Uncovering Camila (Wildflowers Book 3) Read online

  “You seem to have strong opinions about law firm culture. Are you criticizing my decision to work at S & M?”

  Marshall stares back. “I wouldn’t presume to, no. I merely want to ensure that students from different backgrounds consider all the options available to them.”

  “What exactly are you planning?”

  “I’ll be inviting lawyers who’ve pursued different legal careers.”

  “Your parents coming?” She smirks.

  Marshall shakes his head. “I’d rather not mix my personal life with my professional.”

  Camila gives him a look.

  “Right, well, I guess I’ve made an exception.” He pauses and looks her in the eye. “Where it counted.”

  She shifts her weight to the other foot. It wasn’t long ago that look would make her want to get on her knees and kiss his crown. The image floats through her mind for a fleeting second, and she can feel her mouth water. “What do you need from me?” She asks in a low voice.

  “I want this to be a relaxed and fun evening with good drinks and food. Not some port and cheese thing like they did in undergrad. Lisette already found a caterer,” he says, referring to the current BLAPA President.

  “You want me to bartend?”

  Marshall shakes his head. “Not at all. I thought you might have a friend you could recommend.”

  “Sure, I can do that.” Camila makes a mental note to text Jared. “Anything else?” She takes a step toward the door, which seems farther away than she remembered. Maybe her mind is playing tricks on her or maybe, just maybe everything expands when they’re together, like her body and her mind. Since meeting Marshall, something internal has shifted in Camila. It was subtle at first, so subtle that she couldn’t feel it. But every time she’s with him, she senses it. Being with him draws her inward where she’s forced to become more aware of herself than ever before. It’s as if her entire being has become amplified. It’s not self-consciousness either. It’s true self-awareness, and it’s humbling and uncomfortable. But as much as it makes her want to run away from him, it keeps her cemented to the floor, like now.

  Marshall stands and reaches her before she can take another step. He’s inches from her body, and she can feel his body call to hers. His fingertips run along the back of her hand. “I’m sorry, C.C.”

  “Don’t be,” she says. “I’m not.”

  Chapter 29

  “You sure you don’t mind my parents hijacking our brunch plans?” Shoshana asks when she opens the door to the Cohen’s 5th Avenue penthouse.

  “Not at all,” Camila shakes her head. “Last time I was here was for Seder.” She points to a painting with bright, geometric patterns as they walk along the sunlit gallery leading to the great room. “Is that new?”

  Shoshana turns and nods. “Yeah. My dad just got that at auction a couple of months ago. He said it was a steal for a Delaunay.”

  They continue through a drawing room, followed by a paneled library, each with their own fireplace. The west-facing windows allow sunlight to pour through this side of the apartment for most of the day. It’s so unlike Camila’s apartment with its muted sunlight that filters into her apartment through dingy windows, which the landlord never cleans.

  Having been in the family for decades, the apartment has undergone more renovations than the City itself. The luxurious master suite was created from two adjoining bedrooms, leaving them with six bedrooms and eight bathrooms. The living quarters are separated from the rest of the apartment by a staircase, which can only be accessed from the drawing room, ensuring as much privacy as possible. The gradual modernizing of the architectural style, however, did nothing to change the historical grandeur of the space. Within the fifteen-foot walls of single pane windows overlooking Central Park and over eighteen thousand square feet of space is one of the most exquisitely decorated apartments in the whole of Manhattan. Not that anyone outside of the family and close friends would know this since the Cohens are fiercely protective of their privacy. Unlike the new money in New York, which parade their lives and children around like mini-celebrities, Arthur and Natalie Cohen prefer to live as far off the Manhattan socialite grid as possible.

  “Camila, how are you my darling?” Her aunt gets up from the table where the New York Times is spread out and hugs her.

  “I’m good, Aunt Natalie, thanks.” Camila breathes in the overpowering scent of sandalwood, geranium and patchouli from her aunt’s perfume.

  “Good, good,” she touches her niece’s cheek with perfectly red-painted manicured fingers, then kisses it.

  Camila smiles, always touched by her aunt’s warmth and affection.

  “I hope you’re hungry, everyone,” her uncle says, entering the kitchen. “Russ & Daughters just delivered fresh bagels, bialys, sturgeon and smoked salmon.”

  Shoshana claps her hands. “Wonderful. I can’t think of a better way to end my juice cleanse.”

  Camila and Natalie both give her a look.

  “What?” Shoshana shrugs, bringing a French Press to the table with a view of the Park. “It was a new alkaline thing I wanted to try.”

  Camila sets out linen napkins and silverware while her aunt and uncle plate the food. Despite having a full staff, two of whom live-in, the Cohens prefer their weekends without the constant presence of others around. It seems to give their grand home a feeling of normalcy that isn’t often felt in other apartments like theirs.

  “How’s school going?” Art asks Camila as she spreads a small spoonful of cream cheese on her onion bagel.

  “Fine,” she replies, hoping a short answer will compel him to change the subject. It doesn’t.

  “You don’t sound as enthusiastic as you did last year. Are you getting burned out?”

