“This is just the most ridiculous conve?—”
“You’re fired.”
The laugh died in my throat, and I looked at my dad. Maybe I saw him for the first time…like reallysawhim.
“I’m fired?”
He nodded.
He shook his head.
“Okay,” I conceded, gesturing toward the door he was blocking. “I’ll go pack up my things.”
He squared his shoulders, trying to fill the doorway. “That’s it?”
“You’re giving me whiplash, Dad. Do you want to fire me or not?”
“Do you even care that I’m firing you?” he shot back.
“If you took me seriously as an architectural designer, I might.” I managed a tired shrug. “But you don’t. And at the end of the day, you and I don’t see eye to eye on design, so maybe it’s better that we don’t work together. Maybe it’s…maybe it’s time.”
I left off the other part, that maybe it would be better if we didn't work together because whenever he found out I was involved with Marshall, things were going to get really hairy between us, and he would definitely fire me over that. He might even disown me.
He’d also ignored my question about why he hated Marshall so much. I knew they’d been in school at the same time, my dad being an adjunct professor when Marshall was a student, but I didn’t understand the basis of the issues. A clash of personality seemed not enough to warrant the dislike my father carried. Whatever the problem, though, it wasn’t for me, but it would sure help shed some light on why my dad hadfinally decided taking Marshall down was an adequate use ofmytalents.
“We can’t lose this bid, Silas,” he said.
I finally took a step around the side of the table, heading for the door while being terribly uncertain if my legs would get me there. I’d never stood up to my dad before, and I was scared out of my mind. Walking out of the door was the same as walking off a cliff, and I’d wanted to enjoy the start of my relationship with Marshall, not put it to the test.
“We didn’t,” I said sharply, pointing at his chest. “You did.”
That seemed to catch him off-guard, and he wobbled on his feet just enough for me to slide past him. I went to my office and tucked my laptop into my bag, grabbed a framed photo of me and Lincoln off my desk, then checked my pockets for my wallet, phone, and keys, and walked toward the door. I stopped before getting it open, shifting everything around to get to my keys.
There wasn’t much on the ring. A key to my apartment, my car key, the key to the office…I twisted the last one off of the ring and walked back into the office. My dad was still half in the conference room, facing the table like we were still in conversation. I set the key on top of his desk and stared at his back for a minute.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
He didn’t look at me, and he didn’t offer me an apology in return. Not like it would have done any good. I knew in my bones that it wouldn’t be enough to keep me there with him, and it was too late for me to do the work he wanted anyway.
Walking to my car, I tried to convince myself it wasn’t my fault if the business went under. My dad was the owner and the boss, the failure and the loss would be his, just like any wins had always also been his. It wasn’t my fault if Marshall won the Cahuenga job. It wasn’t my fault if my dad lost his entire livelihood because of me…
The words all felt like lies, though, and by the time I got to my car, I was a sniffling and inconsolable mess. Before, I would have called Lincoln. He would know what to do. He would know what to say. But now I went back and forth between him and Marshall. Not wanting to ruin my friendship with Lincoln the same way I’d ruined the relationship with my dad, but also feeling desperate to be grounded in a way that only Marshall could offer.
Snorting up as much tears and snot as I could manage, I swiped through my contacts until I got to Marshall, and then I hit the phone button. It rang through and went to voicemail. I hung up and called Lincoln instead. He answered on the second ring.
“Are you off work?” he said instead of hello. “Do you want to get a drink?”
I cried.
“More than one drink then,” he said. “What’s wrong, Si?”
“My dad fired me.”
The only sound was the wetness of my crying until Lincoln cleared his throat. “I know that feels bad right now, but it’s the best thing to ever happen to you.”
“How can—” I got cut off by a beep and a flash on the screen. Marshall was calling me back. “I’ve got to go.”
“You can’t just hang up on me after dropping that bomb.”
