Cool! Thanks for checking with them.
John knocksand enters my office with my freshly made latte.
“Good morning,” he says, handing me the paper cup.
“Morning.”
“Mr. Mitchell called a meeting with you at eleven thirty,” he says, causing my Wren buzz to disappear entirely.
I check my watch. It’s ten fiftyfive. Fuck.I knew I should’ve gotten here earlier.
“Do you know what he wants to meet about?”
“Sarah didn’t say.”
“Sarah?”
“Mr. Mitchell’s assistant.”
“Oh, right. Okay. Did you tell her I wasn’t here yet?” I move my head from side to side, stretching my neck, trying to relieve the tension I can already feel building.
“No, sir. I told her you were on an important call and that you were available at eleven thirty.”
I nod.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” John asks, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.
“No. Thank you.”
The last big meeting I had with my dad ended with me at The Local, and that was the night I ran into Wren. I can only imagine this one will go similarly.
At eleven twenty, we make our way to my father’s office. Sarah greets us with a wide smile.
“Is he ready for me?” I ask.
She places one manicured finger up and picks up the phone.
My palms are a little sweaty, and my heart thumps against my ribcage. I take a couple of deep breaths, wiping my hands down the denim covering my thighs. It doesn’t matter if I’m thirteen or thirty; my body still reacts the same way around him every time.
Sarah murmurs something into the phone and then hangs up the receiver. “You can go on in,” she directs.
She leads me to his office door, tapping her fist against the wooden surface before swinging it open and revealing the large, cold room. Compared to this space, mine looks like I work in a closet. I let out a long breath, trying to calm the nerves pulsing through my body.
“Morning, Mitt,” I say with as much forced confidence as I can muster.
“Tanner,” he says, not looking up from his computer.
“Can I get you anything?” his assistant asks me.
“No. I’m good.”
“Mr. Mitchell?” She looks toward my father.
“No. This shouldn’t take long,” he responds.
She nods and moves out of the room, closing the door behind her. I take a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. Tapping my thumb against my thigh, I wait for him to start, but he doesn’t, so I clear my throat.
His gaze finds mine and he scoffs. “I thought I told youthat moving forward you would need to be wearing a suit while in the office. You have a precedent to set. If people see you not taking your job seriously, that trickles down. Have you seen the way your assistant dresses? You’re already setting a bad example.” He rubs his temples.
