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CHAPTER 40
Jimmy
“Ms. Santini.” Ariana, one of my father’s executive assistants, stood when I walked out of the elevator onto his executive floor. She tapped on the tablet that was pretty much attached to her hand at this point. “I don’t have you on the schedule. If you take a seat I’ll check and see if he’s avail—”
“I’m going to see my father.” I’d never used the “my father” card, but that was mainly because I’d worked for his company and been terrified of him.
Neither of those things were true anymore since my first stop that day had been to tender my resignation to the COO, and I could care less if my father was angry. So I had no issue using it now. I’d taken the past few days to get my ducks in a row and now that they were, I was ready to fly.
If I wasn’t mistaken, I saw a glimmer of respect flicker in Ariana’s hazel eyes, as if she approved of me asserting myself. Or maybe it was my new hair color. She’d definitely taken note of that as well.
And how could she not? It was red. And I loved it. And I loved Jimmy for making the appointment for me, and being so sweet when I spent close to an hour deciding on a color. He had the patience of a saint, and the heart of one, too.
Ariana’s six-inch, red-bottom Louboutins clicked on the marble floor as she crossed from her desk to the door that led to my father’s office. She pressed her thumb to the security pad and the door clicked open. Stepping inside before me she announced, “Sir, your daughter is here to see you.”
It was the first time she hadn’t referred to me as Ms. Santini, even when she was speaking to my father…especially when she was speaking to him.
“Thank you, Ariana.” She closed the door behind her, leaving me alone with my father.
I’d been concerned that when I was actually face to face with the man I’d lose my nerve, but something had changed in me. Yes, part of it was my diagnosis, but it was more than that. The past week I’d spent in Firefly had changed me. Being with Jimmy had changed me.
A confidence I hadn’t possessed before meeting Jimmy now filled me. I was a different person and I had Jimmy Comfort to thank for that.
Instead of waiting to be offered a seat like I would have two weeks ago, I walked to the chair facing my father’s desk and lowered into it.
My father must have noticed the difference in my behavior because he looked at me. Actually looked at my face and into my eyes. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that.
“Your hair is red.”
Or maybe it had nothing to do with him noticing my confidence and everything to do with my new look. Internally, I sighed. “Yes, it is.”
I refrained from calling him ‘Master of the Obvious’ because this conversation was going to be tense enough without me taking unnecessary digs. I didn’t want to dilute my message by polluting it with snark.
“I’m glad you were able to make it bef—”
“I’m not here because you summoned me before you left for London,” I interrupted. I’d never, in my life, dared to interrupt my father. I’m not sure what I thought would happen. But, now that I’d done it, I knew. The world hadn’t ended. The sun was still going to set tonight and rise tomorrow. A giant hole didn’t swallow me up.
It was fine.
His expression went blank. It was a power move he did to get the upper hand in business situations. He’d told me about it my first year with the company during a lunch that we ended up at together because of a scheduling mix-up. That scheduling mix-up was the last time I shared a meal with him, and it was eight years ago.
“I’ve resigned my position at Santini Industries, effective immediately.” Before he had a chance to respond I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about my medical condition?”
Miles Santini was not a man that gave much away from his expression even when he wasn’t engaged in negotiations.
Who was I kidding? The man was always engaged in negotiations. Life was a large chess board to him, and we were all his pawns.
I stared at him, really looked for the first time. His square jaw, high cheekbones, and perfectly straight nose were easy to hide behind. Add to that his perfectly trimmed salt and pepper beard, and he looked like he could be a GQ model.
I used to be intimidated by his near-perfect appearance. His level of attractiveness was just one more barrier to him being approachable. When I looked at him, I used to feel less than. Like maybe he didn’t want to acknowledge me because I didn’t live up to some standard he had for his offspring.
But now…now, I just saw a lonely, aging man.
His dark brown eyes stared at me as he sat silently. I almost cracked, I almost started speaking again. But I’d been watching him for too many years, and I knew if I did that, if I was the one to get emotional, it would give him the upper hand. There was no way that was going to happen.
So, we sat in silence. I couldn’t say if it was one minute or ten. The time was irrelevant. I was willing to sit there until the sun went down if that’s what it took.
When he sighed and sat back in his chair, I knew that I’d won. I’d faced Miles Santini and won. The victory filled me with an exorbitant amount of pride. My mind was buzzing with excitement. Literally, I could hear the buzz.
