“So, you don’t need Voltaire to make SCM the top media company but you want it anyway because…”
“My Uncle Leo, my dad’s brother, ran the company when my dad died. He’s a nice guy, charming in fact.”
“You two are related?” She lifts her brows.
“Very funny.” I smirk. “Uncle Leo’s too nice. He wasn’t cut out for business and it showed when the company lost millions of dollars under his leadership.”
“So, you’re in charge now.”
I nod. “The last seven years have been about returning the company to where it was when my father died.”
“I don’t know anything about business, but is there a point when you’re happy with it? That you know your father would be proud of where you’ve taken his company and you don’t have to work eighty hours a week?” Chloe asks, elbow on the table, chin in her hand. She’s waiting for my answer with interest.
I open my mouth to answer, but I don’t know what to say. Under my management, SCM is now the top media company in the country, top five in the world. During my time as CEO, we’ve acquired hundreds of millions of dollars in assets. My company, the company my father started forty years ago, is now worth billions. Chloe’s question strikes a chord. When is it enough? When have I reached my goal? I’ve been working non-stop for seven years, killing myself to reach a goal that’s a moving target. There’s no end. Everything has become so much of a habit that I haven’t been paying attention to the reason anymore.
I watch Chloe slather a cracker with goat cheese then top it with prosciutto. It's another realization that makes me feel worse about the situation with Chloe. I try to push it out of my mind.
“You like to talk,” I say.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s an observation. I have them as well.”
“What is your observation?”
“That the ping pong table is open and we should play.”
“Ping pong.” Chloe rolls her eyes. “What is with you and racquet sports?”
“I have excellent hand-eye coordination, agility and endurance.”
“You’re humble, too.” Chloe laughs.
I lead us to the ping pong table on the lawn, across from the seating area. There are other lawn games, bean bags, horseshoes, bocce ball, and a large chess board with two-foot-high chess pieces.
I lift the wine glass in my hand. “This will be my handicap.”
“If that’s the case, it’s mine, too.” She takes a sip of her wine.
“No, I’ll hold the glass with one hand. You can put yours down.”
“Oh,” she says, setting her wine glass on a nearby table. “All right, I’m ready.”
I serve. The ball bounces on the opposite side and right past Chloe.
“Maybe they have a puzzle we could do instead? I’m great at puzzles.”
“You can do it. You need to keep your eye on the ball,” I say.
“Eyes on balls. I should be good at that.” Chloe laughs.
I move to her side of the table.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you with your stroke.”
I move behind her, placing my hand over hers on the ping pong paddle. My chest presses into her back. She smells so good. Fuck. This was a bad idea.
