A Man Built on Control
1607 Words
Braxton’s POV
People liked to believe billionaires had the luxury of living however they pleased.
The truth was, the bigger the empire, the smaller your freedom became.
By the time I stepped out of Maison Verre, my afternoon had already been planned down to the minute. There was a conference call with our Singapore office, three contracts waiting for my approval, and a meeting with investors from Zurich before the market closed. Somewhere in between, I was expected to call my father, who had spent the better part of the morning ignoring every message I’d sent him.
Richard Atkins, my father was many things but forgetful wasn’t one of them.
“You’re doing it again.”
I glanced sideways as Clinton fell into step beside me, adjusting the cuffs of his navy suit with his usual careless ease. “Doing what?”
“Thinking.”
“I do that quite often.”
“Not like this.” He pressed the button for the revolving doors before looking at me with a grin that was entirely too smug. “This is the face you make when something’s bothering you.”
“I wasn’t aware I had different faces.”
“Oh, you do.” He held up a finger. “There’s your board meeting face, which says everyone around you is incompetent. There’s your shareholder face, which convinces people you’re nicer than you actually are. Then there’s this one.”
“And what’s this one?”
“The one that says something unexpected happened.”
I almost laughed, yeah almost.
Instead, I shook my head and walked toward the waiting car.
“You spend too much time studying me.”
“I have to. It’s the only way to know when you’re about to make everyone’s life miserable.”
“My employees would disagree.”
“Your employees are terrified of you.”
“They respect me.”
“They fear disappointing you.” Clinton argued further.
I reached for the rear door of the car before pausing and facing him.
“There isn’t much difference.”
“There is if you’re the one signing the paychecks.”
I ignored him, sliding into the back seat as the driver pulled away from the curb. Manhattan unfolded outside the tinted windows in a blur of polished skyscrapers, impatient traffic, and pedestrians who moved with the confidence of people convinced they were running out of time.
Most of them probably were.
I loosened my tie, intending to spend the drive reviewing the acquisition report Natalie had emailed before lunch, but the words refused to hold my attention.
Instead, I found myself remembering a pair of dark eyes.
Annoying.
I didn’t know her name, didn’t know what she did for a living, didn’t even know whether she’d been waiting for someone or simply eating alone.
All I knew was that she hadn’t looked at me the way people usually did.
There had been no excitement in her expression, no curiosity and no awkward attempt to pretend she wasn’t staring.
She’d looked at me once, calmly, almost thoughtfully, before returning to her menu as though I were just another stranger walking through the restaurant.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
Yet somehow…
It did.
“You noticed her.”
Clinton’s voice broke through my thoughts so suddenly that I looked up.
“What?”
“The woman.”
I frowned.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I denied immediately.
“You’ve looked out that window three times since we left the restaurant.”
“I was looking at the traffic.”
“You hate traffic.”
“I do.” I agreed with him.
“So unless taxis have suddenly become fascinating, you’re thinking about her.”
I sighed quietly.
“I noticed someone.”
His grin widened.
“That’s all I wanted to hear.”
“I didn’t say I was interested.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You implied it.”
“I absolutely implied it.”
Despite myself, I chuckled.
Clinton leaned back against the leather seat with the satisfied expression of a man who had just won an argument without actually having one.
“I’ve known you for fifteen years, Braxton. You’re observant. You notice everything. But you rarely remember people after you’ve walked away from them.”
“And?”
“And you’ve been remembering one woman for nearly twenty minutes.”
I turned back toward the window.
For once, I didn’t have a response.
The silence that settled between us wasn’t uncomfortable, It rarely was.
Friendship had a way of making silence feel earned.
By the time we arrived at Atkins Global, my thoughts had already shifted back to work.
The lobby stretched three stories high beneath a ceiling of glass and steel, sunlight pouring across polished marble floors that reflected the movement of employees rushing between meetings. Conversations softened the moment I stepped inside.
Receptionists straightened.
Junior associates instinctively moved aside.
Someone near the elevators stopped speaking halfway through a sentence.
I acknowledged each greeting with a brief nod as Clinton walked beside me, clearly amused by the effect.
“You know,” he murmured, “one of these days you should smile at them.”
“I smiled at you.”
“Exactly.”
The executive elevator carried us to the top floor in silence.
When the doors opened, Natalie was already waiting outside my office, a tablet tucked neatly beneath one arm.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Atkins.”
“What emergency am I walking into?”
A smile flickered across her face.
“I appreciate that you’ve learned my patterns.”
“You’ve canceled two meetings and moved Zurich to four o’clock,” I replied. “That only happens when something unexpected comes up.”
She blinked once before shaking her head with a quiet laugh.
“I keep forgetting you notice everything.”
“It’s part of the job.”
She handed me the tablet.
“The revised contracts are ready for your signature. Mr. Donnelly has called twice, and your father asked me to let him know the moment you returned.”
I stopped walking.
“My father called the office?”
“Yes.”
That alone was unusual.
Richard never mixed family with business unless absolutely necessary.
“Did he leave a message?”
Natalie’s smile faded.
“He only said he’d be here shortly.”
Something tightened in my chest.
My father hated unnecessary trips into the city. If he wanted to see me, he invited me to the estate.
He never came here.
Never.
Before I could ask another question, the private elevator behind us chimed softly.
Its doors slid open.
Every conversation on the executive floor seemed to stop at once.
Richard Atkins stepped out alone.
His suit was as immaculate as ever, but something about him looked… different.
Older.
Not in years but in weight.
As though he had been carrying something no one else could see.
His eyes found mine immediately.
“Braxton.”
His voice was calm too calm for my liking and it unsettled me.
“I need to speak with you.”
Without waiting for a response, he walked past me into my office and quietly closed the door behind us.
For several long seconds, he simply stood there, staring at me.
My father didn’t speak immediately. Instead, he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and carefully pulled out an old photograph. The edges were worn with age, the colors faded after years of being handled. Without a word, he placed it in front of me.
I picked it up.
A much younger version of my father stood shoulder to shoulder with another man I didn’t recognize. Both of them were smiling at the camera with the easy confidence of men who had once shared more than business. Between them stood a little girl, no older than six, her tiny hands clasped in theirs as she beamed at the photographer.
My eyes lingered on the child’s face before lifting to my father.
“Who are they?”
His gaze remained fixed on the photograph for a long moment, as though he were looking back at a life he’d lost years ago.
“The man beside me was Victor Hayes,” he said quietly.
The name stirred something faintly familiar, but before I could search my memory, he continued.
“He wasn’t just my business partner, Braxton. He was my best friend.”
I looked back at the little girl.
“And her?”
A shadow crossed my father’s face, one I’d never seen before. It wasn’t grief alone. It was guilt.
“Her name is Camila Hayes.”
The surname settled heavily in the room.
“Victor’s daughter?”
He nodded once.
“She’s alive.”
I frowned, trying to understand why he was telling me this now, after all these years.
“What does this have to do with me?”
He held my gaze, and for the first time in my life, I saw desperation in my father’s eyes.
“Before I die…” His voice faltered ever so slightly. “I need you to promise me something.”
My chest tightened.
“What is it?”
He drew a slow breath before answering.
“I failed Victor once.”
Silence swallowed the room.
“I’m not going to fail his daughter too.”
He slid the photograph closer to me.
“Find Camila Hayes.”
I looked from the photograph back to him.
“And when I do?”
His answer came without hesitation.
“Marry her.”
My heart stopped.
- Writer
