I take a few breaths to gather my courage. "Would you help me with some advice?" I whisper.
If he were awake, he would probably furrow his brow.Advice?
"It's like this: even though Stig made it clear before his death that I'm in charge of the business, Kahlo is sabotaging me. He hates me—still."
And you're surprised by that?Father's voice asks.
"No," I shake my head. I don't want him to think I'm unaware of how justified Kahlo's opinion of me is. "However, we need to work together to ensure thatTouch av lyxcontinues to be as successful as it has been."
His closed eyelids move. He's listening!
"This isn't about emotions; it's about business," I quickly add because I know he sees it that way. There's no room for personal feelings in business. "Everything else atTouch av lyxis fine. Kahlo is the only problem. How do I get him to work with me instead of against me?"
I decide not to mention that our star designer has already turned the whole team against me. There's no need to worry my father unnecessarily.
Don't lie to me, Sky. I know there's more to it!he responds sternly.
Damn. How did he notice?
"Well... um... it's..." I shouldn't be stuttering.
In my imagination, he sighs at my unprofessional behavior and exhales slowly.It's hopeless with you.
He lies there motionless. I know he can't harm me, and I know his words exist only in my imagination, but I feel like I'm frozen in place.
"I'm sorry." A deep plea fills my tone. I want to get this right. For him. ForTouch av lyx.
It's always the same with you, Skady Blohm. A deep furrow forms between his brows.The fact that you came here to begme because you can't solve your problems on your own is shameful.
Tears well up in my eyes. Of all times, I should be showing him that I'm stronger than he thinks now.
"So you want me to solve my problems without your help?" I ask with a choked voice, letting go of his hand. "Then I will."
Even though I have no idea how to win Kahlo over, one thing is certain: I won't give up trying.
I stand, plant a kiss on my father's forehead, and turn to leave. "See you soon," I say, tiptoeing out of the room.
Only when I close the door behind me do I allow my legs to give way. I lean against the wall, and for a while, all I do is breathe.
Nurses and doctors glide past me like disembodied spirits. Words reverberate dully in my eardrums.
Suddenly, there is a hectic rush. "Code blue in room 313," a female voice calls out. "We need June." Someone sprints down the hallway.
When calm returns, I try to focus on what's most important right now: Kahlo. I think hard, searching for ways and options, weighing charming and forceful alternatives, and I come up with nothing.
"Think, Sky," I mutter, massaging my temples. "Put in a bit of effort."
It's hopeless with you, my father's voice rages in my head, and it feels like he's even shouting this sentence through the thick hospital walls.
Restlessly, I push away from the wall.
He's wrong. I can do this!
And to avoid further self-doubt from him, I immediately leave the intensive care unit. I pull my hat down to my brows and bury my chin in my oversized scarf.
Hidden like this, I walk down the stairs and cross through the hospital's entrance area without looking around. There might be a crowded café next to the entrance. Someone might be watering the wildly growing green plants. The phones at the reception desk may be ringing.
I pay no attention to any of it. My mind is blank, and now this emptiness is flooded with a familiar panic: that paralyzing fear of failure.