  “Oh, honey, if that’s the case, I have some great essential oils for you,” her aunt says, getting up from her seat. “I’ll be right back.”

  “But Aunt . . . .” Camila calls after her.

  Her uncle waves his hand. “Don’t bother. She won’t forget before you leave anyway.”

  “You still set on S & M? When do you have to commit?”

  Camila nods. “I have until the first week of December. I like their FCPA group. Seems like I’ll be able to travel to Latin America quite a bit.”

  “Oooh, that’ll be fun,” Shoshana says. “If you go to Buenos Aires, I’ll fly down with you. It’s been ages since we’ve been, right Dad?”

  “You were still in high school.” Art sets down his food and sips his coffee. He listens to his niece and daughter talk about Argentina and the brief four days Camila had spent there this past summer for the firm. Despite the long hours, it was exciting to travel for work, to feel a sense of purpose that she hadn’t felt before. Much of her life had been about her goals, setting them and achieving them, one by one, the payoff always in some distant future. When she arrived in Buenos Aires, she felt she’d finally reached the end of the tunnel, or certainly closer than she was before. Then again, after that thought had occurred to her, she found herself asking, what’s next.

  That very question has plagued Art Cohen for past three years when it became clear his only daughter, whom he loves more than anyone else in the world, except for his wife, was not interested in working in the family’s real estate company. Try as he might and despite his efforts to inculcate her in his world, he failed. And it pains him to think that Cohen Real Estate, the company that his father founded with a five-thousand dollar bank loan back in 1947, would die with him.

  “Would you ever consider working at Cohen Real Estate?” He asks, interrupting the women’s conversation.

  Camila turns and looks at him wide-eyed. This is truly the last thing she’d ever thought she’d hear anyone in her family say. Her father’s staunch position against money and the family’s holdings had been so ingrained in her, she never once saw herself as belonging to that world.

  “Oh just look at you,” Natalie says, returning to the kitchen. “It’s all over your face. Stress will age yo
u, my dear.”

  Shoshana shakes her head. “I told you not to discuss this today.” She throws her napkin on the table.

  “Why not, Shosh? She needs time to figure out what she wants to do.”

  “She has that time, Daddy!” Shoshana crosses her arms. “You promised you’d wait.”

  Natalie touches her husband’s arm. “Did Bernie give you permission to talk to her? You assured me you would discuss this with him first.”

  Art shakes his head. “I don’t have to. I know what my brother would say. I figured it would be better for Camila to hear it from me first.”

  Camila looks from her cousin to her aunt, both of whom are giving her uncle the death stare. “It’s alright. I appreciate the consideration, but it’s so out of left field bringing this up now. Is everything okay?” She regards her uncle with concern.

  “Of course, dear,” he waves a hand. “I’m fine. It has nothing to do with me as much as it has to do with the company and its legacy.”

  “It goes without saying that I’ve never considered myself a part of that,” Camila says. “I’m not even a shareholder.”

  “And that was entirely your father’s decision. You wouldn’t have had to take out loans to pay for law school if you were.”

  Camila’s taken aback by her uncle’s tone. Not once has he ever voiced his criticism of her father, at least not in front of her.

  “Now, now.” Natalie shakes her head. “You are not going there today with this food on the table. We are family. We do not discuss business like this. Especially not over Sunday brunch.”

  Shoshana lets out a loud exhale. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  “You guys are being too dramatic,” Art says. “This is merely a proposal for Camila to consider before she commits to S & M. She doesn’t have a lot of time to decide as it is.”

  “What’s there to think about? I don’t know anything about real estate development or about your company. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a Cohen by name only. I think my father preferred to keep it that way.”

  “That was when your grandfather was alive. My brother is just as stubborn as he was. And it was that tenacity that made our empire grow from a single building in the Bowery to over two hundred around the City. I don’t want to see it sold to a Chinese consortium because my daughter and niece don’t want it.”

  The tension in the room has reached capacity. Shoshana shakes her head. “I refuse to be held prisoner by that. I gave you my terms.”

  “And those terms depend on Camila, don’t they?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Camila turns to her cousin.

  She leans into her palms. “I told my parents I would take my share and establish a foundation.”

  “But the family already has one.”

  Shoshana nods. “Yes, but this one would be used specifically for establishing schools and play spaces in neglected neighborhoods throughout the City.”

  “And my half would continue to run the business side?”

  Her cousin nods. “What my father is conveniently leaving out is that if a Cohen does not take over as CEO, the company will be sold. That was stipulated in our grandfather’s will.”

  “Why didn’t you bring it up sooner?” Camila’s heart is starting to race. Her world is quickly shifting on its axis, and she’s losing her balance along with it.

  “I didn’t see any point in rushing it. There’s plenty of time. You could still work at S & M when you graduate. Daddy’s only sixty-three. He doesn’t plan to retire for a while. But all of a sudden he seems really bent on shaping your future. As if you need any more pressure than you already have.”

  “That’s not what I’m trying to do,” Art insists. “It seems only fair that Camila be aware of her options after she graduates.” He turns to his two favorite women for support, but they look away. He directs a hand at Camila. “The hours will be better, and you’ll have time to learn both the business and development sides to see which suit you best.”

