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But not even the ultimate girls’ weekend can compare to Gideon.
Elaina would chock that up to the power of new peen and assure me the infatuation will fade in a month or two. But when I told Noelle how much I’m dreading being apart from Gideon, she just hugged me tight, whispering, “Isn’t love amazing?”
Love…
I don’t know if it’s love yet. Surely, love takes longer to develop than a few days. But who knows? I’ve never been in love before.
Maybe when you know, you just…know.
All I know for sure is that I’m daydreaming about Gideon’s touch, his kiss, the soft rumble of his voice in my ear as he tells me I’m his “good girl” all the way to work. I arrive in an agitated state that isn’t kosher for Monday morning at the office and grab an iced coffee from the coffee bar downstairs instead of my usual hot Americano.
Clearly, my inner sex fiend needs something to cool her off before I head into Dad’s office for our weekly, Monday morning battle strategy meeting.
On the way up to the forty-fifth floor, I make a mental list of all the things I’ll need to delegate if I’m going to take more of a role in the Bronx shelter project. Though that could be putting the cart before the horse. Dad hasn’t given me the green light to get more involved yet. He might decide my time is better spent going full bore on my corporate structure investigation.
But in any event, the mental list has the desired effect—it gets my mind off Gideon under the tablecloth and back on business, where it belongs.
For now, at least. Barring a work emergency, I’ll be up close and personal with Gideon’s fabulous hands and lips and brain and all his other parts later tonight. He texted me first thing, asking if I’d be able to meet him for dinner at six-thirty at his favorite steakhouse in the Village. I, of course, said yes.
No more staying late at the office for this girl.
Not when my man is in town…
Silently thrilling to the idea of Gideon as “mine,” I breeze through reception, wiggling fingers at Therese, goddess of the Watson Global phones, and head toward my father’s corner office. The rest of the executive floor was remodeled ten years ago, opened up and filled with glass walls to make the most of the incredible views. Now, as I walk past the various VP offices, I can see my father’s (almost entirely male) employees hard at work in their posh spaces, like well-dressed goldfish in a bowl.
Only my father’s office remains encased in pale, polished wood, guarded by an ornately carved door with “Perry-Watson” etched in the center. Dad retains his privacy, while having a clear view of his kingdom every time he sticks his head out of his inner sanctum.
It’s very Silas Perry-Watson. As is the beautiful, young secretary positioned at a tiny desk outside his door, guarding his office. In many ways, my father never left the 1950s, despite being born in the late 60s.
“Good morning, Elle,” I say, smiling at the bleached blonde only a year or two younger than I am. “How was your weekend?”
“So good!” she enthuses with a bubbly giggle. “I went to the beach and the water was still so warm! I love fall, but I’m not going to complain about summer holding on for a little bit longer.”
“Me, either,” I say, already looking forward to a walk around the Village with Gideon after dinner in the warm, late-summer night.
“Mr. Perry-Watson is ready for you,” Elle says, motioning over her shoulder. “I just brought him his second coffee ten minutes ago. He should be caffeinated and ready to conquer the world with his favorite girl.”
I force a smile, thank her, and move past her desk.
Elle has a habit of saying things like that, things that make it clear she assumes my father dotes on me like the proud papa from a Disney cartoon. That’s nowhere close to reality, but I’m not sure how one pushes back on those sorts of assumptions. I can’t very well tell her, “My father and I actually have more of a businesslike vibe, Elle, with all doting and other emotional burdens outsourced to third parties, like my childhood nanny or my therapist.”
So, I keep my peace and let her maintain her illusions. But in reality, I’m already reigning in the full force of my personality, narrowing my emotional range to those considered acceptable by my father.
“Good morning, Dad,” I say with a warm, but not too warm, smile. “What a beautiful day.”
He looks up from his desk, shooting me a quick smile before glancing toward the window, as if he’s just noticed the glorious sunny day and clear blue sky. “Yes, it is. Maybe I’ll ask Petrie to serve dinner on the terrace tonight. I’m having a few old friends over for tapas. You’re invited, of course. If you don’t have other plans.”
“I’m actually meeting a friend for dinner, too,” I say. “So, I’ll be leaving by six, at the latest.”
He grunts, a bit disapprovingly—Dad never leaves until six-thirty—but doesn’t comment on my departure time. He launches straight into a list of the objectives he’d like to see me conquer this week, on top of my continuing research into the corporate structure. It’s a lot, but I don’t let that stop me from asking for more when he’s done.
“That sounds doable, especially if I stay late one night,” I say, deciding one late night is acceptable in my new, better-balanced life. “Have you thought more about adding me to the shelter renovation team in some capacity? I’d really love to be a part of that. I think it would give me a chance to put my area of academic expertise to the test in a real-world setting.”
“I have.” Dad sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
In his late fifties, Dad is now almost completely gray, but he’s still as strong as I remember from when I was a kid and always tanned a golden brown. He puts the gym in my childhood home to use every other day and spends as much of his weekend out on the water as nature allows. He might not be in the prime of his life, but he’s pretty close, bolstering my confidence that a slower transition of power will be just fine, if it comes to that.
Dad is clearly still a capable man and the master of all he surveys, a fact he proves by adding, “And I think it’s worth a try, provided you can manage the rest of your workload, as well.”
