Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever share the same experience with a man.
“Tell me, how did you think dinner went the other night with the Carltons? We haven’t had a chance to deconstruct it.”
I fold my hands on my lap and lean back in my chair. “I think it went well. Heller and Parks tried to blatantly stick their noses up the Carltons’ asses, it was almost sickening to be in the presence of them.”
Dad chuckles. “They’ve always been like that. Nothing I haven’t seen before. I enjoy going to dinner with them because it feels like a circus show. Quite entertaining. I was proud of you though, you held your cool, spoke about the Carltons and their interests rather than the acreage we’re trying to accrue. You showed interest in them as humans and asked intelligent questions, thought-provoking but nothing that would spark a debate. I was very impressed.”
“Yeah?” I can’t contain my smile. “I worked hard to prepare myself. They value a strong family bond, so I made sure to focus on that.”
“They do. It’s one of the reasons they started speaking with us, because they know our family dynamic is strong.”
“I think we can use that to our advantage.”
“I agree. Let’s keep it in our back pocket for now.” He checks his Cartier watch and winces. “I spent a little too much time laughing it up with your employees. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late to dinner with your mom, and you know how she feels about being late.”
“Don’t let me keep you.”
He stands but then pauses and points his finger at me. “I almost forgot. Did I see you won a date with Jason Orson, the catcher for the Rebels?”
Where the hell did he hear about that?
“Uh . . . what now?”
I pick up my pen and scratch the side of my head, trying to look as casual as possible, which only makes my dad tilt his head back and laugh wholeheartedly.
“Dorothy Domico, you are a titan when it comes to business, but your personal life is a shitshow.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He shakes his head. “It was in our company newsletter. Domico’s very own wins date with new Rebel. Quite an interesting read. Ten thousand dollars, huh?”
“It was a miscommunication.” I sigh and rub my temple. “But don’t worry, I cancelled the date.”
“Why?” My dad’s brow pulls together. “Jason Orson is nothing to sneeze at. His stats alone will give the Rebels a shot at the playoffs next season. It was a huge acquisition for them.”
“Yes, he’s great. He was amazing in college. But I’m not into dating right now, as I just want to focus on work.”
He nods, his short silence startling. I know that look in his eyes. He’s mulling over something and I don’t think I’m going to like it.
“I love you, Dottie.”
“But . . .”
He shakes his head and buttons his suit jacket. “No but. Just wanted to tell you I love you.”
“I don’t believe you.” I laugh. “You always have a hidden agenda.”
“Not this time. You’re a grown woman and can handle things on your own. I will tell you this though, I would hate for you to go through life without a partner in crime, someone to keep you grounded. Even though I thank God every day for you, your mother has been the biggest blessing in my life.”
“It was easier for you back then to meet someone. I’m in a different position.”
“How so?”
“Uh . . . most of Chicago knows who I am.”
“So?” He shrugs. “You’re a good judge of character and know how to filter out the losers from the good ones. Go on that date with Orson; you never know what will come of it.” That’s the thing, though. I’m not a good judge of character. If I was, I never would have fallen for Nick, and I never would have allowed him to take advantage of me.
My dad walks out of my office with a quick wave and a parting smile.
I’m not surprised that he came in here, laid down a pool of thought for me to wade through, and then left. I don’t think there’s been a time when he hasn’t done that. I should know by now what’s coming.
But go on a date with Jason Orson?
I mentally shake my head.
No way. He would be amazing to look at, but I know we wouldn’t work.
Noooooo.
My head falls in my hand.
Fuck.
I stare at my screen, reading the email one of my on-site managers sent me about an infrastructure we’re working on downtown.
Water main break is the subject. Flooding is in the body. Estimated total cost in repairs: over two hundred thousand.
I lean back in my chair and bounce my foot up and down, trying to steady my breath.
I take a deep breath and stare at the email again.
Shit.
Dad is not going to be happy. I told him about this property, saw it myself, told him to take a chance on it. He was concerned with the structural integrity. I told him it was old, but holding up well. Now with this . . . God, he’s going to give me the look. The disapproving look. The I told you so look.
And just like that, I feel my emotions start to build up and my throat grow tight. My eyes begin to water but before I let the tears fall, I take a deep breath, sip some water, and attempt to compose myself.
It’s okay. Accidents happen all the time in projects like these. It’s why we have a cushion of money, but two hundred thousand dollars eats up that cushion pretty fast.
My lip trembles again and I inwardly curse myself as embarrassment washes over me. I swore I would never make another mistake while working under my dad, not after the last time, not after letting him down. And here I am again, putting myself out on the line for a project I believed in.
I quickly pull up the account file and look over the numbers. I factor in the two hundred thousand dollars in repairs and quickly do the math. We will be cutting it close, but we could do it.
I quickly type out a response to the project manager about an emergency meeting tomorrow. I can take care of this. I don’t need to tell my dad. I can do this on my own.
Shaken with my anxiety on full alert, I send the email and try to calm myself.
“Miss Domico.” Jessica appears at my door, a nervous look on her face, startling me.
I quickly wipe at my cheek, just in case a tear escaped and I say, “Jessica, what are you still doing here? I told you to leave at six. That was five minutes ago.”
“Yes, well, there’s a visitor for you.”
“A visitor?” I try to peek around to the outside of my office, but I don’t see anyone. “Did my dad come back?” Please, no, please don’t let him still be here.
“No, not quite. Um”—Jessica bites her bottom lip—“I’ve been told not to announce who it is.”
I groan, tossing my pen to my desk. People have stress balls, I have pens. I click them, flick them, chew on them, they are my go-to when I’m stressed out, need to think, or I’m just flat-out bored. Jessica keeps a bin full of the pen I like so I never run out.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had a visitor not want to be announced and guess who it always is?
Lindsay and Emory. And when they don’t want to be announced, it’s because they have some elaborate game or dinner or plan to “help me escape” my workweek. I’ve been putting in the hours this week after the Carlton dinner, which means I’ve been ignoring both of them, so I’m not surprised they’re here. After that email, it might be nice to see my friends.