a highly sensitive issue.
“I.e., gossip.”
Leonard cringed. “Gossip has got such an ugly ring to it.”
“Mmm...and yet I keep on hearing it.” Graedon Clegg’s movements could easily be described by any variation or synonym of the word sleek. Artful, really, given his striking build, easily mesmerizing when partnered with other attributes.
Graedon moved from behind the bar and passed a drink to his late father’s oldest friend. “Calm down, Leo,” he urged.
Leo Cartright didn’t care if the man he reported to was a kid beneath him. Only a fool would come to deliver unsavory news to Graedon Clegg and be on anything other than heightened alert. This stood whether Graedon was offering a drink or a challenge to a brawl.
“Come on, Leo, I need you to talk to me here.” Grae allowed his concern to show, hoping it’d urge Leo to speak freely. Grae let his uncle in name only glimpse his concern and hoped it’d urge the man to speak freely. Anticipating the moods of his associates was one of the things that made him such a formidable opponent at work and play.
Leo downed a bit of the gin and tonic he’d requested. “Working for your brother’s become too volatile,” he admitted once a few sips of the crisp drink had bubbled on his tongue.
“In what way?” Grae appeared the image of maddening cool as he eased behind the no-nonsense blackwood desk in the stark corner office.
Leo’s jaw dropped, his eyes growing wide.
Graedon shrugged, a smile narrowing an unexpected bronze stare. “Humor me,” he urged, his palm stroking the sleek stubble shading his jaw and adding something rugged to an otherwise pretty face.
“Something’s got him...changed. Something subtle but it’s strong. I don’t know...” Leo reached for the drink, downed another hearty swig. “He’s still the same ol’ Faro—dictating, strutting around like a little Napoleon.”
Grae let slip a soft chuckle as the image of his older brother came to mind. Leo had captured Faro Clegg perfectly.
“Sorry,” Leo said, yet the grin remained on his attractive, dark face.
“So what’s changed?” Grae asked.
“Well...” Leo expelled a perplexed sigh. “He’s still got the little-big-man complex, but it’s like he’s not as...I don’t know...pressured by all of it as he used to be. Hell if I know, Grae...” Leo leaned back in the deep armchair he occupied and smoothed a hand across the soft salt-and-pepper hair tapered at his nape. “It’s like he’s got the skinny on somethin’ the rest of us don’t. I don’t want to find myself on the evil side of his bad personality if what he knows is that I’ve been feeding you info on how he’s running his side of the business.”
Grae leaned forward a bit in his own chair. “Are you trying to tell me you confirmed the suspicions you came to me with last month—ones in addition to what you gave me six months ago?”
“What can I say? Your brother is one long, consistent train wreck, but this part is still hearsay.”
“Hearsay,” Grae groaned. He angled his gaze toward the low file cabinet that ran the length of the rear wall when the phone there buzzed. He ignored the sound. “Anybody willing to name names? Names bold enough not to hide behind the gossip, but to defend their words.”
Leo didn’t seem hopeful. “Come on, Grae, nobody wants to brush up against Faro, especially when it could mean getting caught between something with you on the other side of it. Everyone knows what a fierce position that could be,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.
The phone buzzed again. Grae answered, primarily to get thoughts best left alone to venture out of his mind.
Leo took advantage of the break in conversation to enjoy the rest of his drink. He’d finished it off before Grae’s rich rumble of a voice became a veritable rasp as he next addressed the unfortunate soul on the other end of the phone line. When he apologized to the caller, Leo realized he was talking to his assistant, Emily Claude.
“I don’t need to see it, Em. Hold on to it till I get out there, all right?” Grae set the phone to its receiver, studied it for an extended moment. “What do you know about a retreat?” he asked before swiveling his desk chair back to face Leo.
“Somethin’ to do with Faro?” Leo asked.
“No idea.” Grae stood, rounded his desk and went to refill the drink for the man who was more like a brother to him than his own. “Sounds like he’s trying to put together some kind of retreat for the family.”
Leo watched Grae slosh more gin into their stout glasses. Silently, he considered the event. Family retreats and reunions usually had the makings of a lot of unnecessary drama. “Is that it?” He reclaimed the glass Grae handed over. “A retreat made you scare Em that way?”
“He’s already handing out invites to the damn thing.” Grae set aside his drink and went about rolling the sleeves of a navy shirt over wide forearms corded with muscle. “Dropped mine off a few minutes ago. It’s waiting on Em’s desk. Location? Turner Estates and Gardens.”
“Lord.” Leo slumped down into his chair. “Is it confirmed? The place? I just can’t imagine—” Leo paused over speaking Tielle’s name. He knew that wound was still raw, too fresh, even for Graedon to hear without being affected.
Grae needed no additional clarification at any rate. “Em says there’s an asterisk next to the location name designating that it’s ‘subject to change,’ so...”
“You think it will?”
Grae shrugged off Leo’s soft inquiry. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not going anyway.” Out of frustrated habit he fingered the dark curls that covered his head in a halo of glossy black.
Leo didn’t bother disputing the comment. He wondered if Grae heard the doubt in his voice as clearly as he did. “Why do you think he’s organizing a lovefest for the family?” he asked instead.
“Besides the fact that we could really use one?” Grae smirked.
It was relatively true. While a measure of goodwill existed among the various cliques within the Clegg family, overall, there was still a measure of bad blood that could at any time erupt into a smelly mess. Such problems among the Clegg brood had been well covered over the decades, ever since Kenneth Clegg’s advertisements for African-American products and businesses began to appear in national magazines.
Faro and Graedon Clegg’s father had continued to outdo himself. The man’s accomplishments had boosted Clegg Marketing from one plateau to another. Sadly, Ken Clegg’s successes were matched all too greatly by the dramas in his personal life. Most unfortunate was the fact that the greatest portion of that drama originated in his family.
Nevertheless, Ken’s bright spot had been Clegg Marketing—his baby, his brain child. The visionary had even welcomed his family to share in what gave him such joy. The man’s heart was as big and robust as the man had been himself. When he died, family, friends and business rivals alike had all mourned his passing.
Yet when Graedon Clegg assumed the role as CEO of the company, few argued the virtually unarguable; Ken Clegg’s tenacious persona
