M AX'S TASTE IN RESTAURANTS HAS changed significantly since he became a real grown-up.
I didn't even bother looking up the location he sent me and assumed I'd be going to a Spider-Man–themed diner or something for breakfast. Instead, he's sitting in the corner table of a cute French-style café wedged in the middle of a residential block.
My heart stumbles over itself when I think of who would love, but probably equally hate, it here.
Max is drinking a cappuccino when I sit down opposite him. "Morning," I say as brightly as I can muster, hanging my purse on my chair back. It wobbles when I shuffle forward and I quickly realize the legs are uneven. Another sting.
"Feeling better?" Max asks.
No, everything reminds me of them. "Tons better, thanks."
Max's eyes narrow. "You're being weird. Why are you being weird?"
"I've said four words! How can I be being weird in four words?" I argue. If Max brought me here just to get on my nerves, then I'm leaving. I don't have the time or the patience today.
"You just seem, I don't know, off or something. Your energy is weird." My eyes narrow. What woman has taught my brother about energy? "It's whatever. I'm glad you're here. What do you want to eat?"
I pick the most festive-looking thing on the menu. A Gruyère and ham croissant with cranberry and a gingerbread latte. Max orders the same and a plate of French toast to share. "So, are you going to reveal why you're so determined to see me this week?"
Max looks calm and collected, which is why it catches me so off guard when he says, "I think you should quit your job."
I stare at him unblinking for what feels like forever. "I'm leaving."
Max moves when I move. "Don't. I have a reason, I promise."
I reluctantly sit back down; he slowly lowers back into his seat as well. "This could've been a text."
"No, it couldn't. Stop being so flighty and listen to me. I want us to go into business together."
A confused laugh bubbles out of me. "You're kidding, right?" His expression doesn't change. "Max, you can't be serious."
The server places my gingerbread latte down in front of me, giving me a moment of reprieve to collect my thoughts. Max looks serious. There's nothing about his demeanor that indicates he's fooling around. I just can't wrap my head around it.
"Why not?"
I feel like I'm being pranked. "Because our family already owns one of the leading toy companies in the market? Because I've dedicated my entire working life to learning as much as I can about every branch, every twig , that makes it happen?"
Max takes a sip from his cappuccino and cradles it between his hands. "And now that you know everything that happens there, do you think it's a good company? Do you think Dad is doing a good job of running things? Putting the right people in senior positions? Signing off on the right projects?"
"I can't make changes from the outside, Max. Can't fix what's broken without getting my hands dirty. Davenport isn't perfect, but it's our legacy. It's Grandpa's legacy. I can't just abandon it."
"What if we start our own legacy? We're not kids competing against each other anymore, Clara. I want to be your equal in something we build together. Something we can truly be proud of."
I'm stuck in the spot between hope and annoyance. "You've never worked for Davenport. I don't know how you think you know so much. It isn't perfect, sure. Yeah, there are tons of things I'd change, but that takes time."
"I've never worked there because I've watched them not value you for almost fifteen years.
Do you know how crushing it is to watch Dad just not be interested?
Be dismissive and condescending whenever you talk about work?
It fucking sucks, Clara. And it's not even the worst part.
Watching you tolerate it is. I'm asking you to choose not to tolerate it anymore. "
If one more person tells me that I'm basically hated and used at my job I'm going to start screaming. People say it like they're doing me a favor by telling me. Like somehow, suggesting that I'm wasting my time will lift the wool from my eyes and I'll be thankful.
"You're not asking me to try a new restaurant or pick up a new hobby.
You're asking me to give up what I've been working for since I was a child, Max.
You want me to tip my entire life upside down.
Dad would probably cut us off, you realize that, right?
Sue us into oblivion so we can never use the name Davenport.
Squash us before we even get started. He's vindictive and—"
"And yet you still work for him," Max says coolly.
I fold my arms across my chest as the food is laid out on the table in front of us. I don't even want it anymore. I thank the server and focus back on Max when they walk away. "For someone so well educated you sure do look at things through rose-tinted glasses."
He takes a bite of his croissant and shrugs.
"Paid all that money for them to teach me that people start businesses that go on to be successes every single day. I've been thinking about this for two years.
I know what your job means to you. I wouldn't ask you to take the leap if I didn't think it'd pay off. "
"I need to ask you a question," I say firmly, brushing the pastry crumbs from my fingers. "You need to answer me honestly or I won't even consider what you're asking."
"Go for it," Max says.