  Camila pushes away her plate, her appetite all but forgotten. “I appreciate you thinking of me, really.” She pauses, unable to fully process just what a big life change her uncle is proposing. Sighing, she finally says. “I promise to think about it.”

  Camila’s uncle smiles at her. “That’s all I ask.”

  “Absolutely not. I forbid it.” Camila’s father tosses the Times Sunday crossword down onto a pile of week-old newspapers. “How dare he,” he mumbles under his breath as he starts to pace his office. “Art knows how I feel about this.”

  Camila knew this was going to be her father’s reaction, but she decided to make the hour trek on the train from the Upper East Side to hear him say it.

  “What do you have against me joining the company?” She asks, more out of curiosity than genuine interest in the work. Although a part of her is intrigued by this opportunity.

  He stops pacing and looks at his daughter. He’d done everything he could to protect her from his former world and let her experience a reality so far from one he’d grown up in. It wasn’t until he met her mother, the love of his life, that he’d come to see his own as one built around artifice where the players’ sole goal was to be as rich as possible. Bernie Cohen hadn’t known any other pursuits until he met Mari, Camila’s mother. It was because of her he realized the only thing worth pursuing in life was love.

  “You’re not seriously considering it, are you?”

  “Considering what, mi amor?” Mari walks in carrying a tray of cafécitos. “Gracias, mama.” Camila takes one and downs it in a single gulp.

  “Art suggested to Camila that she be the one to take over when he retires.”

  Her mother sets down the tray. “Dios mio. ¿De verdad?”

  Camila nods.

  “I warned you,” Mari says to her husband, fingering the crucifix around her neck. “You never made your peace with your father before he died. He’s rising up from his grave to punish you.”

  “I don’t see how one has to do with the other,” her father replies, irritated.

  It’s rare for Camila to see her father this way. He’s usually so placid while her mother is the one with the Latina temper. Now that the roles are reversed, Camila senses there’s so much more at stake than is on the surface.

  Her mother shakes her head. “Men are so blind sometimes. I bet your father put this in his will to force your hand. You could walk away, but now there’s another generation who face the same decision you did.”

  “And Camila will do the same. She knows better. We didn’t raise her to be greedy or selfish.”

  “Shosh isn’t like that. She doesn’t live extravagantly.”

  Mari nods. “Her parents raised her right too. You can’t judge anyone for how they parent. You are just angry at your father.”

  “It doesn’t matter. That money is tainted.”

  “How? I don’t get it?” Camila asks.

  “Real estate prices in this City are obscene because of families like mine who charge astronomical rents for the sake of their shareholders and their bank accounts. People become homeless in this City every day because they can’t find affordable housing. I cannot in good conscience support this decision.”

  “Shosh plans to use her share to start a foundation to build schools.”

  “While you continue to generate a healthy income for your shareholders? You’re better off at S & M. That would be a more honest living.”

  Camila is as stunned by her father’s callous assessment as she was by her uncle’s tone earlier that day. Both hold strong yet opposing positions on the company and the family’s largesse. However, it occurs to Camila at this very moment that these views are brought about from the same fears. While her uncle used his money to protect his only daughter from the inherent injustices she would face, her father believed rejecting that money was the only way to preserve his family’s, and especially Camila’s, integrity. In the end, the problem isn’t that they’re wrong, rather it’s that they’re one-sided.


  “That’s not fair, Bernie. She’s her own person. Camila has a right to consider her opportunities.” Mari looks at her daughter. “We knew this day would come. Your father didn’t want to acknowledge it, but mija, it’s up to you. What did you tell Art?”

  “I told him that I’d think about it,” she confesses, a feeling of guilt washing over her.

  Her father’s reaction is one she’d never seen before. She’d seen him rant during Republican presidencies, cry during 9/11 and the aftermath, but never once has she seen him this resolutely silent. He stares at Camila, as if seeing through her, and it sends chills down her back. Her immediate response is to cry. His anger is a stab to her chest. Of course he isn’t directing it toward her, but rather at the specter of his father who was resurrected the minute Camila walked into his home with the news. If he could articulate a single word at the moment, it would be “Don’t.”

  This is how it begins. The casual proposal, subtle family pressure and then before they know it, his only beloved daughter becomes swept up in the business, dollar signs becoming the only things that matter. He’d raised Camila on Jefferson Avenue to learn empathy, to learn what it means to be a neighbor in the truest sense of the word. He wanted his daughter to be a veritable resident of the City, not just someone who could navigate Bergdorfs with her eyes closed.

  Bernie shakes his head. “No one will benefit if you do this. Let them sell the portfolio and your uncle can go live the rest of his life as a fat cat on some yacht. Shoshana can have her foundation and do something good with that money.” He walks up to Camila and squeezes her cheeks. God, how much he wishes she were a baby again. At least when he held her, he could protect her. He would hold her in his arms as he’d done until she was too heavy to hold anymore. He plants a kiss on her forehead and hugs her tight. “And you can live your life without the burden of being anyone’s legacy.”