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“That’s very true. But I won’t walk away from you. I promise you, no matter what happens, I won’t walk away.”
I turn and grab my mug. “Good. It’s settled then. We’re keeping each other captive forever. How about you teach me how to make your fancy coffee, cell mate? Then I can try out my new mug?”
Phillip just grins and leads me back downstairs to the very fancy and expensive coffee maker. I watch as he goes through the motions, which aren’t all that different from when I taught him to use my Mr. Coffee. Once again, we’re coming full circle. There’s only one thing missing to make this little circle complete.
He hands me my new mug filled to the brim with some kind of coffee I can’t pronounce, and I set it on the counter.
And take off my shirt. He gawks at me, but I ignore him as I drop my bra on the ground and pick up the mug. “Meet you at the table,” I say and walk away.
Phillip Loughton is a man I never imagined meeting. He’s a man that no one would have expected I’d connect with so well. We’re completely different. And the same.
If I’d met him at Loughton House, I never would have gotten to know him. I never would have considered talking to the ice-cold boss. But I didn’t meet him at Loughton House.
I met him on a dark and stormy night at a shitty motel.
Forty-Two
PHILLIP
It’s beena busy week between catching up on work and getting Addison all moved in. I feel like I’m burning the candle at both ends, but it’s the best feeling in the world. There’s something to be said about having a job that you can walk away from when five o’clock rolls around, but I’ve spent my life living for this company. I don’t know if I could ever really stop thinking about it.
Now I’m back to doing all the things I feel like I was born to do, but I also have everything I never had before.
I may have been catching up for the past five days, but I’ve also been setting myself up for some freedom. I may not be able to disconnect completely with Loughton House at night or on the weekends now, but I’m working on making more time for myself and Addison. There are new upper management positions that will effectively do all the tedious parts of my job for me.
Father refused to allow it previously because both of us knew they wouldn’t be as effective as me. They won’t have the knowledge that only comes with a lifetime of running this company. I’m okay with that now, and Father doesn’t have a choice in the matter if he wants me to stay.
My time and freedom are more important than perfect optimization. These new upper managers will still report to me. I’ll still be involved in most major decisions and changes and releases. But I won’t be doing it all by myself.
This morning, I expect my father to barge into my office and tell me to go to LA. My bag’s already packed, and I’m ready for it. I agreed to go today, and I won’t back out of that decision. I may have yearned for freedom, but my job and Loughton House’s success are the reasons that I’ll be able to give Addison anything she wants.
I’ll go to LA or Beijing or wherever, but I won’t do it exactly when and how my father wants me to. My entire life, if he said jump, I asked how high. Now, when he says jump, I want details, and I’ll make my own decisions.
I’ve looked into this agency, though. It’s a solid start-up, and I’d like them to bring me new prospects to look over. See, the thing with working with agents is everyone benefits when they bring a talented author to a good publishing house. I can blow a superstar book up like no one else, but I can’t find them. Publishing houses aren’t meant for that.
That’s why we make connections with top-end agents, so they’ll do the legwork for us. Addison is perfectly fine staying at the house by herself, and I think she’s going to enjoy getting to explore.
I’m just wrapping up the expectations for the new VP of Agent Relations role when my father walks into my office and closes the door behind him. When he turns to look at me, there’s something different. He’s not standing tall like he normally is, as though the world could do its best to knock him down, but the world would fall before he did. Instead, he’s almost slouching.
There are bags under his eyes, and he looks… small.
“I need to talk to you,” he says with none of his normal strength behind the words.
I raise an eyebrow. My father has dealt with a lot of terrible situations. Even ones that would leave a normal man terrified or crying. He’s never faltered, never lost his poise. Not even when my mother died.
“Take a seat,” I say, a little unsure of how to deal with him.
He nods and sits down across from me. And sighs. What the hell is going on?
“You’re ready,” he says and reaches into his jacket pocket without looking at me. “I’ve spent the last fifty years building Loughton House from nothing.” He pulls a rolled-up paper out and slides it across the table to me, still without actually meeting my gaze. “I have spent damn near every moment of my adult life worrying about this business. I’ve built this place with my own two hands.”
He finally looks into my eyes and says, “But it’s yours now. That’s the contract transferring ownership from me to you. You can read it over, but it sections off a part of the family fortune to me and leaves the rest to you and your brother. The company is yours, though. When we argued on Monday…” He takes a deep breath, as though this process is exceptionally painful. “I left your office and opened a bottle of Scotch.”
What? I’ve only seen my father drink once in my entire life, and that was the night my mother died. The night I stopped breaking promises.
I just listen to him as he continues. “Son, you’ve spent your life learning how to run Loughton House. You know every piece of the business better than anyone else. I probably could have retired years ago and left it in capable hands, but there was one thing I could never teach you: how to be unrelenting. And you showed me that on Monday.”
He trails off, and I see a tear roll down his cheek as his voice shakes.
