LEONARD

This drill was happening again.

My luxury car glided through the streets, its sleek black exterior reflecting the occasional streetlight. Coral, my assistant, sat next to me, a tablet in hand, typing up last-minute notes. I tried to focus on the evening ahead but found myself already dreading it. Another dinner, another power play from my father.

"Coral," I muttered, staring out the window,  "next time you accept a meeting with my father without consulting me first, you're fired."

Coral didn't even flinch, her fingers still tapping on the tablet. "Noted. I'll be sure to have your coffee ready the next time you threaten me, Mr. Donovan." She glanced up, flashing me a playful smile, knowing my threats were more routine than genuine.

I sighed, leaning back in my seat. As we approached Aria’s—the modern Italian fusion spot Dad frequented for business meetings—the cold, pristine façade of the place hit me like a slap in the face. It screamed exclusivity, the kind of place that judged you from the moment you walked in. My father loved places like this. I hated it. It wasn’t my world. Not anymore.

We stepped out of the car, and Coral followed a few paces behind, professional as always. I could feel the eyes of the restaurant staff on me already, and I despised it.

“Let’s just hope Dad’s not planning another lecture about family legacy,” I muttered as we walked toward the entrance. “I swear, I might start charging him rent for the emotional space he occupies.”

Coral let out a quiet laugh. “Don’t worry, Mr. Donovan. I’m sure you’ll survive. You always do.”

Inside, the atmosphere was suffocating—sharp suits, polished silverware, and the weight of unspoken expectations. Dad was already seated at the long table, flanked by his assistant Alicia, a tall, no-nonsense type with a clipboard, and his secretary David, who stood by the wall looking bored but ready to jump into action.

My father, Richard Donovan, looked exactly like I remembered. Imposing. Untouchable. His eyes, dark and calculating, flicked over me, and there was no warmth there—only the expectation that I would fall in line.

“Leo,” he said, his voice clipped, “if your mother were still here, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. She understood how to handle things. You?” His gaze narrowed. “You’re a different story.”

I clenched my jaw, keeping my voice calm. “Well, Dad, if Mom were still here, we’d probably be arguing over the next chain of The Cove locations instead of this ridiculous meeting.”

His lips twisted into a faint grimace as the server approached, ready to take our orders. I didn’t bother glancing at the menu—I ordered a steak, medium rare. Dad, of course, asked for something off-menu. Naturally, nothing listed would ever be up to his standards.

“Your mother had vision, Leo. Something I don’t think you understand. But it’s not too late to get on track,” he continued. “Natasha’s always been the rebellious one, and now it seems like you’re following in her footsteps. Your mother would be ashamed.”

My smile was tight. “Yeah, well, Natasha’s my role model then. At least she knows what living looks like.”

The mention of Natasha didn’t sit well with him. He shook his head. “Why can’t you be more like Cameron?” His sigh was almost pitying. “He understands his duties. He doesn’t let sentiment get in the way of business.”

I bristled at the mention of my brother, the eldest son—the golden child. My hand tightened around my drink. “I’m not Cameron, and I don’t want to be. Maybe if you stopped comparing me to him, you’d actually see what I’m doing—my way.”

A server approached to refill our drinks, and I took the opportunity to take a long sip, letting the sharp taste settle my nerves. Dad sipped his scotch without a hint of appreciation, like it was water. His gaze stayed on me, cold and unyielding, as though he was appraising some investment that had failed to yield the expected return.

“Dad,” I broke the silence, my tone shifting. “The Cove isn’t just some afterthought. It’s something I’m proud of. We have locations in New York, Chicago, and Miami, and we’re expanding. There’s talk of openings in Paris, Lagos, maybe Buenos Aires. It’s doing well—better than well.” I paused, hoping he’d recognize the accomplishment. “And it’s more than a café. It’s about the culture we’re building.”

I gestured to Coral. “Coral, get me the numbers. We should show him this isn’t just a side gig.” I knew the stats offhand—a 30% year-over-year profit increase. But I also knew, to Dad, that kind of growth was pocket change.

Coral, already poised with the data, nodded. “On it, Mr. Donovan,” she replied smoothly, bringing up the report.

But he didn’t seem impressed. His lips twisted into a grimace. “Either you sell the café or you turn it into something that aligns with the family business. No more of this… nostalgia crap. You’re not keeping it as a shrine to your mother, Leo. You need to make it work my way.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “And here I thought you’d forgotten about my little coffee shop by now. If I had a dollar for every time you mentioned selling it, I could open a whole new chain.”

His voice dropped, icy and final. “You’re stressing me out just like your sister, Leo. Always doing things your own way, refusing to listen.”

I leaned back, a small smile tugging at my lips. “If being like Natasha means having the courage to break free from this family, then I’ll take it. You should try it sometime. It’s freeing.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered. “You’re not your sister. And you’ll never be. Natasha doesn’t care about legacy. You—you need to get your act together.”

As the dinner dragged on, Coral quietly observed, jotting down notes, smoothing things over when needed, keeping us on track. She’d seen this drama play out too many times before.

When there was a brief lull in the conversation, she leaned in, whispering with a smirk, “If he could bottle up his tone, he’d have an empire in sound alone.” I chuckled, grateful for the brief moment of levity.

After what felt like hours, the meeting finally ended. I stepped outside into the cool evening air, the weight of his words still heavy. But I wasn’t going to let it break me.

I walked toward the car, my thoughts racing. The Cove wasn’t going anywhere. Dad might never understand, but that didn’t matter.

Just then, my phone buzzed. An unfamiliar number. For a moment, I almost didn’t pick up.

“Leo Donovan,” I answered, my tone still sharp.

“Mr. Donovan, it’s Marcus from the New York branch of The Cove. We’ve had an issue with the supplier shipment—we need your approval to reroute the stock to the other locations.”

I clenched my jaw. “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. “Handle it, Marcus. I don’t care how, just get it sorted.”

I hung up and looked at Coral, who’d caught up with me. “Well, looks like we’ve got work to do. No rest for the wicked.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to let that call ruin your night, are you?”

I smirked, a hint of defiance in my eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if I let everything ruin my night. The Cove’s not going anywhere, and neither am I.”

~~~~

We got a Leo's Pov!

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Muah!💋
~Rhoda