Page 3

Mackenzie

The ping of the elevator announces Theo’s arrival just as the clock strikes a minute to nine. I shadow him into his cavernous office, which smells like cedar and success, the door whispering shut behind us.

“How’d it go with Jim and his team this morning?” I ask.

“Fine,” he grunts without looking up from his phone, “Send in the nine o’clock.”

I read the tension in the terse line of his jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils. He’s pissed at me. No doubt his evening did not go as planned. But I’m not here to play the dutiful personal assistant. No way am I arranging dates and hotels for him. That’s a line drawn in the sand.

I pivot on my heel and swing the door open again. “Everyone,” I say, ushering in the directors with a grandiose wave of my hand, “He’s all yours.”

As they filter in, I take my place at the edge of the room, tablet in hand, ready to transcribe every promise and commitment Theo makes. Because when Theo says he’ll do something, what he means is I will make it happen.

Each department head takes their turn, laying out strategies and hurdles, and I capture it all, decoding Theo’s corporate speak into actionable tasks. I’m here to ensure nothing falls through the cracks.

This is my work. And I am ready for whatever comes my way.

As the first group finishes up, the next appointment is at the ready. The parade of people sweeps in and out of Theo’s office like a high-stakes game of musical chairs.

As the clock’s hands settle at noon, he waves me in with an impatient flick of his wrist. “Order us some lunch,” he commands, his eyes on the sprawling cityscape beyond his window. “We’ll go over expectations for my interim CEO tenure.”

“Sure thing,” I reply, masking the tremor in my voice. His corporate credit card—a heavy piece of black metal—slips across the desk toward me.

I usher in his next appointment and return to my desk. I punch in an order from a local café we use often for takeout. Theo will want his favorite French dip sandwich and fries, and I’ll get a tuna poke bowl for myself. It’s almost comical how well I know his preferences. Light starch on his shirts. He prefers Tom Ford to Armani, and Adidas to Ferragamo.

When the food arrives, I set it on my desk and step into Theo’s meeting, which is on the verge of going over its allotted time.

“Theo, your next meeting is ready for you,” I tell him, though I’m mostly speaking to the man still sitting in the chair across from Theo’s desk. My voice is firm, and the man gathers his papers with a nod.

I step back out to gather the food, though I leave my own lunch untouched on my desk. I’m not going in there to dine. If Theo’s got complaints, I want to be ready, and when we’re done, I’ll walk out with my head held high. Armed with his sandwich and my tablet, I join him to sit at the table near the windows looking over the Bay.

I hover at the edge of Theo’s vision, watching his fingers fly over his phone screen. My eyes drift across the office, over the sleek lines and tasteful decor. The designer had a hand in everything from the mahogany desk to the abstract art that splashes color on the walls. She nailed him and his personality. It’s like peering into the inner workings of Theo’s mind—meticulous, calculated, and sophisticated.

She lingered in more ways than one. Their non-professional connection lasted longer than anyone else had managed, at least since I’ve known him. Almost three months. A record, perhaps. But who’s counting?

“Where’s your lunch?” His voice pulls me back, and I notice he’s set his phone aside, looking at the empty space before me. “You should eat too.”

“Right,” I murmur, suddenly losing my desire to argue. I retrieve it from my desk and settle back into the chair opposite him.

We eat in tandem.

“Follow-ups,” he says without looking up. “That budget discrepancy in R&D, the delay in marketing’s campaign launch. Can you help me untangle that?”

“Of course,” I say. “I already scheduled time with Jeannie to understand.”

“Good.”

I nod and key in reminders on my tablet. The responsibility of figuring it out is officially mine now. But I’m good at this.

Theo leans back in his chair, meeting my gaze. “Have you seen any emails from Justin lately?”

That is out of left field. “Justin?” I pause. “No, of course not. I would have said something. He’s been quiet for a few months now. Nothing since they discovered the voicemails and emails were fake.”

“At the breakfast meeting this morning with Jim, Mason, and Austin, they asked.” Theo’s fingers tap a staccato rhythm on the table. “Crystal is hiding in Paris, but Justin’s still off the grid. They can’t get a bead on him.”

“Isn’t it strange that they could find Crystal so easily and Justin has just disappeared?” I ask, my voice trailing off. With all our resources, all our connections, we’re still grasping at shadows.

I shuffle the last of my food into a neat pile as the subject of Justin’s disappearance hangs heavy in the air. Swallowing hard, I muster the courage to voice the fear that’s been gnawing at me. “What if he’s…dead?”

Theo’s face tightens, a flicker of vulnerability flashing across his composed features. “I’ll be heartbroken. He’s my best friend, and I miss him every day. And I don’t know what Crystal is going to do.”

I nod, recognizing the humanity beneath Theo’s bravado. It’s disarming, reminding me that despite it all, there’s a beating heart in there somewhere.

He clears his throat and stands, signaling the close of our meeting. “Mackenzie,” he says, his tone shifting, “I’m sorry for putting you in a tough spot with my…personal errands.” There’s an awkward pause before he continues. “I’ve brought in Natalie Hunter. She’ll be handling the personal side of my life, so if she calls, please…”

“Thank God,” I breathe. “I’ve worked with her before.” Natalie I can work with without added complications.

“Still, I need you to know…” Theo continues. “There will be times when lines blur. I’ll need your flexibility—and your grace—when that happens.”

