Page 6 of Wicked Scandal

“I can’t stress how important it is to me that all of us put our best foot forward. Not just right now, but always. It is my job to raise respectful children, and most days, I feel I have succeeded, but it’s moments like this that I am reminded that I am still your father and there is still work to be done.” He takes a sip of his scotch before dragging his tongue across his bottom lip.

“I know this isn’t going to be easy for any of us, and I take full responsibility for that. It’s a rare situation to be under public scrutiny. Nonetheless, here we are.” He points the glass at me. “You’ve always been a model of exemplary behavior for your siblings and others around you. Please continue to do so, son. I know this dream of mine is altering your life and I don’t want to ask too much of you. But, what I do ask is that you at least hold yourself to a high standard.”

I nod in agreement. He’s right. I know I messed up today and I know I can do better. “Yeah, Dad. I get it. I know how important this is to you.”

“I’m grateful I have your support.” His eyebrows rise. “But what happened at the campaign announcement won’t happen again. I expect you to have self-control. I know you love making those videos…”

Here we go. Dad doesn’t get it. He doesn’t give me too much shit. But he just doesn’t get it.

“…maybe one day you will realize there are just more important things in life than SnapTok.”

This time when I nod in response, it’s not in agreement, but more to be able to get the fuck out of here. It’s pointless to try defending my passion for creating content to him. SnapTok is more than just something I do in my free time. I enjoy doing it. I get to make people laugh—brighten their day while giving them an escape from their lives for a little bit. It’s also a means of money now. I’m not making much, but it’s more than most people my age.

Dad drinks down the rest of the liquid in his glass, leaving nothing but an inch of ice as he sets it down on the countertop. “You’ve got two more weeks left of school then graduation, and only two months before you’ll be taking the helm in your new position at CB.”

CB is the abbreviation for Cromwell Banks. My dad owns many of them across the United States, with the head office in Westerlund Falls, which is only twenty minutes from Willow Creek.

“I know this, Dad. And I’ll be ready. I’m taking a couple fast-tracked courses in business and digital marketing in preparation for starting my job at CB this fall. I’m also applying for a part-time job until then.” He smiles over the rim of his glass. It’s these moments where he is proud of me that I feel like I can connect with him. Like a sponge that’s been in the desert, I want to soak up his pride.

I’m pretty damn excited to start my new job as the company's financial writer. Not only will I be writing marketing commentary for newspapers, I’ll also be handling all the social media marketing and content creation.

It’s funny to me how my father discounts my “little videos” when he has an entire branch of his office that basically does what I do for marketing. He just can’t see it that way, though.

I won’t be starting until September when the current financial writer retires, but I’m not complaining. It gives me a couple months to enjoy my life as a graduate before diving right into a career. However, Dad made it clear that too much time off depletes motivation, so he and Celia insisted that Rome, Elodie, and I get summer jobs to remain active and focused.

Dad nods in agreement, and I’m thankful he’s still on board with the plan. “Have you thought about where you’d like to work this summer?”

“Actually,” I drag out the word, my hand going to the back of my neck. “I was sort of hoping I could do something at CB. Data entry, mail room, anything that helps me to build rapport within the company before I take on a larger role.” I look up at my father with hopeful eyes.

“What if I told you I have a better job available for you and your siblings in the meantime?”

My eyes widen, showing my surprise. “Really?” I didn’t think it would be that easy. My father has always been adamant that we have to work for our positions in his company; they will not be freely handed to us.

“Jillian, my new campaign manager, and I were very impressed with your final touches on my speech.” His mouth tugs up in a grin while excitement ripples through me. The thought of not having to fill out another damn application for a low-paying job as a dishwasher or floor sweeper has me anxious to hear his offer. “Rome and Elodie agreed to work on mailers, and some door-to-door campaigning. As for you, how would you like to help me with my speeches, starting immediately?”

I arch my brows, surprised he’d even consider having me help with such an important task. “You want me to help with your speeches?”

As much as I want to help, I’d much rather take on a job with less pressure. Speeches are the forefront of his campaign. I have no skill set when it comes to political mumbo jumbo. I whipped up his speech for today on a whim and personally critiqued it for hours before handing it over. It was stressful and not anything I enjoyed doing.

“I believe in you, Wilder. I think this would be great for both of us. Obviously, I’ll write out the details and touch on the matters I feel are important for discussion. But I’d like you to be the one who fine-tunes them. You’ve always had a way with words and today’s speech was proof of that.”

I roll my neck, working out the kinks and stress that has accumulated since this conversation started. “Wow.” I gulp. “I wasn’t expecting this.”

Dad tosses his hands out, his enthusiasm trumping mine tenfold. “What do you say? The pay is good.”

Reminding myself, again, that this is important to him and I want to show my support in any way possible, I randomly blurt out, “Sure. Why not?” Immediately regretting it because I have no doubt I’m going to disappoint him. This isn’t my forte. I’m not a speech writer.

Gleefully, Dad pats my shoulder. “That’s my boy. I have no doubt your words will take us to the top in the election.”

I nod, forcing a smile on my face. “Yep. To the top we go.” The sarcasm in my tone is apparent, but he doesn’t take notice as he pours himself another shot. “I better get to bed. Finals are coming soon and I need a clear head.”

Dad raises his glass in cheers, still beaming. “Always thinking ahead, son. I’m proud of you.” He takes a sip before continuing. “I’ll have Jillian email you some key points I’d like to touch on in the article being published Thursday in the Willow Creek Gazette.”

“This Thursday?” I gasp. “That’s four days away. You’re giving me too much credit, Dad. I don’t think?—”

“Nonsense,” he interrupts. “You’re the one who’s not giving yourself enough credit. Together, we can do this.”

His faith in me has always been astounding. To the point it doesn’t seem real. And it’s not just me, it’s all of his children. Dad cheers us on and encourages us to seek out our dreams no matter how impossible they may seem. He’s not one of those parents who forces you to do what he wants to do. I know if I really didn’t want to do this for him, he’d understand—no hard feelings.

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