Coffee On The 12th Floor

Scott Eliot had a talent for making people wait. He was five minutes late to the meeting. Then ten. Then twenty. By the time the boardroom clock reached 9:37 a.m., the twelve people seated around the long glass table had stopped pretending they weren’t checking their phones. Scott’s chair remained empty. The presentation on the screen had been paused on the same financial chart for almost fifteen minutes. “Should we call him?” the finance director finally asked. Nobody answered. They all knew better. Scott hated being called. The door opened. Every head turned. Scott walked in like a man who had not kept an entire executive team waiting. His black shirt was tucked neatly into tailored trousers, his jacket hanging loosely from one hand. His tie was nowhere to be seen. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes despite the fact that they were indoors. He glanced around the room. “Morning.” A few people mumbled greetings. Scott dropped his jacket over the back of his chair and sat down. “What did I miss?” The finance director stared at him. Scott smiled. “That’s a serious question.” “You missed the first thirty-seven minutes.” Scott looked at the clock. “Then I didn’t miss much.” Someone coughed to hide a laugh. The finance director didn’t. “We’re discussing the Q3 projections.” “I know.” “How?” “Because I approved them.” “You were supposed to present them.” Scott leaned back. “And yet, somehow, the company survived.” That was Scott Eliot. Brilliant enough to get away with almost anything. Rich enough that consequences had become negotiable. And arrogant enough to believe the difference didn’t matter. He picked up the folder in front of him and flipped through the pages without really looking at them. “Who prepared this?” “I did,” the finance director replied. Scott finally removed his sunglasses. “Good work.” The man blinked. That was unexpected. Scott pointed at a figure on the second page. “But this projection is wrong.” A silence settled over the room. “Wrong how?” Scott looked up. “You’ve calculated the expansion cost using last quarter’s supplier rates.” The finance director frowned, took the document from him, and checked the figures. His expression changed. Scott was right. Again. “You’re correct.” “I usually am.” There it was. The compliment had lasted approximately three seconds. Scott stood. “Move the presentation to tomorrow. Fix the projections before then.” “But the investors—” “Can wait.” “They’ve already arrived.” Scott buttoned his jacket. “Then they can have coffee.” He walked out. The moment the door closed behind him, everyone in the room exhaled. Scott heard none of it. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care. His phone vibrated before he reached the elevator. He glanced at the screen. Three missed calls. One message. Dad. Call me. Scott locked the screen. The elevator doors opened. He stepped inside. A second later, someone slid in behind him. “You’re unbelievable.” Scott didn’t need to look. “Asher.” His best friend leaned against the wall beside him. “You just walked out of a board meeting.” “I walked out of a boring board meeting.” “You were supposed to lead it.” “I led it.” “You arrived thirty-seven minutes late.” “Forty.” Asher looked at him. Scott shrugged. “Time moves differently when you’re not wearing a watch.” “You own three watches.” “I don’t like any of them.” Asher laughed under his breath. “Your father is going to kill you.” Scott’s smile disappeared for half a second. “He’s been threatening that since I was twelve.” “Maybe this is the year he means it.” The elevator reached the lobby. Scott stepped out. His phone vibrated again. This time, he answered. “Morning, Dad.” Mr. Eliot didn’t return the greeting. “Where are you?” “Work.” “That’s interesting.” Scott pushed through the revolving doors. “I was in a meeting.” “You were supposed to be in a meeting.” “I was.” “You arrived thirty-seven minutes late.” Scott stopped walking. He looked at Asher. Asher immediately raised both hands. Don’t look at me. Scott turned away. “Do you have cameras in the building now?” “I don’t need cameras to know what my son is doing.” “That’s mildly disturbing.” “Scott.” The amusement left his voice. Scott knew that tone. He continued walking toward his car. “What?” “Come home tonight.” “I have plans.” “Cancel them.” Scott opened the driver’s door. “Can’t.” “You can.” “I really can’t.” “Then make time.” Scott sighed. “Is this about the