"They're good. You know, same as always."
My mother looks at me like she's not convinced, but fortunately, we're interrupted by the chef coming over to the table and introducing himself to my parents.
"Bon soir madame, messieurs, I am Chef Boucher, and tonight I am delighted to prepare your meal."
My mind drifts away while they discuss the menu and the best wines to have with which dish. I know I'm having steak. You can't go wrong with steak, right?
And I'm definitely not drinking. Lord knows what I might say to my parents under the influence of alcohol. Best not to even test those waters.
I think about the manuscript I read today. Thankfully, I made some notes on my phone earlier. I can transfer those to my laptop later and have a proposal for my assistant in the morning.
Thinking about work relaxes me a little. Mia brought me two new manuscripts today, and I can't wait to get my teeth stuck into those in the morning.
She has an eye for good writing and can spot the raw talent of an author that has potential to grow. Those are my favorite.
As the Head of Acquisitions for Blackwood Publishing, the company my grandfather started, I'm proud to add new names to the list of best-selling authors we represent. Not that my father would agree, of course.
When the chef leaves the table with our order, I take a sip of lemon water. If I'm silent, they'll eventually relent and tell me the reason for this dinner.
If they wanted to see their son, they'd have their personal chef at home cook us a meal. But we're out in public, and they've clearly tipped off the paparazzi, so something's about to go down. I just hope it's not me.
"Alexander," my father says in the solemn voice I used to think only belonged to newsreaders on television but have learned is part of my dad's MO. "Your mother and I have been talking about my involvement in the company. As you know, I am extremely proud to have grown the business my father left me to heights even he couldn't have imagined."
I nod and smile. One thing I have in common with my late grandfather is the love of reading a good story. It doesn't even matter the genre, I'll read anything that gets my attention.
Grandpa James Alexander Blackwood was an amazing man, who, on many occasions, bumped heads with his own son over the running of Blackwood Publishing. But one thing they agreed on, Blackwood Publishing is the blood that runs through our veins.
"Despite my age, I am a fit and healthy man with many years ahead of me," he carries on. "But your mother is insisting that I take a step back from the business so we can spend some time together and travel the world before we're old and decrepit."
I try to stifle a laugh because I can just imagine my mother giving my father an ultimatum.
"That's a good idea, Dad. I mean, you're still young, but it's not like you need the money, so you may as well enjoy yourselves while you can."
They look at each other and smile.
"I'm so glad you agree, darling,” my mother says. “I honestly thought you were going to put up a little more resistance. We know how much you enjoy the work you do."
Her words don't register. My face must show it because she looks at my father again.
"I don't understand. Why would I put up resistance?"
"Well, who do you think will run the business when your father retires?"
It all makes sense. All the tiny pieces of the puzzle stick together to create a picture I don't really like.
"I can't. I have a job. I'm the Head--"
"Of Acquisitions, we know," my father interrupts, sounding like he's not happy to have this discussion. "Alexander, this is a family business. My father worked his way up in the industry before he started his own business. All my life, I've worked to learn the business from him so I could leave my own legacy. You are being handed everything on a silver platter. I will give you four weeks to wrap up your work before you join me on the board. I will retire in two months from now."
And as if on cue, the waiter brings us our food and the conversation is over.
I've lost my appetite, and the last thing I want is to make polite conversation with my parents after they dropped this bombshell on me.
It’s easier to force my food down and nod my way through the meal than start an argument in public.
The paparazzi are still outside by the time we leave the restaurant, and it takes a lot more effort to smile at the cameras.
At least I won't be photographed walking home while having a freak-out over the news. Thank fuck for the car my mother arranged. Another piece of the puzzle perfectly slotted in because my mother knew this wouldn't be easy for me to process.
