Really? Who’d want to leave Nashville?
“You should talk to her about going with you.” Dad peeked into the pink box. “I think you’ll need her.” He considered the rest of the cupcakes, then closed the lid.
This was why he was so great in business, in life, in everything. Discipline. When they passed around cupcakes in the staff meeting or gathered for the quarterly office potluck, Brant Jackson proudly proclaimed he only weighed ten pounds more than in his high school wrestling days.
But when it came to Cami, his disciplined life, emotions went too far.
“Maybe,” she said. “Astrid’s been going on and on about Boyfriend proposing.” He had a real name, which Cami couldn’t recall at the moment. “I’m not sure she’ll want to go.”
“Hasn’t she been dating him for a while?” Dad made a face. “If he’s not proposed by now, he probably won’t.”
“Well, I’m not going to tell her that, Dad.” With him, business always came first. Even over family. Over his wife and daughters. But if Astrid had a chance for a happily ever after, even with a sloth for a boyfriend, Cami wasn’t going to stand in her way.
“Someone should. Get her to go with you, Cami. She’s one of the best. If I didn’t have Jeremy, I’d steal Astrid from you.” Dad pointed to the folder again. “The real estate agent sent some apartments for you to review.”
Cami flipped through the top pages, all apartment listings. Already she could tell they wouldn’t compare to her beautiful downtown loft, the one she’d customized for herself.
She read the name on the real estate agent listing. Max Caldwell.
“I-I’ll call today.” September first would be here way too fast.
“Good. Glad you’re on board, Cami.” Dad stood, indicating the conversation was coming to a close. “I saw on the project board you’re working the Landmark Shopping Complex. Chatted with Jared Landry the other day, and he said you’d approached him about it. Excellent property, Cami, but I want you focused on the Indy office. You won’t have time for a Landmark kind of deal.”
Cami stood, reaching for the cupcake box. More than half of hers remained. But then she glanced at her lean father and changed her mind. “Dad, do you lecture Geoffrey or Mark on how to manage their lives and their jobs? Or just me?”
Dad regarded her with something she interpreted as respect. And she’d take it. “Good point. You’ve proven yourself. Do what you feel you must but, Cami, my advice is to focus on Indy.”
He was right. Of course, he was the great Brant Jackson. Already, details of the massive project had started swirling in her head. She had a lot to do in two and a half months.
“Can I ask why September first?”
“The city gave us a huge tax break if we open by the third quarter. The contractor’s bid goes to August thirtieth. He can finish the build-out, but if we don’t get on it, give him enough time, he can’t guarantee when he can complete the work. He has another job September first. That’s why we have a two-year goal on opening the rest of the property.”
“Then I have work to do.” The sweetness of the cupcake soured as she walked toward the door. Then for some odd reason, she got a bit of grr in her gut and spun around. “You need artwork in here, Dad. Why don’t you let me acquire some for you before I go?”
“That’s not necessary, Cami.”
“But it is necessary. How do you work in this uninspired space?”
Dad tapped his temple. “I’ve all I need in here.”
She sighed, eyed the pink box one more time, then bid her father a good trip. “Tell Roger hi for me.”
By the time she made it back to her office, her head was pounding with details, her red shoes pinched her toes, and she felt completely void of the cheering and accolades from thirty minutes ago.
Her head swirled with details as she descended down to her real world. Budgets, staff, properties, moving, selling or leasing, moving, Annalise, moving.
Did she want to move? Dad was her boss, but she was also a valued team member, and if she didn’t want to move, she didn’t have to move.
Don’t kid yourself, Cami Jackson. If Dad asked her to move for the good of his company, which was her future, she’d do it. She ached for him to be proud of her. To level his laser gaze at her and call her daughter. She was twenty-nine years old and in so many ways, still a little girl.
Rounding the corner to her office, she bumped into Angie from accounting, who thrust a cell phone into her hand.
“Cami, I was just heading to your office. Liam and I are looking at artwork for our living room. We found this at an estate auction. We love it, but what do you think? Is it good? Is it worth the price?”
“Good for you and Liam.” She should call her friend Marta, see what she thought about her loft. Sell or lease. She was one of Nashville’s top Realtors. “Art, um, art always makes a space richer.” Cami paused outside her office to focus on the small screen.
“Well, what do you think?” Angie said.