board?” “No.” “The restaurant?” “No.” “Then what?” A pause. “I want to talk to you about your life.” Scott laughed. “My life is doing fine.” “That’s exactly the problem.” Scott’s jaw tightened. He looked across the parking lot. “Can we not do this today?” “We are doing it today.” “I’ve got work.” “You have excuses.” Scott stared at the phone. His father continued. “Eight o’clock.” “I won’t be there.” “Eight o’clock, Scott.” The call ended. Scott lowered the phone slowly. Asher walked toward him. “What happened?” “My father wants dinner.” “That’s it?” “He said he wants to talk about my life.” Asher winced. “Oh.” Scott gave him a look. “Exactly.” Asher opened the passenger door. “I’m coming.” “No.” “Why?” “Because I like you alive.” Asher laughed. Scott got into the car. Before he could start the engine, his phone buzzed again. A woman’s name appeared on the screen. He smiled. Asher noticed. “Absolutely not.” Scott glanced at him. “What?” “You’ve got dinner with your father tonight.” “And?” “And if you spend the afternoon chasing another woman, you’re going to walk into that dinner looking like the reason your father regrets having children.” Scott started the engine. “That’s dramatic.” “It’s accurate.” Scott pulled away from the curb. He wasn’t offended. He was accustomed to it. Women liked him. Some liked his money. Some liked his face. Some liked the danger that came with knowing exactly what kind of man he was. Scott never promised them anything. That was how he justified it. No promises meant no betrayal. No attachment meant no disappointment. No feelings meant nobody could ask anything from him. It had worked beautifully. Until his father started calling it a problem. Scott’s phone rang again. He ignored it. It rang a second time. He ignored that too. The third call came while he was stopped at a traffic light. He looked at the screen. Mr. Eliot. “Persistent old man,” he muttered. Asher turned toward him. “Answer.” “No.” “Scott.” “I know what he’s going to say.” “Then prove him wrong.” Scott gave him a sideways glance. “You’re getting annoyingly wise.” “I’m trying something new.” The light turned green. Scott drove. He had barely made it two streets before he received a message. If you don’t come home at eight, I will come to your office tomorrow morning. Scott read it twice. Then laughed. His father wasn’t bluffing. That was the irritating thing about Mr. Eliot. He never threatened anything he wasn’t prepared to do. Scott tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. “Eight o’clock,” Asher said. Scott shook his head. “My father doesn’t understand that I’m not sixteen anymore.” “No.” Asher looked out the window. “I think he understands perfectly.” Scott frowned. “What does that mean?” “It means he knows you’re thirty years old and still behaving like consequences are something that happen to other people.” Scott’s grip tightened slightly around the steering wheel. For once, he had no quick answer. He hated when Asher did that. Made a joke. Then slipped something honest underneath it. Scott changed the subject. “Where are we going?” “Your office.” “I was planning to leave.” “You’re the CEO.” “So?” “So act like one.” Scott smiled. “Careful.” “About what?” “You almost sounded like my father.” Asher laughed. Scott did too. But the laughter faded when he looked through the windshield. For the first time that morning, the weight of his father’s words settled somewhere he couldn’t laugh away. Your life is the problem. Scott didn’t believe that. His life was exactly what he wanted. Money. Power. Freedom. Women when he wanted them. Work when he felt like it. No one telling him where to be or who to become. He had everything. Didn’t he? His phone buzzed again. A message from the woman he’d ignored earlier. Are you coming over tonight? Scott stared at it. His thumb hovered over the screen. Then he locked the phone. Not because he’d suddenly developed morals. Not because he’d changed. He simply wasn’t in the mood. He drove back toward the office. Above him, twelve floors of glass and steel reflected the afternoon sun. His world waited upstairs. His company. His rules. His life. Scott had no idea that by tomorrow, someone else would begin making rules for him. And for the first time in his life, Scott Eliot was about to meet a woman who wouldn’t be impressed by his money, frightened by his temper, or interested in playing along with his games. He just didn’t know her name yet. Her name was Eliana.