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I knew Adrian would never believe me if I told him that money doesn’t solve all your problems. I’m incredibly grateful that I’ve never had to worry about how to pay for college or make rent after working a low-paying wildlife conservation job every summer since high school, but money creates its own set of issues.
If the future of a billion-dollar company weren’t at stake, would my father be so determined to see me take over the reins at Watson Global? If he were a mechanic or a real estate agent, would he care this much about his only child following in his footsteps?
“Probably,” I mutter, squinting at the road as the windshield wipers slap furiously back and forth.
My father is an egomaniac. A generous egomaniac who loves me very much, but a maniac, nevertheless.
He insists he needs me on board to keep Watson Global evolving in a way my mother would have been proud of, but that’s only part of it. He doesn’t simply want to leave behind a thriving, compassionate enterprise. He wants to leave behind a piece of himself, a child sprung from his loins who will rule over the Watson legacy in his stead.
It would have been better if I were a boy, obviously—Dad’s the kind of old-fashioned CEO who prefers his boardroom heavy on testosterone—but he’s also a practical man. I’m a hard-working woman with a good head on my shoulders who graduated with honors from Boston University. I’m also old enough to start learning the ropes now, which is far preferable to my father to starting over again with a new family and fresh kids, who might not turn out to be boys, either.
Dad’s always said he was glad I was born an old soul. He can’t handle “ordinary children,” with all their noise and mess and lack of self-control. The fact that I might have been an “ordinary” child if I’d sensed “ordinary” was enough to win my father’s love, never seems to have crossed his mind. It didn’t cross mine until I started reading more about internal family systems in grad school and realized my external family system was probably a little messed up.
Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t connected those dots.
Sometimes, I wish making Dad proud and being his perfect daughter was still the only thing that mattered to me. In many ways, life was easier back then.
Way easier than pulling into a parking lot where the lines on the pavement are blurred suggestions hidden beneath several inches of standing water…
Thankfully, there aren’t many other cars at the airport at six p.m. on a stormy night. It’s just me and a dozen other Subarus parked along the cracked, tree-lined pavement in front of the one-room terminal building.
I shut off the engine and turn in my seat, peering through the back glass toward the runway. With the rain coming down this hard, I can’t see much except smears of light coming from the various runway beacons and a few grayish white blobs I’m assuming are planes. But I can’t tell what kind they are or if any of them are small enough to be a private aircraft. Thanks to the storm clouds, it’s far darker than it would usually be at this time on a clear summer evening.
I pull out my cell, but there’s no text from Moira and no service.
Looks like the only way I’ll be finding out if my pilot has arrived is if I head into the terminal to ask.
Bracing for the onslaught, I jam my phone into the inner, waterproof pocket of my raincoat, grab my keys, and swing out into the storm. I run for the terminal, wincing as my clogs fill with rainwater, making my bare toes go slimy in my shoes.
So slimy, I lose a clog halfway across the parking lot and have to backtrack to fetch it…
I’m standing in the rain, doing my best to squirm my foot into my shoe and cursing myself for not wearing more practical footwear—even if this was supposed to be a night in with the girls—when lightning claps through the air. Only there’s no flash of light or accompanying rumble of thunder, just a sharp crack followed by a rushing sound that reminds me of sliding into a pile of fall leaves.
Leaves…
I hitch my chin up to see one of the parking lot’s large trees on a collision course with my face. Before I can decide which way to jump, a thick arm snatches at my ribs, jerking me back toward my car.
On instinct, I reach for the person holding me and encounter wide, strong shoulders I cling to as we sail through the air. It all happens so fast; I don’t have time to dread the impact with the pavement. But if I had, it would have been time wasted.
Somehow, the man spins us in the air as we fall, ensuring his back takes the brunt of the collision. I end up with a tree limb across my legs, leaves in my hair, and what feels like the start of a bruise where my knee crashed into the pavement, but it could have been so much worse.
Hopefully, the same can be said for my rescuer…
“Are you all right?” I ask, batting at the leaves covering my face “Sir? Are you…”
My words trail away as a big hand lifts the thin limb up and away, clearing the space between us. I stare down into kind brown eyes set in the most handsome face I’ve ever seen. My hero is all perfect angles, a strong jaw, and cheekbones a male model would kill for.
From what I can see (and feel) of his body, he’s built like a model, too. Like an underwear model, who spends hours in the gym ensuring each muscle is more perfectly sculpted than the last. Add in shaggy brown hair streaked with gray and a commanding presence that fills the air around him—even when he’s flat on his back—and the man should be intimidating as hell.
But those eyes…
They’re so kind, so warm and familiar.
It feels like I’ve met him before, and when he cups my face and asks—“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”—I don’t flinch or pull away the way I usually would with a stranger.
I don’t even think about it.
I don’t think anything except the fact that his fingers feel solid and safe against my cheek, and that I’d like him to keep touching me for a very long time.
