Page 72 of Snowed In With The Second Chance Daddy

“Let’s chat.” He waves his hand toward me before disappearing into his office.

“Let’s chat” is a call out. It’s like being sent to the principal’s office.

The windows turn frosted a moment later.

I feel all eyes on me even if everyone is buried in whatever slave labor they’re doing in the name of fucking video games.

“Fuck me.”

Becca gets up. “Be chill. You’re good.”

“I’m not good, you know that’s not good.”

“Well, unless you’ve done something offensive, the worst that can happen is a slap on the wrist.”

I push myself up from my desk and smooth out the front of my overalls. “Pray for me.”

“In the name of the father, son, and Lara Croft.”

I squeeze my hands at my sides, trying to keep my nerves at bay.

It’s just a meeting, it’s no big deal. Just feedback. Just work. It has nothing to do with the person you are or your worthiness to the company. Relax.

Telling myself to relax does the exact opposite, though, and by the time I’m seated across from my boss, I’m close to shaking. “What’s up, Cole?”

He leans back in his chair, something that should feel casual, but doesn’t. “The latest prototype isn’t meeting our expectations. What’s going on?”

I take a breath, knowing I need to be honest but feeling the weight of his disappointment.

I don’t have the luxury of being honest. I’m struggling because my heart’s not in it. It’s stuck in Chicago with a man who loves me, who I don’t know how to love back despite every nerve in my body needing him. “I thought I had a solid concept, but the mechanics… they just aren’t quite clicking. I thought we might be close to a product we can build off of, but I’m trying to refine the storyline and, well, yeah.”

That’s a whole lot of bullshit nonsense.

Cole raises an eyebrow, skepticism etched on his face. “Trying isn’t enough. We need results. The team is counting on you.”

“I know!” I snap before I can stop myself. The frustration bubbles over. “I want to deliver, but the pressure is– It’s not like I’m slacking off. You know the hours I pool.”

He straightens, his expression hardening. “The hours don’t mean much if they’re not spent wisely.”

I gawp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing other than what I said. If the time you spend working on the game isn’t meeting the benchmarks we agreed on, then the project might be better in someone else’s hands. If you can’t get it together, we’ll have to make some tough decisions.”

The air between us thickens.

My pulse speeds up. “You mean, you’d fire me over this?”

“No, not without getting you on a performance plan.”

“A performance plan?” I’ve been gutted. I’ve never had my work questioned like this. “I just need a bit more time to refine it. That’s all. And maybe we can sit down and go through exactly what isn’t clicking for you.”

“To be honest, Iris, you seem checked out.”

I can’t even fight him on that. It’s the truth.

“You know, the holidays are over. There’s no time for slacking.”

“I’m not trying to slack, and I’m not trying to–” I clear my throat, trying to suppress the heartbreak. “I care about this project.”

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