Or an infected, gangrenous sore that needing carving out altogether.
“Wait, have I sent that email?” I murmured.
I turned my attention to my computer and started typing away. I narrowed my eyes as I navigated to my “sent” folder, and I didn’t see the outgoing email to my siblings. I cursed myself as I clicked on my “drafts” folder, and sitting there, waiting for me to proofread it, was the third round of an email I’d been crafting for over a month now.
The email that could change the course of this company for good.
My eyes scanned the document, and I started rewording a few things. I didn’t want my anger and my frustration to come through in my verbiage. And every time I sat down to write this message, I was angrier than a hornet’s nest in water. I titled the email “Urgent, Read Now,” and I hoped that was enough to get everyone’s attention.
Today’s the day.
I edited the email one last time before I attached all of the pie charts and documents I’d been working on in my spare time. They spelled out everything from how much it would take to buy out the board, what we’d have to do contractually to circumvent their kickback, and how much we’d all be able to pocket over the first three years of this family outright owning our own damn petrol business, not just in title but in stocks and profit.
Then, after drawing in a sobering breath that sucked my anger back down into the black pit of my soul, I pressed “send,” hoping and praying my family had enough sense and money put aside to take on this venture.
They’ve all got growing families, though.
I leaned back in my chair and ran my finger across my lower lip. That would stunt things. It seemed that the men in the Remington family were finally getting broody enough to strike out and have families of their own. And with families came those houses they were building, which surely took a significant chunk of money out of their personal accounts. Whether or not we’d all have the money to pool together was an uncertain variable and one I hoped we didn’t have to battle in order to make this a reality.
To be honest, I’d be willing to cover what they couldn’t with my own fucking money for a slightly larger percentage. Anything to get us out of playing these dumbass business politics with a detached board of investors. They gave Bart too much of a runaround for my liking with the refinery in the first place. And to know some of them were pissed that our family business's headquarters was in the family’s hometown drove it all home for me.
We needed these idiots out and quickly.
I closed out my email and flipped over to Ryan’s, then chuckled when I saw the fact that he had already opened and read my email. I guessed he was already bored or needed something to take his mind off the chaos of everything he was juggling.
“And they call me a workaholic,” I murmured.
But, a knock at my office door pulled me from my thoughts. And for once, I was thankful for the distraction.
“Come in,” I called out only to raise my eyes and see Bella standing in the doorway with her father.
5
Bella
Dad groaned next to me. “Anyone got Tylenol?”
I whispered to him, “If you were home, you’d have some. You don’t get that luxury here. Now, do what I told you.”
I straightened my back as Wyatt stood from his desk.
“I have to admit, I thought you’d sleep more than that.” Wyatt didn’t move.
Dad grumbled something I didn’t catch, so I nudged him.
“Now,” I murmured.
Dad rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry for coming here in that… state.”
Wyatt started digging around in his desk. “Well, you really know how to spice up a workday.” He walked over with two Tylenol in his outstretched hand, and Dad quickly took them.
“Got any water?” he asked.
I glared at him. “You’re a big boy. Pop ‘em and swallow.”
Wyatt chuckled, and the sound wafted over me like a warm summer breeze. I looked up into his face and found him studying me intensely, and I wondered why. My knees went weak beneath his gaze as his eyes quickly swept down my body. And when Dad finally swallowed the two pills, I pulled myself out of my trance because the last thing I needed was him watching me stare at my damn boss.
He gets more handsome every time I see him.
Wyatt clapped his hands together, causing my father to jolt at my side. “Well, I’m glad to see you up and around. Feel more than free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen downstairs. There’s plenty of water, plenty of snacks, and I’m sure you can find yourself with a full stomach before you head back home, Mr. Lancaster.”
I nudged my father one last time, and he sighed. “I promise it won’t happen again. Thank you for your generous hospitality.”
Wyatt looked over at me. “Well-rehearsed, I see.”
I blushed. “He wanted to come up here to see you.”
Wyatt blinked. “I’m sure.”
Dad didn’t really do a good job of selling it, either. “Anyway, guess I should make my way home now. Bella, you still following me back like I’m a child?”
I glared at him. “When you stop acting like one, I’ll stop treating you like one.”
I turned my attention back to Wyatt and found him grinning, which didn’t help the situation with my knees. “I haven’t clocked out for lunch yet, so I’m clocked out now. I figured following him home would probably be met with a need for food, and I didn’t want to do any of that on company time.”
He nodded. “No worries, your job will be intact when you return.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Wonderful. Okay. Dad, you ready?”
I watched him stare at Wyatt for another beat before he looked at me. “Yeah, I’m ready. But, this man better keep his hands off you. I see how he’s looking at you.”
I gawked. “Dad!”
Wyatt chuckled again. “Just a father protecting his daughter. If I had a daughter, I’d do much of the same.”
I didn’t know whether to be incredibly turned on or incredibly horrified, so I bid Wyatt a quick goodbye before dragging my father down the hallway by his arm. I was mortified, embarrassed, and, most of all, pissed. And all I wanted was for this damn day to be over so I could stuff my face with comfort food, put on my cozy pajamas, and have it out with my father inside of my head. Because I knew when I got home tonight, he’d be passed-out drunk again. Just like every other night for the past however many years.
“There gonna be soup or something when I get home?” Dad asked.
It took me a second to rein in my anger at the question as the elevator doors closed on us. “I don’t know. Ask Mom. I have a job and a life outside of you two, so maybe you should ask your wife before you ask your daughter.”
He paused. “What did I do to deserve your anger like this?”
I slowly looked at him. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
He pointed at me. “Hey, I might not have your respect, but I’m still your father.”
“Yes, and I’m the only breadwinner in the family right now. You want money for your morning beers?”
He sucked air through his teeth. “You talk about my drinking like it’s a problem. I can quit whenever I want.”