Page 9 of Don't Call Me Daddy
I think it’s best to suppress that memory as deep as I can get it. I don’t have time for the rabbit hole that would take me down. No, I’m too busy working on more important things, like healing our planet and creating a safe work environment for our company’s one thousand-plus staff members. I’ve devoted everything to this company; for better or worse, it’s my purpose for living, and I can’t let any distractions prevent me from that, no matter how beautiful they might be.
Ivy Lane.
I’ve had to stop myself from looking her up about ten times already this morning, not that I think I’ll find anything. Maybe a minor criminal record. She seems like the kind of woman who’s not afraid of breaking a rule or two, hence her fearless walk through Phantom’s Reach last night.
Worry pinches in my chest, which only annoys me more. It’s ridiculous to be worried about a stranger, especially one who’s clearly not concerned about her own safety.
I’ve known the woman for what, two hours? And I spent most of that time seething with irritation from her smart mouth and careless attitude. In another life, I would have taken great joy in showing her a few manners … but that’s not who I am anymore. Besides, she’s got to be at least a decade younger than me, which could never work.
What am I thinking? This whole fantasy is ridiculous. Clearly, I’m more sleep-deprived than I thought. I shouldbe paying attention while Carl talks about import taxes and whatever else he’s been going on about for the last ten minutes.
It’s just annoying how comfortable she seemed, sitting there with me, asking me questions and talking like I wasn’t a complete stranger. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so … authentically themself … straight out of the gate. It’s fascinating and infuriating, all at the same time.
I bite my cheek, suddenly itching to get out of this stiff office chair and pace … or run. Hell, I just need to exert some of this energy before I snap or say something I don’t mean to someone who doesn’t deserve it.
I take a cautious sip of my steaming hot coffee, willing the caffeine to work a miracle and somehow pull me out of this foul mood.
I’ve never been much of a morning person, but between the sleep deprivation from working late over the last three months and last night’s escapades, I’m barely hanging on by a thread.
Carl finishes his presentation, and my brother, Roman, takes the floor.
It’s our quarterly meeting, so I should really be paying more attention, but it’s not like they’re saying anything I don’t already know. I make it my mission to know everything that goes on even if it means I work holidays and weekends.
Roman clicks open his first slide, and a picture of our town square comes into view, that damn Phantom statue front and center.
Goddamn it. Not this again.
I have to force myself not to sag in my seat like a toddler because of all the shit I’ve got on my plate; the fucking Phantom Festival is the last thing I need to be worrying about.
We’re literally trying to save the planet with our sustainable, eco-friendly product line. Call me crazy, but I feel like our time isbest spent doing our actual jobs. No one likes when I point that out though.
It’s ridiculous and my least favorite thing about living in the Appalachians. But nobody asked me, and no amount of bitching is going to change the annual Phantom Fest the town throws every year to commemorate our founding members—my ancestors actually.
“As you are all aware by now, this year is the one hundredth anniversary of the first sighting of the Phantom, and this year’s festival has the potential to be bigger than ever.
“For many people, he’s just a tall tale, but at Kingsley Industries, we believe he represents something so much more than a spooky story passed down for generations. As the story goes, my great-grandmother, Arlene Ashford, experienced the very first encounter with the Phantom, where he not so kindly warned her about the pollution the town was creating with their coal mines and processing factories.
“The people were sick. The land was barren. The town was all but deserted, as families were forced to move away for any chance at finding work. The men who stayed worked dangerous jobs, many of who lost their lives that horrible day.”
The room falls silent as we remember the tragic past that led Ashford Falls to where we are today.
“Every year, we honor the message the Phantom brought my great-grandmother, and by doing so, our home has flourished with rich job opportunities, a booming economy, and clean air with pollution levels at an all-time low.”
I join in as the table erupts in applause. I might not like the festival, but I am proud of the changes we’ve made for our community’s health.
“So, in honor of the one hundredth anniversary, I’d like to put together a task force and planning committee to leadand take full ownership of the festival.” He pauses for an uncomfortable moment as awkward tension fills the air.
“Anyone at all? Come on. Surely, someone’s eager to offer a helping hand to put on the town’s favorite event of the year. Remember, your workload will be temporarily assigned to another team so you can focus on your festival planning duties. It could be a fun way to mix things up.” He pauses once more, and the room goes so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.
He tries again. “It’s an important part of our company culture as well as this great town’s heritage, not to mention all the charities we’re able to help with the proceeds every year. Maybe this year, someonenewwill feel called to give back. Someone who hasn’t done it for the last five years in a row.”
I fake a cough to cover my laugh at the desperation of his plea, which only draws more attention to me as heads turn in my direction. My father’s gaze finds me, and I quickly look away.
Who in their right mind would be okay with a group helping to take on their workload?
I, for one, am far too much of a perfectionist for that … not to mention my mile-long list of trust issues.
“Of course, everyone will receive fair compensation for their time,” Roman adds.
