Andrin Helm nodded stiffly at her. “Come, Calya. We have business to discuss.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Andrin suggested he and Calya find a place to talk, and they managed to get a quieter booth in the Mighty Leaf. Though the tearoom had a decent crowd leftover from Winterfest activities, it wasn’t packed like a few weeks back during the reopening of Eunny’s repair café.
Gods. Only a few weeks ago. The span of time was incomprehensible. So short, yet it felt like it had been years. A lifetime. How could so much change in a handful of weeks?
While her father ordered tea for them both, she gazed out the window, wondering where Lowe had gone. He’d bowed out of Calya’s meeting with Andrin with diplomatic grace, his expression unreadable. No parting words of revisiting interrupted moments this time. But would she have had an answer for him if they did?
“Calya?”
Shaken from her musing, she turned her attention back to Andrin. She blinked several times, still trying to make sense of him, Andrin Helm, in the Mighty Leaf, of all places. Judging by his expression and how two small pots of tea and a tray of snacks had arrived, she’d been lost in thought for longer than she’d intended.
“My apologies, Father.” Calya poured herself a cup, annoyed that her hands shook. “You said we have business to discuss?”
“Wembly.” Her father pushed a set of papers toward her across the table. “He’ll be dealt with, I assure you. His betrayal is an embarrassment to me and the company, of course, so we have to act quickly to mitigate damage.”
Calya picked up the papers, pausing as she noted the Helm family crest her father preferred for personal use—a flowing ‘H’ over a stylized ship—embossed at the top. Her gaze flicked up, but Father’s face remained impassive as he sipped his tea. He nodded once, encouraging her to read.
The top paper was a draft for a formal announcement. She speed-read it once, eyebrows rising. Another glance at her father, but he pointedly looked out over the rest of the tearoom. Calya read the letter again, slower this time. Glancing at the rest of the papers, she found Helm Naval’s standard boilerplate contract for employment.
“Assistant deputy to the director,” she murmured. A three-year position answering to Andrin himself, who would be stepping away from his position on the Transportation Board for the duration. All the better to prepare Calya for the full role, according to the statement.
Andrin nodded slowly. “We can make the formal announcement after Winterfest. You’ll have shared oversight for six of the Districts. A small staff of your own. It’s a significant promotion.”
Calya hummed in response. Then, more pointedly she added, “The districts and staff provided by you, I take it.”
He dismissed her concern with a snort. “You may submit your choices. I’ll only reserve final approval.”
It wasn’t the promotion she’d always wanted, but it was something. Mostly. Looked at another way, it was essentially an apprenticeship. With a set duration, and no verbiage promising further mobility. The wording of it nagged at her.
I formally name my youngest daughter, Calya Helm, as my Assistant Deputy, in a three-year term. It will give her time and experience to learn the senior managerial duties required at such a level at Helm Naval Engineering. Under my guidance, she will be prepared to eventually continue the legacy our family has built.
At least it was written in his hand rather than dictated to a secretary. It certainly had Andrin’s fingerprints all over it. His chains.
“I’m surprised you’re stepping down from your government work, Father,” Calya said. “There’s no guarantee you’ll be given your spot back once I’m named director at HNE. Three years is a long time in that world, isn’t it?”
“Helm Naval is more important,” he said loftily. “We need to get out in front of this Wembly business before the Grae Port News catches?—”
“You haven’t been more than a name on the masthead for years,” Calya said quietly. “I’ve been at HNE every day. I’ve been steering it. Not just continuing its legacy, Father, but preparing us to be even greater.”
“Calya.”
“I’ve earned this,” she said. “Haven’t I proved it to you enough?”
Either her father didn’t see the vulnerability in her eyes, or he didn’t care. Perhaps he was incapable of looking beyond his child to see the woman she’d become. Calya had never understood her parents’ reluctance when it came to her, but she’d been patient. She’d waited.
And yet.
“You don’t have the experience?—”
“The trustee you hired to mind me turned out to be a godsdamned crook!” Calya snapped. “And all you can think about is, is…”
She stared at her father, whose cheeks were now reddened with barely contained temper.
“You wouldn’t promote me at all, but the case against the Coalition is too public,” she said. “My name will be all over it. Which is it, Father? Do you want to capitalize on my success, or are you trying to save face? All that media attention, someone’s bound to find out about Wembly?—”
“That vindictive tone is proof of why you’re not ready to have my company, Calya. You’re still too impulsive.”
