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He thinks about it for a moment, then with a sigh, extends his hand to me. "Deal."
Reluctantly, I shake his hand, sealing the agreement.
I'm done playing the game on everyone else's terms. This is my life. And it's my fuckin' game.
"I don't want this handed to me on a silver fucking platter." I reiterate my point.
"Logan... you're not any employee. You're my son, and one day, you'll take over this company. But this isn't going to be fun and games. I won't be taking it easy on you." He laughs. "Trust me... That's why I have you training with Bailey." His fingers drum on the glossy surface of his desk as he swivels in his leather chair. He turns his gaze toward the cityscape through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "She runs a tight ship, Logan, and I know you're going to butt heads. You're similar in more ways than you think: both stubborn, both determined."
My brows furrow at the mention of Bailey. I know she's talented. I've heard my dad talk about her at the company so many times before. But, fuckkkk, man... her uptight attitude grates on me. Her constant need to prove herself. She's got such a stick up her ass—as if her precious little world would fall apart if she let loose a little.
"She's in line to be promoted to the position that you'll have to fight for. And I expect you two to butt heads, to challenge each other, to grow."
Anger and motivation burn within me. I clench my fists, not out of frustration this time, but determination.
"Challenge accepted."
Oh fuck.
I see my dad's face turn red. The kind of red that brings me back to my childhood.
He definitely didn't like that statement.
"You think this is a game, Logan?" His voice booms with a tone that digs into old wounds. The echo of his anger bounces off the office walls, a chilling reminder of my childhood. "This is serious, god dammit. I need you to take this seriously."
My mind reels back to a stormy afternoon when I was only 12, soaked to the bone after playing soccer in the rain. My clothes dripped water onto the marble floors as I walked into the house, still laughing from the muddy game. The laughter died as I saw my father standing in the doorway to his office.
"Logan," he barked, his voice echoing in the vast hallway. "How many times have I told you not to play in the rain? You’re making a mess.”
"But, it was fun!" I tried to explain, but my youthful enthusiasm was met with a disapproving glare.
"Fun?" His voice was icy cold. "You think life is all about fun?"
His words stung and the joy faded. "But Dad..."
"No buts, Logan. You're grounded for the rest of the week. And I'm taking away your soccer ball."
The memory fades, but the sting of his words travel to the present, reminding me that my father's version of fun was far from my own.
I was always punished for being a kid, for choosing fun over responsibility. For being myself.
I clench my jaw, pushing back against a wave of emotions. I lean back in the chair across his desk, crossing my arms over my chest.
"You people take life too fuckin' seriously," I say back to him, knowing I'm pressing my luck right now with him. "Life isn't all about work and money, Dad. It's about experiences, joy, fun. If we're not enjoying the journey, what's the damn point?"
The room goes silent with only the distant hum of city life through the window.
His eyes bore into mine for a long, tense moment. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders dropping as he leans back into his chair. "You really believe that, don't you?"
I respond, holding his gaze. "And I'm going to prove it to you. I'm going to get this job, and I'm going to do it my way."
His lips tighten into a thin line, and he nods. "Alright, Logan. We'll see how you do. here."
I stand to leave his office. As I reach the door, I throw over my shoulder, "We'll see."
With one last glance at the office that has been my battleground for the day, I step into the elevator, pressing the button for the ground floor. As the doors slide shut, I let out a breath that I didn't realize I'd been holding.
Fuck, that was brutal.
