Page 67 of Boss Agreement

“You’ve got grit now, Phillip. When you bite down on something, nothing in the world will be able to make you let go, and that’s what you need to run this place.” He takes another deep breath and lets it out. “I’m proud of you.”

Part of me has been looking for that praise since before I can remember, but the other part, the part that was willing to go to war with my father only four days ago, doesn’t give a shit what he thinks.

“I’ll take good care of her,” I say. I know some men would give each other a hug. Others would say thank you. Some would even shed a tear themselves. I am not that man, and neither is my father. And our relationship is exactly what he created. Nothing more, nothing less.

The most I can say is exactly what he wanted to hear. “Thank you,” he whispers and stands up. “You know, if you have questions, I’ll always be happy to answer them.”

I nod to him and give him the barest hint of a smile. “If I run into problems, I’ll call you.”

I won’t, and he knows that, but that was the goal from the beginning, wasn’t it? He has his legacy. A company that won’t die with him. It will not retire or crumble or be forgotten. He has created something that will live beyond him, and I will be its caretaker, just as he always wanted.

And I will do it better than he can now.

The tear I saw earlier is gone, but the streak it left behind still glistens in the hard light of the office. He turns to walk away, and I look down at the papers that change everything. My father is not at the helm of Loughton House any longer.

I’m the one that will determine its success or failure from now on. I should be a little nervous or even excited, but I’m not. Nothing has changed.

I slide the papers to the edge of my desk and finish what I was doing. I have a plane to catch.

Forty-Three

ADDISON

The storm rolls through the city like an army. Raindrops pelt the glass and steel like machine gun fire. Lightning splits the sky with explosions, bright light with rolling thunder. Tonight was supposed to be the night that Angela had dreamed of. Donovan had a ring for her. He was going to propose to her.

Instead, she’s standing on a balcony looking at the city while the pouring rain hides her tears.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Donovan whispers through the gusts. “I can’t compete with your business and dreams, and at the same time, I can’t just sit in the shadows and wait for you to find time for me. I’m sorry, Angela. I love you, but I can’t let you be my everything when I’m not yours.”

He walks back into the restaurant, and Angela doesn’t even turn around…

God,this is the hardest part. The Dark Night of the Soul should break the reader, and I can feel the tears welling. I should be proud that I could give myself these emotions, at least.

I lean back in my chair and pick up my pencil. The steady whir of it rolling over my fingers is reassuring as I think of how Angela will respond to her true love’s rejection.

“Nope. I need to take a break,” I mutter when nothing comes to me. I’ve spent the weekend throwing myself into this book. It’s so close to being done, but every time I sit down to write, it’s like pulling teeth to put words on a page. My mind goes straight to Phillip being all the way across the country. He comes home today, though.

Plus, this place doesn’t even feel natural yet. I’ve been here for a week, and I’m still discovering things. Sometimes I just walk around and open doors and cabinets to see what’s inside. This place has a literal rain shower. The whole ceiling sprays water down so it’s like you’re getting rained on. It hasn’t sunk in yet that this could be how I live forever.

I walk toward the kitchen and sigh. How am I supposed to get used to this? I’m not the girl who knows what to do with a billionaire’s lifestyle. I tried to explain that to Phillip, but he just laughed. There are plenty of people out there that would get used to lighting money on fire quickly, but when I think of getting groceries, the first place I turn is the weekly ad.

There’s a platinum credit card in my wallet with my name on it that has an unlimited spending limit. Phillip told me I could go out tomorrow and buy a car, and it wouldn’t bother him.

But it would bother me.

When I step into the kitchen to make a sandwich, I stop short. “Andrew?”

Andrew Loughton, Phillip’s youngest brother, looks up from the fridge where he’s shoving groceries. He grins at my shock and stands up. “Phillip said that he was going to get home late, and that you’d need some groceries for dinner.”

A frown crosses my face. He’s supposed to be home in a couple of hours. “When did you talk to him?”

“About an hour ago. He said he texted you, but that he thought your phone might be dead.”

I walk all the way into the kitchen to see what Phillip asked Andrew to get. I can’t believe I let my phone die, but then again, I tend to forget a lot of things when I sit down to write. The same goes when I pick up an amazing book to read. I just kind of get lost.

Andrew goes back to loading the refrigerator with food. “When did my big brother start knowing what kind of food someone would need to cook with? I didn’t think he’d ever used a stove in his life.”

“You’d be right, but being poor will teach you how to cook,” I respond. Chicken alfredo. Nothing special. He even skipped the mushrooms, though he threw in some fresh spices.

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