office door with too much force and whirled around, furious. Brad shifted on his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets since his phone wasn’t within reach. I had thrown it against the wall in frustration.

  So much for patience.

  “If you ever do that again, I don’t care who the hell your uncle is, you are out of here.”

  “I was trying to make a point,” he mumbled.

  I slammed my hands on my desk. “By interrupting and speaking over a potential client and telling him he was wrong? You never talk down to a client—ever!”

  “But he was wrong. His ideas were crap!”

  “That is our job!” I roared. “Taking his crap ideas and making them better! Letting him think he has something to do with the plan—keeping him involved and engaged. You fucking talked over him and made him angry. We won’t even get a second shot at the campaign.” I sat down, my chair rolling back into the wall. “Your attitude has undoubtedly cost us that chance.”

  I had left the boardroom for five minutes to grab something from my office to show the client who was having difficulties grasping a visual concept. I knew I had to give him a tactile image, and I had the exact picture on my desk. When I hurried back to the boardroom, I heard the raised voices and Brad overtalking the client and telling him how he was wrong and didn’t know what he was talking about. The next line out of his mouth was the nail in the coffin.

  “Leave the marketing to us. We know your product better than you do.”

  Big mistake. The client was furious. I did as much damage control as possible, but Brad had insulted the client and I wasn’t sure if even Graham’s influence could undo the destruction. The client had walked out in a huff, and I had lost it.

  In the three weeks Brad had been at The Gavin Group, we had locked heads on many occasions. He thought me inflexible, arrogant, and opinionated. I found him cocky, fast to shoot off his mouth, and unwilling to listen. Yet underneath all the blustering and boasting, he was quite brilliant, which was what saved his ass. Still, I wasn’t sure if I could stop myself from throttling Brad before Graham arrived back in the office from his meeting.

  “Maybe his business wasn’t worth us going after,” he snipped.

  My anger picked up again. “It was a five-million-dollar campaign.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve worked on larger.”

  I snapped. “Then go back to Calgary and work there.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You think you’re so great?”

  That made me snicker. “I’m better than you, kid.”

  “You think so.”

  I indicated the awards on my shelves. “A lot of people think so. Including Graham. Show some respect.”

  “You show me some.”

  I was on my feet, yelling again. “I will when you do something to deserve it!”

  “He was out of line telling me what to do.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “You were out of line!” I shouted. “This is his product—his baby—and you tell him we know it better? You’re a moron!”

  “Well, you’re an asshole!”

  My door opened, and Graham strode in, upset.

  “I can hear the two of you all the way to the elevator. What the hell is going on?”

  “Why don’t you tell him, Brad?” I sat down, done with him. “Explain this to Uncle Gray.”

  Brad lifted one shoulder in a dismissive gesture. “A client didn’t like what I had to say.”

  I couldn’t stop the growl. “Because you talked down to him. You belittled a client!”

  Brad opened his mouth to speak, but Graham raised his hand. “I already had a call from Marcus Whitby. A very unhappy one. He told me to straighten out my staff and to call him when it happened and he might take the call. Or he might not.” Graham rubbed his eyes, and I noticed how tired he looked. “I should have known you had your hand in this, Brad.”

  Brad shuffled his feet. “His idea was totally without merit.”

  “That’s why he wanted to hire us,” Graham stated patiently. “To take his terrible ideas and turn them into gold.” He perched on the edge of my desk and rolled his shoulders. I studied him, suddenly seeing the tension he was hiding. It was in the set of his shoulders and the lines around his eyes that I hadn’t noticed until this moment. “Many of our clients come in here and want to share their thoughts. The campaigns we work on are for their companies—often, their lifelines. Their blood, sweat, and tears. We have to listen to them in order to understand what they want. Do we ever use their ideas? Rarely. However, they like knowing we heard them. It’s part of the job and, sadly, one you seem to keep forgetting.”