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“Seventeen,” I answer. “It’s her last year of high school,” I say wistfully.
“I have a cubicle for her if she wants it. We could use another Kennedy with your killer instinct,” Glen says jokingly, but I know the small talk is only a ruse for what he really wants to say, so I bide my time.
“She has a killer instinct, but it’s for music not business, Glen, so you're out of luck,” I tell him.
“That’s too bad. Speaking of killer instincts, Waterman might be a bit cocky,”
“A bit?” I ask, cutting him off.
“But I need this deal to go smoothly, Lake,” he says, ignoring my comment and looking at me pointedly. His kind eyes turn dark, taking on a professional demeanor.
Legacy is at the top of his mind this last year, ever since the heart attack. It’s aged him, when before he was perpetually the youthful forty-something man who started a company in his garage that grew to be one of the top point of sale manufacturers in the valley. Without Waterman, it will stay in the valley, and that’s not what Glen wants to leave behind to his kids.
“I know how much you want this,” I tell him. “But you putmeon it…”
“I didn’t saywant; I saidneed,” he cuts me off, his eyebrows pinched together.
Placing my palms on the shiny wood desk between us I lean towards him, looking him directly in the eye.
“Just because it comes with pretty wrapping paper doesn’t mean there isn’t a viper waiting inside, Glen,” I warn and straighten my shirt, smoothing down the wrinkles. “My job is to unwrap it, layer by layer.” I shrug, straightening up and crossing my arms over my chest.
Glen knows exactly who I am and what my job is, and that’s why he nods in agreement, shoving his hands in his pockets, satisfied. “Well, unwrap it without the claws,” he says, and exits my office without a goodbye.
As soon as Glen leaves, Miles pokes his head back in and I wave him off. Slumping back in my chair, I kick off my heels and let out a big breath when I get a text from Noelle.
I can stare down an angry auditor or give bad news to a boardroom full of executives, but my seventeen-year-old daughter has the power to break me with the roll of her eyes. When she wants to hang out with me, I take every chance I can get – which is why I feel crestfallen when I get a text that she wants to spend the night at her friend, Sofia’s, house tonight instead of watching movies with me.
L: Ditching me for your friend on my birthday? I see how you are.
I text back, teasing.
N: Don’t be a drama queen; your birthday isn't until Sunday.
She types back and I send her a smiley face with the tongue out.
N: Did you know The Breakfast Club was made in 1985?
She adds, referring to the movie she’s ditching.
L: Yes, I know how old I am. Thanks for reminding me.
Movie nights are my favorite, and spending my birthday with Noelle, with some popcorn, pizza, and John Hughes is all I need.
“You have a fitting appointment with your sister this afternoon?” Miles interrupts, poking his head back into my office.
I stare back at him with disdain.
“If you don’t go, your sister will call me,” Miles says. “Please don’t put me through that,” he begs.
“And people say I’m the mean sister,” I grumble, giving him a playful smile.
“Normally you are, but she has the whole bridezilla thing going on right now,” Miles retorts, handing me a black and gold wrapped present.
“I thought I told you not to give me any more presents after the last birthday present you gave me,” I growl and narrow my eyes at him.
“I mixed up the boxes,” he says, haughtily. “How many times do I have to explain?” His cheeks turn red as he remembers the mistake. “And besides, this isn’t for your birthday,” he pulls it away from me. “It’s for your sister's bridal shower this weekend.”
I snatch the present from him. “You bought it off the registry, I hope?” I ask him. “And personally checked the box before wrapping it?” I look at him pointedly.
