Page 3 of Never Let You Go

Robert is rubbing his face like he’s super tired. It’s what—ten in the morning on a Monday? “You don’t need to worry about all this,” he says. “You can’t be seriously considering it. You’d be setting yourself up for failure. You realize that, right?” He flicks his pen nervously. “Supposing you pass the exam, do you seriously see yourself presiding over the company?” he snorts.

I would kinda be his boss? That’d be awkward, and I see now why he’s more pissed than his usual self. But I can’t let that distract me.

“What’s the valuation of Red Barn?” I ask him. I should know this, but I don’t. I can tell you how my most recent tweak on our latest social media campaign increased click through rate, in what measure this directly impacted each of our five regional territories, and the net dollar amount generated by that adjustment. I can tell you what color scheme in our graphics is sure to generate greater customer engagement. But I’ve never known the big picture of the company itself, its margins, its real estate holdings, its investments in mills, and all the other components of this empire. Rita never shared this with me, which makes her posthumous offer even more surprising to me.

Robert moves his hands like my question might require an audit.

“At the close of the books last year, what were the assets, what were the liabilities, and what were the revenues?” I ask him slowly, mentally patting myself on the back for remembering Small Business 101. Not too incorrectly, I hope.

His gaze narrows on me. He gives me three numbers, then adds, “give or take a few dozen million.”

Holy shit. I swallow hard but hold his gaze. So much for small business. “I’m going to have to think about this.”

The woman interjects, “You need to make a decision—”

“This does look like a lot of money,” Robert interrupts, “but it’s more of a headache than anything else. However, in consideration of the circumstances, the board has authorized me to share an offer they want to make.” He pulls a paper from inside his jacket and unfolds it.

“What circumstances?”

“Pardon me?”

“You said the board wants to make an offer in consideration of the circumstances.” I have to pee so bad, I switch the way my legs are crossed.

“Y-yes. The fact that Rita—Ms. Douglas—didn’t provide for you in her will. The board understands that this might be… difficult… and they want to help make it right.” He takes his glasses off.

“So the board knew? I thought a reading of a will was like—this surprise revelation.”

The woman stacks her papers back into a neat pile. “The late Ms. Douglas, as many prudent entrepreneurs, chose to share her succession plan with her board.”

I chuckle. “You call that a plan? It’s a frigging monkey wrench.” I blush at my near use of the f-word. I don’t know what’s gotten into me this morning. I’m blindsided, and angry about it, but that’s no excuse to be rude.

“I’m sure she had her reasons.” She purses her lips. “Though I can’t see which.”

“That makes two of us.” My heart drums hard, pushing words out of me.

Robert extends a pacifying hand. “Rita was… a special person. Very few people could ever understand her. But here we are,” he says, gesturing to the sprawling offices, and the stylish logo stenciled on his crystal glass. “So we have an offer. Handsome compensation in exchange for declining Rita’s—Ms. Douglas’—offer.” He slides a two-pager signed by the board members across the table.

In between a couple of dense paragraphs, I read a number, and I learn the monetary equivalent of the word handsome. I’m speechless.

“It’s very generous,” Robert says. “They really don’t need to do this.”

Then why are they doing it?

My bladder is ready to explode now. I stand from the table. “If you’ll excuse me a moment.”

“We need your decision now,” the woman cuts in.

I’m about to ask her why, but I can’t hold it any longer. “And I need to pee now.”

As I dash past her office, Barbara scowls at me. But when I exit the stall, she’s leaning on the bathroom vanity. “How are you doing, honey?”

“Do you know what’s going on?” I take time lathering my hands, observing the soap suds form and pop, before rinsing them under scalding water, trying to calm the thrum in my body. Despite my pitiful efforts to be loved by her, Rita barely tolerated me. So, why this?

Barbara turns sideways to face me and crosses her arms. “Robert asked me to prepare a packet, Just in case, he said.”

I shake the droplets off my hands and turn toward her. “You know why Rita would do that?”

“Red Barn was her family. You were her granddaughter.”

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