His words hang between us, a subtle reminder of boundaries that we’ve crossed before. I catch the briefest glint in his eye, a quiet acknowledgment of our past indiscretion, a night where control was the last thing on his mind.

I tap my tablet, pulling up his schedule, and rise from my chair. “Your next appointment is ready.”

The phone buzzes against my desk, and Dad’s name flashes across the screen. My heart skips a beat, the first pang of excitement followed by a twinge of apprehension. It’s his weekend to have Levi, and I can’t help but wonder how my little half-brother is doing. Maybe he’s calling to tell me they’re coming up from LA to hang out.

“Hey, Dad,” I answer, trying to keep my voice light, feigning indifference I don’t feel.

“Mackenzie! How’s my girl?” His voice, that familiar baritone, rumbles through the phone line, bringing with it a wave of nostalgia.

“Good. Just busy with work,” I reply. “What adventures do you have planned for Levi this weekend?”

There’s a pause, and in that brief silence, I picture him, the silver fox with the eternal tan, always surrounded by a halo of success and a whiff of cologne that costs more than my mortgage.

“Oh, that’s right. It’s my weekend for Levi,” he says, and his nonchalance sets off alarms in my head. “I’m headed to my place in Kauai for a few weeks. That’s why I called. I thought I’d take a little break.”

“Kauai?” I repeat. “For a few weeks?” That isn’t like him, not when he has Levi. The shift in plans sends a ripple of concern through me. “Are you leaving after your weekend with Levi?”

“No. We’re leaving tonight.”

I remember when he used to do this to me. I hated spending those weekends alone with the household staff. “How about bringing Levi up here for the weekend and then leave on Monday? We could have fun running around the city on the cable cars.”

“Birdie is eager for some sun and sand,” he replies.

Birdie is wife number five and three months older than me. They live in frickin’ Los Angeles, with plenty of beaches and sunshine. I bite my tongue.

“So I can’t,” he confirms, seeming oblivious to my growing unease. “Just need to recharge a bit, you know? The studio’s been a madhouse.”

Dad’s the head of a movie-production company. I press my lips together. Recharge . That luxury feels out of reach for me. But Levi matters more.

I tap a fingernail against the phone. “And Levi?” My words probe the silence for an answer I’m not sure I want to hear.

“Levi?” There’s a rustle of papers on his end, a telltale sign he’s multitasking—always multitasking. “Oh, right. No worries,” he says with a dismissive chuckle that does nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. “He’ll be with his nanny. They can play in the pool, watch movies, do whatever while I’m gone.”

My gaze drifts to the family picture on my bookshelf, the one where Levi’s toothy grin is as bright as the California sun. I swallow hard, feeling a surge of protectiveness. He’s just a kid. Levi needs more than a pool and a screen to fill his weekends.

The memory of my mother surfaces—a flash of laughter, the warmth of her embrace—and then it’s gone. She died in a car accident when I was not old enough to understand what forever meant. My father was devastated, a shadow of the man he used to be, until he found solace in his work—and his assistant.

That assistant, with her sharp smiles and sharper words, morphed into the wicked stepmother from every storybook I’d ever read. As Dad climbed the ladder at Monarch Pictures, fast and furious, she climbed with him, her talons sunk deep into his side. But it wasn’t her ambition that scared me. She gave up after a year, and he moved girlfriend number two in. She lasted three years. Then there was his next wife, who was gone before I got to meet her. Levi’s mother, well she’s…his mother. And now there’s Birdie, who is only three months older than me. Gross.

“Okay,” I murmur. I’m disappointed for Levi. “Just make sure they have everything they need, okay?” Levi’s mother has her own issues. The tabloids and Dad’s high-powered friends were too much, and she sank into addiction. Levi deserves more.

“Always,” he assures me, a flimsy promise.

“Hey, Dad,” I start, shifting gears as I still don’t like his plan. “Do you think I could fly down Friday night? Spend some time with Levi over the weekend?”

There’s a pause on the line. The ruler of Monarch Pictures commands an empire of fantasy, but real-life details often slip through his grasp, like the existence of his son from his fourth marriage. An eight-year-old boy who should be more than a footnote in his father’s schedule.

“Sure, that would be… I know he’d like to see you,” he says. His voice always has that polished tone, honed from years of pitching stories to rooms full of suits and skeptics. “I’ll have my assistant reserve a plane for you. And a car when you land.”

“Thanks,” I reply, feeling a knot loosen in my chest. I’ll give him a fun brother-sister weekend, something steadier than the fleeting attention of a nanny.

I hang up the phone, excited to see my little brother. A smile tugs at my mouth as I consider the havoc this last-minute decision will cast over my carefully mapped-out weekend. But hanging with Levi sounds much more fun than sticking to my schedule.

Grabbing my planner, I cross out appointments, a lunch date here, a yoga class there. I can already hear Levi’s laughter, see his eyes widen in surprise when I show up out of the blue. The happiness of that thought outweighs any turmoil rescheduling might cause. I may be stuck working on Sunday though. If I don’t, next week will be a mess, and with Theo at the helm, I need to make sure I’m prepared.

My fingers move quickly on the keyboard. I send messages to cancel my plans and write quick notes of apology telling them the truth. They’ll understand. This time, it’s not my job making me change things. Levi is the bright spot in our messy family. He’s young and doesn’t know about the complexities that come with our dad. I won’t let Levi fall through the cracks the way I did when Dad was too caught up in his own life to pay attention.