Page 16 of Secret Marriage To My Bosshole

The longer I read, the more the words blur together. Yawning, I highlight one of the clauses that don’t make sense before moving on to analyze the next.

I hum to myself, trying to keep myself focused on the work in front of me.

However, a notification about my father setting foot on my property pops up, and every focused thought flies out the window.

I sit straighter in the chair as the beep echoes through the house, letting me know the front door is open.

The sound of the door slamming shut follows. My father’s heavy footsteps thud down the pale hardwood floors.

When he appears in the kitchen with his disapproving frown, I feel like I’m a young, vulnerable child about to get scolded again.

His bushy eyebrows knit together as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks.

He stands tall, his entire presence sucking the air out of the room.

I push the tablet to the side and nod my hello. “I didn’t realize you were coming by this morning. The sun is barely up.”

Dad stares at me, his thin lips pressed together. The wrinkles at the corners of his mouth grow deeper.

“Griffin, we need to discuss some of the things I’ve been hearing about the company lately,” he begins.

“I’m sure I’m not aware of everything you’ve been hearing.” I take a sip of the cold brew, trying to wake myself up enough to deal with whatever his spies have been telling him now.

Though Dad passed the law firm to me a year ago, he won’t keep his nose out of the business.

Some of the senior lawyers still report to him regularly, but he refuses to tell me which ones keep throwing me under the bus.

Walking into a business where everyone is set in their ways and trying to change things is challenging. Running the firm has been nothing but an uphill battle.

When I think I’m starting to get somewhere, Dad comes storming into my house like a boulder, ready to roll me over.

Dad glances at the contract, which is still up on the tablet. “I’ve been advised that you’re starting to drive the business into the ground.”

It feels like he’s dropped a bomb in the middle of the kitchen. I struggle to keep my expression neutral. Dad is a cold man who believes that emotions do nothing but cloud a person’s judgment.

I sit taller, rolling my shoulders back and trying to relieve some of the tension coursing through me. “I don’t know who told you that, but your source is wrong. The firm is doing better than ever, and we have an outstanding group of first-year associates this year.”

The corners of his mouth curl into a mocking smile. “You think bringing on associates is how to build a successful law firm? Those professionals I left you with are the best in Maine—the lawyers, paralegals, secretaries… You have a goldmine at your fingertips, yet you keep bringing in more people instead of poaching experienced lawyers from other firms.”

I down the remaining cold brew, wishing I had spiked it with something stronger. “And why is that a problem?”

“You spend too much time and resources training when you could have people winning cases and signing contracts. They could be making you more money, but instead, you’re hell-bent on producing a new generation of lawyers.”

“It’s an investment I’m making for the future. If you think I’m so terrible at my job and driving the business into the ground, why did you bother to hand it over to me in the first place?” My tone is sharp as I stand, looming over him.

Despite being several inches taller, all it takes is one cold look from my father to make me feel like the smallest person in the room.

Dad scoffs and walks over to the window, looking out at the pool glistening in the sun. “If I thought you would ruin the firm, I never would've. However, what’s done is done, and we must focus on what’s to come.”

“And what does that future look like?” Sarcasm drips from my tone, though I know he will ignore my blunt words.

The best way to get through these conversations is to put up with them until he leaves.

One of these days, I’m going to find the strength to tell him where to go and how to get there, but not yet.

Too many people who work for me now are still loyal to him. If he told them to, they would leave the firm, and then I would be left with a failing business.

Dad turns to face me, crossing his arms. “Griffin—when are you going to settle down? You need to get serious about the company, and you can’t do that if you are coming home and taking care of everything here, too. You need to find a wife and hire some staff. Have kids to carry on the Blake family name.”

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