"Did Dad offer you a job at Davenport replacing the head of innovation?" It's a question that's been on my mind for so long that it felt impossible to get the words out. Turns out, it was really easy. What isn't easy is seeing the look of pity on Max's face.
"He did. I turned it down."
My skin prickles and my lungs feel heavy. "When?"
"Last week. He forgot his wallet at home and Mom asked me to deliver it."
"He didn't even wait for me to come back from Fraser Falls. He didn't even wait to see if I could fix the problem he created." It's an interesting clash of devastation and relief.
I wasn't being paranoid. I was right .
"I'm sorry, Clara."
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to relieve some of the tension in my head. "I need time to think about everything you've said. You've dropped it on me at a really bad time."
I think Max is relieved I'm not immediately shooting him down. "Sure. We can talk about something else. We can talk about J —"
"Do not say Jurassic Park ."
T HE CAR TO THE OFFICE takes longer than normal when tourists decide to hold a photo shoot on a crosswalk in two different locations.
It feels strange that it's over a third of the way through December and I haven't seen the Rockefeller tree yet.
It's cold and wet today; the gray clouds cast a gloomy hue across the skyline.
I pass countless holiday displays, candy cane entrances, and elaborate light designs on the buildings.
What would normally feel magical to me just doesn't right now.
Part of me wishes I opted to work from home today. I'm not excited to be in the office and I have Max's proposal spinning around in my head like a carousel. I have an email from my dad to come up to his floor to give him a debrief when I get to the office, so I head straight there.
I remember when Davenport moved into this building, and I couldn't believe that we needed so many floors.
My dad's floor with its vast view felt like heaven at the time.
His assistant tells me he's on a call and offers me a water while I wait.
I take a seat by the window and concentrate on the river cruises.
The reality is, there's no disparaging comment my dad can give me that will hurt more than knowing he offered the job to Max.
That all my work, all my commitment, all my determination, amounts to nothing next to my brother simply existing. It's not that I don't think my brother wouldn't be a fantastic asset—he's smart and creative and hardworking—but there are dozens of other jobs he could have.
"He's ready for you now," a polite voice says from behind a computer screen.
Dad looks up from his computer when I walk in, then goes back to looking at his screen. He clicks his mouse a couple of times, then leans back in his chair, hands interlinked across his stomach. "Welcome back."
I pull out the heavy leather chair and take a seat. "Thanks."
"You haven't been returning my calls," he says sharply.
"I've been sick." It's a lie I've told everyone so there's no point changing things up now. "Today is my first day back in the office."
"Well? What updates do you have for me?" He eyes me impatiently.
"The Fraser Falls videos have been removed. While we still can't consider the town a friend, the work I've done over the past few weeks has given them other things to focus on.
I carried out a strategic plan to raise their profile to increase visitors and spending.
It worked and now they have a focus that doesn't involve Davenport. "
"That's all it took to convince them to take down the videos?" he asks.
That's all it took? Leaving home and convincing a whole town of people to trust me, while listening to their problems and turning it into an actionable plan that actually helped them? I nod. "That's all it took."
"Do you have anything else to report?" he asks, looking bored of me already.
I'm so tired of it. I know he would never treat another employee like this.
"Nothing to report. I have a request though. I think the Evie doll should be discontinued immediately. It's a lazy imitation and it isn't right for the Davenport brand.
Taking it off the shelves would close the book on the Fraser Falls situation. "
"I find it ironic that you feel entitled to tell me what's right for the brand I built, Clara." There's no warmth to his tone. "If I wanted your opinion on the product, I'd ask for it."
"If I'm going to be head of innovation, then at some point my opinion is going to have to start mattering to you," I snap. "That's my reward, right? The thing you promised me ."
There's a silence that settles in the room that's making my arm hairs stand up.
Dad has always had a way of conveying how he's feeling with a look.
I was on the receiving end of it frequently as a teenager.
"I have a meeting in five minutes, and I think you're forgetting who you're speaking to.
I'll see you tomorrow at the charity event.
I hope you'll have a better attitude, Clara. "
I uncross my legs and brush off my skirt as I stand. "I should let you know that I've been headhunted. Out of courtesy, I'm telling you I'm considering their offer."
There's a twisted sense of satisfaction that comes with catching my dad out. It happens so infrequently that it gives me the most incredible high.
I don't wait for him to respond. I don't bother with fake polite goodbyes or thanks. I keep my head held high and go straight for the door feeling like I'm finally beating him for once.
Beating him, but still too chicken to let the door slam behind me.