“Absolutely.”
“Very well. I’ll look forward to your report.”
On the way back to my office I stopped at my assistant’s desk, handing her the paper Mr. Ferrell had given me. “Krysten, I need you to contact Rupert and Simon Jacobson at this firm. They know who we are. Tell them I’d like to meet with them in our offices this Thursday afternoon.”
She looked at the paper. “Jacobson Advertising.” She looked up at me. “Jacobson. Any relation?”
“Distant,” I replied. “Very distant.”
“All right,” she said. “How long would you like me to schedule the meeting for?”
“Keep my entire afternoon open. It may go long.” I started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “Krysten, one more thing. Don’t tell them my last name. Just call me Mr. Joseph.”
She looked at me quizzically. “Why is that?”
“Simple,” I said. “I don’t want them to know who I am.”
CHAPTER
Twenty-nine
Even a broken heart can still hold love.
Joseph Jacobson’s Diary
I hardly slept Wednesday night. My emotions ranged wildly. My brothers had sent me out into the wilderness. I should have hated them for what they did, but if they hadn’t banished me, I never would have achieved what I had. I never would have become creative director of one of the world’s largest advertising agencies. Nor would I have met April. Considering how much I had suffered over losing her, that may not seem like a good thing. But even as painful as our separation was, I still would have chosen to meet her. To have felt her love, even for the short time I had it, was better than to not know that such love existed. At least that’s what I told myself.
No matter my brothers’ intent, no matter the pain they’d inflicted on me, I was grateful for what they had done. But that had little to do with the purchasing of the advertising agency. The bigger question was, could I work with them? And that depended on the biggest question of all: Given the chance, would they do what they had done again? Had they remorse for sending me away? That was what would determine whether or not we could work together.
Ultimately, their hearts would determine their fates.
Thursday morning, as I was shaving, I took a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I had changed a lot in the last three years. Not just mentally and emotionally, but physically as well. I inventoried those changes. I had lost weight and grown more muscular. More angular. I had changed my hairstyle, which was a much bigger thing than you might expect. My father, being a soldier during the “make love not war” sixties, abhorred “hippie hair.” So, like my brothers, I had always kept it short and above the ear. Now it touched my collar and my ears were all but invisible. My father would be aghast.
My wardrobe had changed dramatically as well—thanks to a change of scene and a company credit card. I definitely looked more suited to New York than Denver. Getting ready for work, I put on a navy blue Armani suit with a turtleneck. I doubted they’d recognize me. Honestly, I don’t think I would have recognized me.
There were also the intangibles. I once read somewhere that context is 90 percent of recognition, and my brothers certainly weren’t expecting to see me. Still, if you’ve ever read a romance novel, you know the eyes are always the giveaway.
I put on a pair of yellow-lens Ray-Ban sunglasses, then took out my Colorado driver’s license and compared visages in the mirror. A cop would definitely question my identity. I was certain that my brothers wouldn’t recognize me.
As I walked into my office, I reminded Krysten not to use my real name. An hour later she buzzed my office.
“They’re here,” she said.
My heart raced. “Show them in.”
“Right away.”
Rupert came in first. While I had worried about him recognizing me, the truth was, I almost didn’t recognize him. Actually either of them. Simon had also changed. They looked older: gray and weary, the way stress and hard times change you.
“Mr. Joseph,” Rupert said, extending his hand. “I’m Rupert Jacobson. It’s a pleasure meeting you.”
I stood, firmly taking his hand. “It’s my pleasure.” I turned to Simon, thinking he had changed even more than Rupert. “And you are?”
“Simon Jacobson,” he said, extending his hand.
I took his hand. The same hand that had given me the pen to sign my resignation. “Jacobsons. Are you brothers?”
“Yes, sir,” Simon said.
“So it’s a family business. Have a seat.”
After they were seated, Rupert said, “You have a beautiful office.”