He clears his throat before he speaks. "I am aware we sprang quite big news on you the other day. I'm checking on how you're doing."
"You're checking if I've booked flights to a country with no extradition."
"Mia is resourceful," he says.
"That she is, but no, I am not running."
"You want to."
His statement isn't from my boss, but from my father. He knows me all too well.
"I do," I sigh. "I know it's always been an expectation that I'd take over the company, but I'm not ready yet."
"I gave you two months. Surely that's plenty of time to wrap up your work and get up to speed."
I take a deep breath. There's no point trying to explain to my father that I love the business as much as he does, I want it to succeed as much as he does, and I want to be part of that success. I just don't want to be in the driving seat.
"I'll do my best to wrap everything up in the next four weeks," I say, feeling dejected.
Fucking expectations.
"Good. By the way, your mother wanted to ask you to come over for dinner next weekend. There's a few people we want you to meet."
He stands up and leaves without waiting for my answer.
I guess I'm having dinner with them this weekend.
The manuscript in front of me is begging for my attention. The love story between a cowboy and a city guy coming back home to the ranch to take over the family business.
I rest my elbows on the desk and lean my face on my hands.
"You sure you don't want me to get you that fake passport?" Mia says from the door.
I shake my head.
She comes in and sits down.
"You don't have to come with me upstairs, Mia," I say, pointing up to the floor above us. "But I'd like your help selecting the next Head of Acquisitions. You'll be working with them, so you should have a say."
She laughs.
"You’ve lost your mind if you think I'm going to release you to the dragons on your own. Remember, I'm friends with your dad's personal assistant. I know what goes on up there, and it's not a battle your soft little heart is ready for. Not yet at least."
I go around my desk and give her a hug before I sit on the chair next to hers. It's strange being on the other side of the desk.
"I'd forgotten how much the bookshelf behind my desk looks like my childhood bedroom," I say, seeing some of my favorite books up there, alongside copies of books I’ve contracted since I started working for Blackwood Publishing. Many with the spines broken or coming apart from how many times I've read them.
Mia gives me a warm, understanding smile.
I pick up the small pumpkin on the desk.
"Mia, why don't we go to the farmer's market more often?"
"Because you're a workaholic who sends your slave, aka your assistant, to buy your lunch every day."
I chuckle because she's right. When I'm in the middle of a good manuscript, it's so hard to put it down I often end up eating at my desk. If it weren’t for Mia grabbing me food and making sure there's enough caffeine in my proximity, I'd probably be a lot less human most of the time.
"You liked him," she says.
