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"But what?" I question, my gut dropping.
She cringes, claiming, "He's a tad ruthless, don't you think?"
I grunt. "Yeah. I like that about him. What's wrong with ruthless? It gets you places in this industry."
She winces again.
I repeat, "What's so bad about being ruthless?"
She looks toward the window, tapping her fingers on her mug.
I take her hand and lace my fingers between hers, gently demanding, "Tell me."
She squeezes her eyes shut. She confesses, "Something about him reminds me of my father. I don't think I can work with him."
It's a bomb exploding inside me.
I should have picked for her.
No. It's wrong. This isn't my decision. This is her career.
For God's sake, she can't work with somebody who reminds her of her father.
But Noah...fuck.
"Okay, but you don't have any bad feelings about Noah? Nothing in your gut is saying that maybe he's the wrong one?"
She shakes her head. "No, and Noah's younger. I don't know if Jack will be alive my entire career. Won't he be retiring in a few years?"
I can't argue with her, nor can I say it hasn't crossed my mind. But I figured we'd deal with that issue when it happened. My pet is smart. I should have guessed she'd also be concerned about the same issue. Still, I don't like it. I stay silent, with my chest tightening.
"He can't work forever. Right? And how old is he?" Blakely fires.
I finally admit. "No. And you're right. He's in his late sixties."
She wrinkles her nose and cautiously declares, "If you're making me choose, I pick Noah."
I clench my jaw, counting to ten.
"You don't like my choice?" she asks worriedly.
I silently vow to have a little chat with Noah about the rules, as well as an extra clause I'm adding to the contract. I answer, "No. Noah's fine. If that's who you think you need to work with, then that's what you should do."
I can't believe I'm saying this shit.
"But you look upset," she says.
I rise and lean over her. She looks up, and I see the worry in her eyes. I assert, "Don't stress about this. I'll call Noah and give him the news. I have work to do at the office. I'll text you when I'm on my way home."
"Okay."
"What are you going to do all day?" I ask.
She smiles. "Sing."
I grin and kiss her again. "Write something nice about me."
She laughs. "Maybe I will."
