Soph sighs as I release her, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen island. I glance at Jada again, seeing what she means. Soph’s usual chaotic energy is flat, even with the promise of pizza.
“Well, the good news is,” Jada says, sliding her a plate, “you’re just in time to eat.”
I smile gratefully at my sister-in-law. Soph is lucky to have someone who cares so much, but I need to check in more. And as I bite into another slice of pizza, I make a mental note to stop by after her appointment.
The restof the week passes quickly. I don’t mention anything to Iris about bringing her home again, and she doesn’t ask. I’m trying to slow the pace a little and give her time to catch up with me.
But by the time Friday afternoon rolls around, I’m itching to get her alone. To touch her. Today, she’s wearing the midnight-blue dress I bought her in Wetherly Cove, and it’s an effort to keep my eyes to myself all day. I call her into my office before quitting time, wanting to ask if she’s free tonight so I can take her to dinner, when John pops his head in.
“Iris,” he says, brows low. “There you are.”
She smiles tightly at her father. He’s mostly left her alone this week, which was unexpected. Perhaps because she’s worked extra hard, carrying out all her assistant duties on top of working with me on the lighthouse project, so he has little to complain about.
“Where are those plans you promised me?” he asks.
Iris swallows nervously, then straightens her spine. “I’ll have them to you first thing Monday.”
His eyes narrow. “That’s not what we agreed.”
I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to step in. Not because I don’t want to defend her, but because she can defend herself. She’s found her voice lately, and I don’t want to stop her from using it.
“I need a little more time to get them right,” Iris hedges. She’s been working her ass off all week, but between this project and her usual duties, it’s been a lot. Every time I offer to help with the other tasks—to get lunch or deal with the emails piling up—she refuses. Determined to prove she can do it on her own.
John stares at his daughter for a beat, then shakes his head. “I need you on something else now. The team-building activity for this year needs to be organized, and Mandy usually does it. That makes it your job.”
Shit, I’d forgotten about that. Every year we do some sort of corporate team-building event to reinvigorate everyone after slogging through winter. For all of Mandy’s strengths, the team-building exercises of the past were anything but inspired. From a vision alignment workshop that had most of us dozing off, to an office potluck that led to what HR now refers to as “the salmonella incident,” everyone dreads the team-building event.
I glance at my calendar, realizing we still have plenty of time. “We don’t usually do it until late March.”
John levels me with a look. One that suggests he doesn’t like being challenged. “We’re doing it early this year.”
I furrow my brow, anger simmering in my veins. There’s absolutely zero reason for us to have the event early, other than John wanting to push Iris off the lighthouse project. Wanting to punish her for stepping outside his boundaries. And that he’s doing so at 5.30 p.m. on a Friday evening is just plain petty.
Iris seems to sense this too, frustration flickering in her eyes. But instead of folding, she lifts her chin. “Fine. I’ll take care of it.”
John arches a condescending brow. “Are you sure you can manage it, on top of everything?”
She stiffens almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”
Her father sighs with exaggerated patience. “Look, you’ve had your fun, but maybe it’s time to hand the lighthouse project to someone who knows what they’re doing.” He glances at me with a roll of his eyes, as if to say,Kids, am I right?and my frown deepens.
“She knows what she’s doing,” I say, losing the battle to keep quiet. “Wait until you see what she’s created.”
“I shouldn’t have to wait,” John bites out.
He stares at me, waiting for me to back down, but there’s no fucking way. How did I never notice before what a bully John is? How impatient, rude, arrogant? It’s bad enough he’s Iris’s father. She has no choice. But is this really who I want to work for? Partner with? My fingers itch as I glance at my laptop, suddenly feeling the urge to update my LinkedIn profile.
John pinches the bridge of his nose. “The team-building event needs to be organized this weekend, Iris. Since you seem to think you can manage it, be my guest.” He turns on his heel and stalks away.
I stare after him in disbelief. “What an asshole,” I mutter, glancing at Iris. “You don’t have to do that, okay? I’ll do it.”
“No.” She breathes out long and slow, as if to center herself. “I can manage it.”
I close my office door, turning back to her. “You shouldn’t have to. He’s being completely unreasonable.”
She snorts. “He’s always unreasonable.”
Fuck. “Iris.” I hesitate, then reach out to stroke her cheek. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that, sweetheart.”
