Page 69 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
And it’s all my fault.
I take a couple of deep cleansing breaths then try to FaceTime her. The call rings and rings with no answer. Weird. I expected her to be waiting with bated breath.
I’m about to give up, when my dad’s face suddenly appears on the screen. He’s wearing a pinstriped suit with a red tie, and his salt and pepper hair is slicked back at the temples.
I wrinkle my nose. “Where’s Mom?”
“Hello to you, too.” He chuckles. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“No,” I quickly backtrack. “Of course I’m happy to see you, Dad. It’s just … I called Mom’s number, didn’t I?”
He hoists an eyebrow. “Excellent observation, counselor. Your mother left her phone on the table so I answered it for her.”
“But it’s a Monday. Why aren’t you at work?”
He peeks at the staircase to the second floor of their penthouse. “I surprised your mother by coming home to take her to lunch. She’s been so stressed about the gala and the auction and this whole Platinum Stays situation, I wanted to give her a break. I made reservations at Gramercy Tavern. She’s just getting dressed now.”
My jaw drops. “You left the office in the middle of a weekday? Who are you and what have you done with my father?”
He flashes his piano-key teeth at me. “Let me fill you in on a little secret.” He leans in close to his screen. “One of the perks of being the boss is getting to call all the shots. But you’ll learn that soon enough.”
“I see.” My mouth goes crooked. “Is this your way of officially offering me that associate’s position?”
Another chuckle slips out of him. “I may be a founding partner, but making that decision unilaterally wouldn’t be a good look.”
“Oh, I know that, Dad. I was only kidding. But the partners are making their final decisions soon, though, right?”
His smile stretches even wider. “We’re meeting on Friday, as a matter of fact.”
“Huh.” I do a quick mental calendar-check to be sure I’ve got my days straight. Today is Monday. Three’s follow-up appointment is tomorrow, a Tuesday. Wednesday is the gala and my birthday. Then Christmas is Thursday. “You’re meeting the day after Christmas?”
“Yes, and I’m glad you’ll be home by then.” Another arch of his brow. “I’m anticipating anextrareason to celebrate this year.”
Right. My job offer.
“I would’ve thought you’d close the office on the 26th for a three-day weekend.”
“No rest for the wicked,” he quips. “Or is it no rest for theweary?” His eyes drop into a squint. “I can never remember which one’s the correct phrase. In any case, I already gave everyone the 25th off. And New Year’s Day next week.”
I press out a weak laugh. “That’s so generous of you.”
“I thought so.” He straightens, tugging at his tie. “It’s what’s expected around here, Sara. And you’ll be putting in long hours once you officially come onboard too. Not a lot of vacation time. Working on some of the lesser holidays.”
“Like Arbor Day?”
“Yes.” He nods, either ignoring my sarcasm or missing it completely. “That is, until you’re the managing partner.” He glances at the staircase again then back at me. “Then you can squeeze in a spontaneous lunch date every once in a while.”
I arrange my face into a smile. My dad’s expectation that I’ll run Hathaway Cooke someday shouldn’t come as a complete shock. After all, I’ve followed in his footsteps from prep school until now. Still. Working toward a goal is one thing. Having no choice in the matter is another. “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” I say.
“Once again, you’re correct, counselor.” He splays his hands, triumphant. “We’ll havemanyother milestones—big and small—to celebrate before then, won’t we?”
“Yes.” A bead of sweat forms at my temple. Maybe two beads. “We will.”
“Speaking of which, your mother told me you have some new ideas about the firm’s mentorship process. I’m sure the partners would love to hear your thoughts.” He pauses. “In the event that you’re offered a position, of course.”
“Oh, yes.” More beads of sweat. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”
My dad checks his watch. “Now’s as good atime as any.”
