Page 71 of Companion Required
“So,” said Sloan, after a moment’s contemplation. “I suppose congratulations are in order. You’ve finally managed to ship off your pain-in-the-ass chief operating officer. Not only to the other side of the world, but to the in-laws, no less. Bravo.”
“Is that really how you see this?”
“Is there any other way?”
“Christ, Sloan. Wake up and smell the coffee. You’re the one person in my office who keeps me on my toes. Everyone else does what I tell them. You’re also one of the few who understands how all the departments drive the business forward, someone who doesn’t bury themselves in their own area of specialism. Your future father-in-law needs to see that, needs to witness your drive and ambition first-hand. A year from now, you’ll be one of a very short list of people who has gotten beneath the skin of the new, wider company, just as we’re ready to go public. And right then, we’re going to need someone charismatic to romance investors. I’m not giving you a prison sentence, Sloan, I’m handing you a golden ticket.”
“So you’re not just getting rid of me?”
“Say the word. I’ll keep you here and send Karl instead.”
Sloan peered sidelong at Kennedy before turning back and puffing out a trail of smoke.
“No. I’m in for the long haul. Besides, Mary-Anne’s looking forward to spending time with her mother, arranging our wedding.”
“And the other plus is, you’ll be able to fly your kids over to visit, take them to Disneyland and Universal. That should earn you a few brownie points in the absent-dad stakes. And you can do it all without the ex breathing down your neck, or showing up screaming in the office reception.”
“Oh God,” said Sloan, turning to Kennedy, his expression mortified. “You heard about that?”
“No, I literallyheardit. My office backs onto reception, remember? Don’t worry, Sloan. I’ve got your back. We all have our crosses to bear. And anyway, seems like you’ve fallen on your feet with Mary-Anne.”
“You know what? She’s it for me, Kennedy. Yeah, I know she’s a lot younger, but this is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. She’s probably the first person who actually understands me and will tell me if she thinks I’m being an idiot or can see that I’m in the wrong.”
Like mother, like daughter, thought Kennedy, while Sloan continued speaking.
“I know I’ve acquired something of a reputation, having married twice before. But what people don’t know—not really something a man likes to admit to—is that my first wife cheated on me a year into our marriage, and her best friend, who’d been the chief bridesmaid, someone who stood by me through the messy break-up and subsequent divorce, became my second wife. Total disaster. Our two kids were the only good things to come out of the catastrophe. Hindsight is a beautiful thing and only now I see what a mistake I made. A wise soul once told me mistakes fall into three categories. Ones you simply can’t fix and have to live with, others you can but only if you really want to, and some you don’t want to make right, because the mistake has given you something better.”
“Someone recently told me something similar about problems.”
Sloan laughed and stubbed out his cigarette.
“Same thing, I suppose. I’m going back inside. You coming?”
“In a minute.”
Kennedy needed a moment alone, staring out at the heavy sheets of rain. Maybe someone like Sloan could put problems and mistakes into one pot and call them the same. But they were not. In Kennedy’s experience, problems often occurred due to external factors, beyond a person’s control, randomly, often unpredictable. Mistakes were different. Mistakes he saw as personal, and really—and here he agreed with Sloan—a person had the choice to decide whether to fix them or not, and whether to show both vulnerability and courage by enlisting the help of others to do so.
And the simple home truth? He’d made a terrible mistake. His dilemma? Could this one be fixed?
After a deep breath, he pulled out his phone and checked the time—eight minutes past ten. Straight afterwards, he scrolled down his list of contacts. After pushing the call option for one, he waited a few seconds before a familiar voice answered.
“Hey, Leonard. Are you up for a drink? I need to run something by you.”
