“And that’s exactly why I’m here,” Mr. Jacobs’ deep voice says. I guess his phone call is over. “Imogen, call someone to clean this place.”
“I’m busy,” she mumbles over her donut.
“I have a cleaning lady,” Ford says.
Mr. Jacobs briefly looks at Annabelle without much interest and sits in the chair opposite Mrs. Jacobs. He’s dressed in navy slacks and a lime green polo shirt. His usual golf attire for when he goes to the country club. For a moment, I wonder if he’ll make it a point to golf while he’s down here. No one said how long we’d be in Florida.
“Then call her. Why isn’t she here now?” Mr. Jacobs says.
“Because I’m a single man. She only comes twice a week.”
His dad eyes him. “You’re no longer single.”
Ford looks around, giving his sister and mom a look that suggests Mr. Jacobs is stupid. It’s clear that grates on Mr. Jacobs’ nerves. I’ve never seen anyone get under Mr. Jacobs’ skin as well as Ford does.
“You’re not the only one here. A baby is messy. She can’t live in her own shit,” Mr. Jacobs barks.
“We really need to watch our mouths around the baby.” Mrs. Jacobs moves Annabelle onto an activity mat on the floor. She’s trying to get the baby to interact with some of the items dangling down, but Annabelle keeps sucking on her pacifier and staring at herself in the little mirror. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
“She’s a baby, Gabi,” Mr. Jacobs says to his wife.
“Well, I warned you around Ford when he was a baby and look at him now.”
Mr. Jacobs nods, lips pressed together. “Noted.”
“What the fu—heck?” Ford raises both arms and looks at his parents in disbelief. “I know I might not live up to your standards, but a lot of people think I’m pretty awesome. And a damn good hockey player.”
Mrs. Jacobs sits up on her ankles and pats her son’s knee. “You are.”
“You’d be a better CEO if you got your head out of your ass,” Mr. Jacobs grumbles.
The smile that almost hit Ford’s face falters before it ever shines.
Here we go. Round one thousand twenty-seven between Ford and his father on why he’s not working for Jacobs Enterprises.
“I think it’s terribly sexist that I’m not asked to take over the company. This isn’t the nineteenth century, Dad.” Imogen starts her second donut.
Ford rolls his eyes and looks over at her. “You’re getting a graduate degree in art history.”
She opens her mouth for a rebuttal but Mr. Jacobs cuts her off. “You’re already there part time, Imogen, and do nothing but complain about it. You want to take over the company? Fine, quit graduate school and start full time next week and I’ll teach you everything I know.”
Her eyes widen and she stares at him for a beat.
“That’s what I thought.” Mr. Jacobs lifts his ankle to rest on his knee. He zeros in all his attention on Ford. “Having a baby is a lot of responsibility.”
These are the moments I want to leave the room.
“That wouldn’t change whether I work for you or play hockey. The responsibility of Annabelle is the same.” There’s a bite in Ford’s tone now. One he reserves only for his father.
“The difference is you wouldn’t travel for days at a time. You wouldn’t have the temptations you have when you’re a professional athlete. God forbid something like this happens again. You could have five illegitimate kids before you leave the league.”
Ford walks into the open kitchen and pours a cup of coffee. I’ve only been with the Jacobs family for a couple years, and during that time, I’ve witnessed Ford’s persistence to stay in hockey dwindle. A year ago, that comment would have set Ford off, and screaming and yelling would have commenced. Either he’s learned to control his emotions better—doubtful—or he’s losing the will to fight his father.
“I’m not gonna let it happen again,” Ford mumbles, walking past his father with a cup of coffee in his hands. “It was a mistake. You’ve made your fair share of them, I’m sure.”
His father’s jaw tics. “We’re not talking about me. It’s the smart decision to come work for me.”
“Why? So I can be gone all day and night like you were? At least with hockey, I have an entire off-season to dedicate all my time to her. Not to mention my days off.”
Mr. Jacobs rolls his eyes while Mrs. Jacobs scoops up Annabelle. “She doesn’t need to hear her grandfather and father fighting.”
Imogen crosses her legs and pulls out her phone, always more than willing to witness the two of them go at one another.
“I’ll just go with Mrs. Jacobs,” I say, excusing myself and standing.
“Sit down, Lena. We need to discuss the PR narrative on this situation.” Mr. Jacobs then turns his attention back to his son. “I’ve had to explain too many of your mistakes over the years. Now I have to explain that you’re a single dad because the woman you knocked up isn’t ready to be a mother.”
Ford laughs dramatically. “Who the hell cares about what people think?”
Mr. Jacobs stands and points at himself. “I care, Ford. Perception is everything in business, and how people see you matters. I can’t have everyone snickering behind my back because I can’t control my own son, let alone a multi-million dollar company.”
“I haven’t embezzled money. I’m not an addict. I’m a fucking hockey player who likes pussy. That’s all.” Ford throws his arms out at his side. “So what?”
I cringe.
“It’s not just the women. It’s the fights. It’s the…” Mr. Jacobs blows out a long deep breath. “I don’t expect you to understand.” He stands and looks outside at where Mrs. Jacobs is holding Annabelle. “One day you will. One day she’s going to break your heart.”
“She won’t because I don’t give a shit what she wants to do as long as she’s happy.”
Mr. Jacobs laughs. “There you go, Lena. Tell the press that Ford Jacobs is a reformed man, a single father who has his shit together. I’ll wait until the story unfolds that you’re out late at night while a nanny raises your kids.”
“Nannies raised me.”
Imogen smiles at her phone. I don’t know what she’s chosen to do now that she’s about to graduate from college, but I do know that the girl loves gossip.
Mr. Jacobs steps forward and my breath lodges in my throat. “You act like you wanted for something growing up. I never sent you away to boarding schools, and yes, we had nannies, but only because to live the life we did, your mother and I had obligations. Obligations you’d like to forget you have.”
Ford shakes his head. “I’m over this conversation. I knew you’d try to get me home again, but I’ve told you a million times and I’ll tell you again, I’m a hockey player, not a businessman.”
“It’s not only about you anymore.” Mr. Jacobs points through the floor-to-ceiling windows to where Mrs. Jacobs is holding Annabelle. “You’re responsible for another human being now too.”