Page 15 of Christmas With the Jerk

I glance at Woodley out of the corner of my eye. She’s focused on the road, her brow furrowed in concentration. She’s sharp, I’ll give her that. And more curious than I expected. Almost a little too nosey, earlier, but otherwise, she hasn’t been that annoying today.

The car’s Bluetooth pings, interrupting the silence, and my phone screen lights up on the dashboard.

“Robert Chilton.” My dad.

Fuck, how does this rental car know how to tap into my bluetooth and see my contacts? No hiding this one.

My jaw tightens instinctively.

I clear my throat and swipe the screen to answer, keeping my voice steady. “Hey, Dad.”

“Thorne, where are you?” My father’s voice comes through, direct as always. “I got your text this morning about you two pulling over for a few hours rest en route. That was smart. It's nasty out there."

"Yeah, thanks. We both needed it. We have just under two hours left now."

"I’ve been tracking the storm. What's the weather like where you are?”

I shift in my seat, glancing at Woodley, who pretends not to listen but clearly is. I keep my tone casual. “Shitty, but Woodley is a beast on the road. We're making good time and will hopefully get there before the worst of it.”

"You're making her drive? Come on, Thorne. I taught you better than that."

I hope she can't hear his booming voice. I don't want to get into that conversation with her prying ears. I laugh off his annoying suggestion of some kind of archaic chivalry.

There’s a pause, and I can picture him checking his watch, calculating our ETA against the pitch. “Anyway, you should haveplenty of time to go over everything still today, but don’t cut it too close. I don't have to remind you that the meeting tomorrow is critical.”

I roll my eyes as my test tightens. “I know, Dad. We’re good.” Christ, I stayed at a hole-in-the-wall and driving through the Storm of the Century. And I’m doing it all with my least favorite person in the office—he has to know I'm taking this seriously.

“You guys be safe. It’s important to get there, but more important to get there in one piece.”

There’s a brief flicker of something like concern in his voice, and it surprises me. My father’s not one to dwell on personal stuff, at least not when business is involved, but I can hear it. He’s checking in, making sure I’m okay, even if he doesn’t say it outright.

“We’re fine,” I say quickly. “No problems.”

Another pause, and I can sense Woodley’s presence next to me even though I’m not looking at her. Just knowing she is there is making me self-conscious. He has to know there is no privacy in a car for a conversation. I wish he would relegate our conversations to text.

“Alright, Son,” he finally says, his voice lowering a fraction, “Let me know when you get to the hotel safely. And make sure you don't blow this off. Go over everything with your colleague. Keep your focus.”

I wipe my sweaty palms on my knees, irritation creeping in. “Yeah, I know. We’ve got this, Dad. Go to a Christmas party or something and let us do the heavy lifting.” I try to lighten the mood, hopefully putting him off my back until I’m done. These brief check-ins are really annoying.

“Good.” His tone shifts again, all business now. “This is important. ValorTech is a long-term play for us, and this campaign is going to set the stage. I’ll stop bugging you. Shoot me a text when you arrive, and let’s talk tomorrow when you’re done.”

I swallow, feeling the familiar pressure settle on my shoulders. It’s always like this with him—a mix of concern and expectations, wrapped up in the constant reminder that if I fuck up I'm letting everyone down. T-ball and million dollar ad campaigns, it's all the same level of pressure and expectations.

“Will do. I’ll let you know when we get there,” I say, trying to end the conversation before it drags on any longer.

“Alright. Stay safe, Thorne. Kick ass and then get home for some eggnog!”

The call ends with a soft click, and the car feels too quiet all of a sudden. I glance at Woodley, who’s still staring at the road, pretending not to have heard every word. Maybe my pressing the phone on my ear muffled it enough to keep it private.

I clear my throat again. “Sorry about that. My dad can be neurotic sometimes.”

She shrugs, a faint smirk on her lips. “No big deal. You’re the guy with the big important pitch, right?”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Something like that.”

“You okay?” she asks, keeping her tone casual, but I can hear the curiosity under it.

I nod. “Yeah. I’m just ready to get there.”

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