Page 24 of Calculated Chaos

She scrunches her nose like she’s smelling something foul. “No disrespect at all to your dad, but I don’t think he sees your value at all.”

Nervous laughter bubbles out of me. “You’re not being disrespectful. I’m fully aware of that.

I’m not even sure why he wants me around.”

“I hope that means you won’t be basing your decisions on anything he says then.”

I shrug. “I don’t know anything else. This has been it for as long as I can remember. He told me when I was in high school that he expected me to run the firm someday. I got the degree he wanted me to get. Everything I’ve done has been because my dad told me to do it, and trust me, I definitely recognize the irony in that.”

Sara gives me a sympathetic smile. “It can be hard to get away from what parents want from us sometimes.”

I nod. “The craziest part about it is I’ve never even considered anything else. I just did what he wanted me to do. I guess he keeps me around because I’m his only son. So that’s just his expectation, you know?”

“It’s still shitty the way he treats you. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Standing, she walks to my side of the desk and rubs my shoulder. “Thank fuck for Axel. He’s so good for you.”

I tilt my head back to meet her eyes. “I know. He’s the best. I’m not really sure what I offer him, but I’m glad he sticks around anyway.”

“Silly,” she says, heading back to the door. “It’s not like you’re a loser. You’re just a little stuck.”

“Thanks, Sara.”

“PS, don’t be mad, but Jill got you a cake. It’ll be in the breakroom after lunch.”

“Ugh.”

She smiles. “You know Jill. She firmly believes cake can fix anything.”

“She’s got a point.”

“She does. Don’t forget your staff meeting at ten.”

“I’ll be there.”

Once she’s gone, I summon the motivation to turn my computer on and try to focus on the day, but all I’ve got running through my mind is black leather and Tank’s oiled hands on my back, the heated look on Axel’s face as he watched, and the way my body reacted to him taking the crop. My cheeks heat as my stomach flutters. Well, fuck.

* * *

By the time I shuffle into the conference room for the staff meeting, I’m still struggling to shake off the weekend’s revelations and focus on work. I didn’t finish my monthly report, but I’m fairly certain I deserve a pass since it’s never happened before and I still have until tomorrow at noon. Somehow that doesn’t shake the nausea building in my gut.

My coworkers greet me and offer birthday wishes as we take our seats, but there’s an unusual tension in the air.

“What’s going on?” I ask quietly to John, my counterpart in a different division.

He shrugs. “Rumor on Friday at happy hour is that someone was termed, but it’s unconfirmed still.”

“Huh. You go to happy hour?”

“Once a month,” he answers. “Just to remain personable and connected to the team.”

I nod, shifting my gaze to my planner page. I’ve never once gone to happy hour with my team, despite Sara’s persistent invites. I figured they wouldn’t be able to relax with their boss around, but maybe John is onto something.

The director, a.k.a. my dad, walks in seconds later with the usual sour look on his face. I’m immediately reminded of the impression Axel does of him, strutting around with his butt squeezed and face tight, and have to hold back a laugh. I don’t think my dad has ever smiled in front of me. I’ve only seen proof it’s possible in photographs from long ago.

He doesn’t even glance at me as he takes his seat at the head of the long wooden table, dropping a manila folder down like he’s already pissed off. The whole energy of the room shifts as everyone’s mood sobers. The meetings are always like this, but it’s the first time I’ve been so aware of it. My dad’s energy is like being wrapped in a wet blanket on an already cold, rainy day.

---