Page 12 of P.S. I Dare You

“Aerin?” Marta calls my name from behind her desk, and she offers a warm smile when our gazes catch. “You can head back now.”

Folding the magazine, I return it to the top of the stack before rising and running a palm down the front of my skirt to smooth out any rogue wrinkles. Clearing my throat, I pull my shoulders back and make my way to the double doors at the end of a hallway lined in oil paintings.

Any man who decorates his office with images of himself is probably the last kind of man I need to be working for, but he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse and I took the next flight out here with dollar signs in my eyes the entire time.

I knock when I get to his office. Three times. And then I clear my throat again, softly.

“Come in,” he calls from the other side a few seconds later.

I turn the handle on one of the heavy wooden doors and show myself in, trying not to gape at the view outside his wall-to-wall windows. Natural light pours in from behind his oversized desk, almost backlighting the man and giving him an ethereal look. Angelic almost. And when I get closer, I see he’s not angelic at all. Just an ordinary, old, wealthy Manhattan W.A.S.P. in a three-piece suit.

“Ms. Keane, so glad you could make it,” he says, coming around his desk and extending his right hand. His eyes crinkle in the corners and his palm is soft, unworked.

“Like I had a choice,” I say with a wink. “You’re a persuasive man, Mr. Welles.”

He chuckles, finally releasing me. “Why don’t you have a seat over there?”

Mr. Welles points to an emerald green Chesterfield sofa in the corner of his office, grouped with two leather barrel chairs and accented with floor-to-ceiling bookcases behind them.

I take a seat in one of the barrel chairs and he takes the seat across from me.

“How’s your first day going so far? Is Marta showing you the ropes?” he asks, but before I have a chance to answer, he adds, “I’m sorry you weren’t able to meet Calder. He was here a little while ago, and unfortunately he had somewhere to be and he wasn’t able to stay long.”

“Actually, we did meet.” I cross my legs tight at the knee, resting my hands on top of my lap like a proper English duchess.

His head tilts to one side. “You did?”

“Not officially … we bumped into each other in the hall. My coffee spilled. He told me to watch where I was going.”

The light in Mr. Welles’ eyes dims a little and he exhales. “I apologize about that, Ms. Keane.”

“You don’t need to apologize for him.” He’s a grown man …

“C.J. … he’s a bit of a difficult personality. Strong-willed, defiant. He gets it from me, I’m afraid.” Mr. Welles pulls at the lapel of his suit coat as he situates himself in his seat. It’s almost as if this topic makes him physically uncomfortable.

So that’s why he’s paying me the big bucks. He knows this is going to be a formidable job, and he wants to ensure it’ll be more than impossible for me to walk away.

“Let’s get to it, why don’t we?” I ask. “I assume your meeting with him this morning had to do with the change in leadership? Did he agree to take over your company?”

Mr. Welles’ gaze holds mine, and the marionette lines along his wrinkled chin deepen as he frowns.

“He hasn’t officially agreed. Not yet. He says he needs to think about it, but I know my boy. He’ll make the right decision,” Mr. Welles says, with a nod and a quiet pause. The way he speaks almost makes me think he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince me. “I gave him two options. If he’s smart—and C.J. is damn smart—he’ll pick the right one.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“I’ll have Lillie Treadwell cut you a check and Marta book you on the next flight home.” There’s a self-assured chuckle in his voice now, and then he coughs into his balled fist. “I wasn’t the best father to him. He has a lot of reasons not to want to be here, not to want to do this. But apart from everything, I’m still his father. And I know what’s best for him, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. And he won’t. At least not out loud.”

His hooded eyes squint for a moment, like he’s recalling a memory or two, and we sit in silence for a moment.

I almost feel sorry for him.

He’s clearly a man who sold his soul and now he’s at the end of his life, looking back and coming to terms with his biggest regret—not having a close relationship with his one and only son.

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