Page 8 of Faking it with My Boss' Son

Alison's eyes twinkled. "Well, maybe you just haven't been to the right museum with the right person yet."

Her enthusiasm was infectious, but as the evening wore on, my doubt grew.

After walking Alison back to her doorstep, we shared a lingering hug. "Thank you for tonight, Ryan. I had a great time," she said with a warm smile.

"Me too," I replied, hoping the smile on my face concealed my swirling thoughts.

As I drove home, the radio played a cheesy love song, making me smile despite my uncertainty. I couldn't deny that I enjoyed Alison's company, but I wondered if our contrasting preferences could create hurdles.

In the quiet of my room, I replayed the evening in my mind. The laughter, the stories, the shared jokes – they were all there. I knew I needed to give it time, let our interactions unfold naturally. With that thought, I settled into my bed and dozed off to sleep.

***

As I woke up for my morning run, I couldn't help but replay last night in my head. I needed to call Michelle and tell her how it went. "Hey, Michelle. Are you getting ready for your first day?” I asked with excitement in my voice.

“Hey Ryan, yes, I am. How was your date last night?” She asked with curiosity.

“It was good. I am not sure we are compatible, though. She's into museums and art, and you know that I am not.” I laughed.

Michelle chuckled. “Well, I am sorry to hear that. You will find someone, Ryan; just be patient. But hey, I have to go to work. Call me later. Bye.” She hung up the phone.

Alison and I continued chatting for a few more days, but I didn’t want to give her any false hope, so I thought I should be upfront about my intentions and tell her that it was not working from my side. She was mad, not because she had lost someone whom she liked but because she had lost the billionaire’s only son and accused me of being a playboy. I was livid at these allegations but felt I owed her no further explanation. I blocked her right away. I was anything but a playboy.

At least I was at peace that I made the right decision at the right time.

I was in my room when my dad texted me to say that he was in the living room and wanted to see me in the next ten minutes.

Now, what’s he up to?

I huffed as I read his text. I had an inkling of what he wanted to talk about. The same old thing. When would I be joining his company as the new CEO? I’d been avoiding it for years, and I knew that I was smart enough to come up with a new idea again this time. But, this time, I wasn’t avoiding it; there was something I had been thinking about, and I knew he would be happy to hear it. As I rushed to the living room, nearly running into a wall, I almost collided with my dad, who lost his balance and toppled over until I grabbed him.

‘‘A-are you doing this deliberately so that I fall and hurt myself?” Dad barked at me as he put his hat back on that had fallen on the floor. He was red with anger, and one of his slippers had slipped off his foot and vanished, God knows where.

I tried hard to control my laughter. He looked hilarious, all frazzled and just in one slipper.

‘‘Are you okay, Dad?’’ He was starting to get stronger but still would get winded with a lot of activity or excitement.

‘‘Watch where you’re going!’’ he snapped as he stretched his back.

‘‘Sorry, Dad,’’ I said as we made our way to the living room.

‘‘Better be,’’ he replied as he adjusted himself comfortably on the couch. ‘‘So, I know you keep ignoring my request, but I’m going to ask once more for you to join the company. I’m growing old now, and it is becoming challenging for me to manage things alone. I want you to take over as CEO so I can retire from work and rest,’’ he said.

‘‘Dad, I’m not ignoring your requests. I have been asking you for some time. In the next six months, I’ll be starting what most likely will be my last year playing soccer professionally. I am getting up there in age and need to think about what is next for me and my career. Once it’s over, the next day, you’ll find me in your… I mean, in our office.’’ I said with my eyebrows raised.

‘‘Well, I hope it’s not one of your ways to run from things. Are you sure?’’ he raised his eyebrow at me.

‘‘As sure as you are standing there,’’ I said matter of factly.

‘‘Well, I guess I can wait for another year. But I’m sure as you are standing there that the next thing I am going to talk about doesn’t require a year.’’ He replied pointedly.

I was nonplussed at his sarcastic tone. Not that it was the first time I’d heard it, but because he was going to talk about something different from my athletic career.

‘‘And what’s that?’’ I asked quizzically.

‘‘You know Ruth Smith?’’

‘‘I do. Daughter of Mr. Andrew?”

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