Page 89 of Spearcrest Queen

Closing my eyes, I breathe in the fresh, fragrant air.

She’s here somewhere. The legal team always gets invited, and Sophie’s their rising star, they’ll want to show her off. Who could blame them?

We haven’t seen each other yet. I doubt she’s been avoiding me, but she hasn’t texted since Valentine’s Day. I didn’t expect her to. She’s been busy with Harvard, with KMG, with everything.

Still, something tells me she’s thinking about me.

Only, I know Sophie well. She’s a proud, stern girl, about as soft and flexible as a bar of steel, and I’ve told her that if she wants me, she’s going to have to meet my terms. And that means, to her angry, stubborn little mind, that I’m asking her to bend.

And there’s only ever been one place where Sophie’s deigned to bend for me.

“Fuck.” I let out a soft, low laugh, shaking my head.

Footsteps interrupt my thoughts, and I recognise the crisp cadence before I even turn my head.

“Language.” My father chuckles.

I turn to glance at him: there’s a little smile playing on his face. He comes to stand beside me in the garden, hands in the pockets of his grey suit—ironically, the same colour as mine. Behind him, the house is bathed in the warm, peachy glow of the setting sun, voices and laughter spilling out as the evening unwinds.

“You did good with Inkspill,” he says, surprising me. “I wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

A short laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”

He scoffs, shaking his head in a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“You know what I mean. It was a mess when you got there, and those stubborn bookworms have been fighting KMG for years, so I can imagine they didn’t exactly welcome you with open arms. But somehow, you’ve managed to pull through, and your team could not have spoken more highly of you.”

That catches me off guard. “You’ve spoken to them?”

“Mm-hm. Inés, mostly. You know how she is, she’s not the type of woman to gush. But she told me you’re exactly what Inkspill needed. Told me about how you rescued some missing shipment, and about your white knight journey to Illinois, too. Said you’re settling in well with the team.” He pauses. “Something told me you’d like them, you know.”

He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t press, just lets me absorb his words for a moment. I look away, back at the house, where I know my team is still celebrating, where Mina and Matt are probably bickering like siblings and Patch is scaring some corporate high-flyer with a wild-eyed rant about how misunderstood John Milton’sParadise Lostis.

“I’m glad you sent me there,” I tell him.

He studies me for a moment, then nods, satisfied. “Me too, son.”

He turns slightly, facing me fully now, and taps my shoulder. “Well, you’ve met the terms of the bargain, right? You proved yourself, to me and to everyone else. I want to keep my word.” His blue eyes are warm. “Take the rest of the year to make sure Inkspill is flying high and to decide what department you want to go into. Starting in the new year, you’ll step into leadership, and I’ll personally mentor you, as promised.”

For a moment, his words remain stuck in my mind, like oil on water, not quite absorbing yet. He’s right, after all. I held up our end of the deal; I’m owed this victory, this prize.

I should feel proud, and I do, but there’s hesitation too, a tiny stab of uncertainty deflating my triumph.

My father watches me for a moment, a curious expression in his gaze. Then, he claps a firm hand on my shoulder, like he already knows what I’m thinking, even if I hardly do.

“Whatever you choose, son,” he says, “just make it count.”

Dad’s words weigh heavyon my mind for the next two days, but it’s easy enough to distract myself with work. The weekend feels like a treasure trove of opportunities, and I intend to fill Inkspill’s coffers as much as possible before the weekend ends.

The retreat usually ends with a cocktail party where everyone lets loose, and I promised Matt and Mina we’d have some fun before we all have to return to New York, where a mountain of work awaits us.

The day of the cocktail party, it rains, putting everyone in a low mood, but by the time the final event ends, the rain’s stopped, the sky’s cleared, and the grounds are gleaming shiny green and gold with wet leaves and low, warm sun rays.

I pace the room with my drink, taking only the smallest sips while I assess the situation. Matt, getting every penny’s worth out of his Prada suit, is shaking hands with a distributor while Mina, standing next to him in a dark purple silk dress, nods enthusiastically. Patch, despite all his claims of hating these kinds of events, is cornered by a group of young industry hopefuls clamouring for advice about marketing in publishing.

Even Inés is crushing it. Standing poised and confident, a glass of champagne in hand, she’s got the attention of about five investors.

They’re doing great—growing in confidence under my very eyes. It’s strange, to think that this time next year, I’ll be gone from Inkspill, and they’ll be doing all this again, on their own. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth even as I prepare to plunge into the fray.

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