Page 52 of Upshot

He nods as he studies the carpet. “Okay. So what do we do?”

“We don’t do anything. I’ve got this handled. Now, if you’ll show yourself out, I’ve got something I need to finish.”

He looks at me, his mournful gaze full of understanding. What he doesn’t understand is that I’m about to blow up everyone’s world. Maybe, someday, I’ll be able to convince Geneva and Pete to forgive me. But it has to be done.

Pete stops at the door with his hand on the doorknob.

“Just remember, Geneva and I, we’re always in your corner.”

“Thanks.” He closes the door. “We’ll see if you still feel that way tomorrow,” I mumble.

I spend the next several hours hard at work in my office. Every few seconds I check my phone just in case Brontë tries to contact me. At this point, I’d rather have angry words than none at all. My heart doesn’t even feel like it’s breaking anymore. It just feels empty.

I’ve worked feverishly all day to catch up on work. Someone will need to take over, so I want to help transition my projects to them as smoothly as possible.

Then I’m heading back to “play house.” It’s the term my father keeps hurling at me. It’s a stupid term. So what if I’m playing house? What if it turns into a lifetime of happiness? Why does it have to become something bitter and hateful? My whole life it’s been plain to me that he doesn’t know the first thing about “playing house.”

The clock slowly gets closer to five. My nerves amp up with each passing hour. I won’t be here tomorrow. Today, I’m resigning. It’s the boldest thing I’ve ever done. I hope it’s the beginning of a life my son or daughter will be proud of. One I can look back on someday and know I made the right decision.

I’m meeting the movers in the morning so they can start packing up my apartment. Then an outside real estate agent is coming over to put it on the market. I don’t want one of ours doing it. My father isn’t getting his claws on that either. I’ll pack up my SUV after that and head home.

When everyone starts heading out for the day, I tidy up what’s left of my desk. I’ve already taken a box of my stuff out. I pick up a folder from my desk and read through my letter of resignation one more time. It holds the end of one life and the beginning of another inside.

With my head held high, I walk to my father’s office.

“What?” I hear him say when I rap gently on his door. I open it. “Oh. You.” Always a pleasure talking to him. At least he’s consistent. “What do you want?” And to the point.

I pull my letter of resignation out of the folder and place it in front of him. He barely glances at it.

“I’m resigning, effective as of the end of business today,” I finally say.

He snatches it off the desk.

“I’ll also be buying this asset from the company.” I add a contract to buy the school in Denver in front of him.

He opens his mouth several times to speak, but nothing comes out at first. For the first time in my life, I’ve managed to render my father speechless. It’s never occurred to him that I would push back. The color rises on his face. I worry he might have a heart attack for a moment.

“Are you stupid?” He finally manages to bluster.

“Not your problem anymore.” I’m no longer afraid of him. It’s crazy how clear your path in life becomes when you finally know where you’re heading.

I no longer care what my father thinks of me. It doesn’t matter that Brontë won’t answer her phone or respond to my texts. All that matters is I’m going to get her back. Even if it takes me the rest of my life.

“Well, I don’t accept this,” he bellows.

“You don’t have to, but it won’t change that I’m leaving. And if you bothered to look at the paperwork on that building, you’ll see I wrote a clause in it that gives me the option to buy it if I ever part ways with Randolph Holdings.”

“You know what,” he snarls. He’s standing across from me now. Spittle sprays from his mouth as he continues. “You can have that damn building. I hope it drowns you in debt. And when you come crawling back to me with your tail between your legs, don’t expect me to help. Get the fuck out of my office.”

Good talk, Dad. It’s always a plus to know where you stand. I turn and leave his office with him still yelling obscenities after me.

Deep inside, I feel my heart flutter just a little with hope. Maybe it’s salvageable after all. I hand the security guards my badge and office keys with a grin. They look at me like I’m nuts. They’re not far off, but damn being nuts sure feels good.

nineteen

RAND

It takes all of ten minutes after I get home for someone to pound on my door. The knock sounds like an MMA fighter trying to get in. Must be Geneva.

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