Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“I’m not going to call him,” I say before she can open her mouth and insist that I do. I refuse to apologize for his mistakes. I have every right to be angry at him. His choices hurt more than just him.
“I know you won’t. Maybe you should call Mom.”
“I’m not going to do that either. You know better.”
“I know you can run that company, and she knows it, too. You should call her and remind her of that.”
“She’d like nothing more than to keep it shuttered just to spite me.”
Chelsea has that look on her face like she knows it’s true. Mom is the vindictive sort, and Redmond Enterprises, although insanely profitable for the family, isn’t where the majority of the holdings are.
“If you need mon—”
“I will hang up right now,” I growl, glaring at my sister.
Chelsea makes her own money working as a nurse at a pediatrician’s office, but her husband Gabe is loaded. He’s the owner of a tech firm and very good at his job and investments. She’d help me if I needed it, but much to my dismay, stubborn pride is one thing I did get from my mother.
“Then what are you going to do?”
I’ve asked myself this a million times since that unannounced visit to my dad’s office.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.
“What happened with that job you’re in St. Louis for?”
“It didn’t work out.”
Silence fills the line, and I know she’s waiting for me to expand, to give her more information. I may one day, but sitting in the middle of the airport is not the place for me to make those confessions, not while I’m still feeling the misplaced shame for my actions.
“I hate all the lies,” I mutter.
“I do, too,” Chelsea quickly agrees.
“If they had divorced when we were kids, then maybe I’d be an architect.”
“You can’t draw a straight line without a ruler.”
“Or maybe a nurse like you.”
“Blood makes you gag.”
“I could’ve been an accountant.”
“You still count on your fingers.”
“A veterinarian.”
“You’re allergic to dogs and cats.”
“A marine biologist then.”
“You have sensitive skin. The salt water would be too much of an irritant.”
“I could’ve been an author.”
“That’s still a possibility,” my sister says.
“Nah. It’s too much work. My back hurts just thinking about sitting for so long.”
“Is there a point to this?”
“The point is, my life could be different, but now I’m too damn old to have a different life. His lies and secrets have ruined my life.” I grind my teeth, wanting to be angry instead of sad. Tears make me want to curl in a ball and eat ice cream. Rage would be better. It will make me want to take action, to take control and actually do something that will make things better.
“You’re not old, and you can make a change. So I’ll ask you again. What are you going to do?”
Secrets and lies.
That’s all I can think of.
But neither situation recently has been my secrets or my lies.
They’re Dad’s secrets and lies. His affair was his lie. Telling my mom was his confession to make.
John’s secrets and lies. Not wearing his ring last night was his lie.
So neither are my guilt to bear.
I stand from the corner with the phone in my hand, my spine a little more solid than it has been since last night.
My sister smiles a little. She can already see the hint of determination I’m trying to build.
I can work with Blackbridge and not even have to see John. He’s an acquisitions expert for Blackbridge. The job I’d be hired to do—if Mr. Black is even willing to work with me after the way I acted today—will have nothing to do with the man. I can easily still perform and be able to use this opportunity to start over. Consulting and executive recruiting is what I do. It’s what I know, and I’m very good at it.
“I have to go.”
“Talk soon,” Chelsea says. “Love you.”
She ends the call as I grab the handle to my suitcase. They’re finally calling for my flight as I walk out of the terminal.
I wait until I get to an even quieter spot in the airport to place a call to Deacon Black. I apologize for my earlier behavior, but I don’t give him a reason or make an excuse for the way I acted. The behavior was unprofessional enough. I refuse to make it any more juvenile by trying to explain it away. I ask for another meeting, finding it mildly strange that he agrees quickly but insists that the meeting take place at his home tomorrow afternoon.
After jotting down the address he provides, I grab a cab and head back to the hotel.
I can do nothing but smile at the woman at the front desk when my company credit card is denied. It seems my mother was very thorough when she closed Redmond Enterprises. I spend a few moments on my phone, scouting a less expensive hotel because if I’m having to stay on my own dime, I know I’m going to have to pinch some pennies.