where I’m supposed to be. The daughter isn’t supposed to act like a parent.
He holds his hands up in front of himself defensively. “I know, I know. I’ve called her. I’ll stop by this weekend. I just wanted to ask you, because I know you were there and have firsthand knowledge.”
My head bobs, and I sink into one of his oversize chocolate-brown leather chairs. The seating in his office is comfortable, clustered around a rustic wooden coffee table. My dad’s desk is in the center of the wall of windows, but when he’s consulting with a client, they almost always use this more comfortable seating.
“Okay, let’s get down to business.”
He sits down across from me and leans back in his seat, steepling his fingers together.
“I asked you to come in today, Greta, because I need your help.”
I sit up straighter. “My help? With what?”
He gestures around his office. “Kyle’s a good assistant. He does solid work with scheduling and dealing with clients when I’m on an assignment. But the company is growing by leaps and bounds. I’m hearing from new potential clients every day. I’m going to need an office manager.”
I open my mouth to speak, and then snap it shut again. “You want me…to work here? Dad…you know my plans for my future. I cook. I want to be a chef.”
He frowns. “Yes, I know. I offered to pay for culinary school, remember? You turned me down.”
I stare at my folded hands. My voice sounds muffled. “I don’t need a handout. I can do it on my own.”
It’s not exactly true. My mom pays for my rent. I know the money comes from her alimony, which comes straight from my dad. But accepting it straight from him feels different somehow.
He sighs in frustration. “It wouldn’t be…I’m your father, Greta! Part of my job is providing for you.”
Yeah, you’ve always been a great financial provider. But don’t you understand there’s more to fatherhood than that?
But then my thoughts slowly turn in a warmer direction. My father asking me to share a workspace with him is like giving me a tightly wrapped hug. His company—his work—is his life. He always put it before his family; that’s why he and my mother’s marriage failed. That’s why his relationship with his three daughters suffers.
But inviting me into his world? That’s the same as asking me to share his heart.
I study him. “I’d have a normal salary?”
He nods emphatically. “Yes. And you could save it up so that you can send yourself to culinary school one day, if that’s what you want. I only want to help you, Greta. You’re my baby girl.”
My eyes begin to mist over before I can stop it. “I’ll think it over.”
He smiles, a gruff twist of his lips: a Jacob Owen classic grin. “Sounds good. That’s all I can ask. Along with Dare and I, we have a team of five other guys here. We could use someone like you to keep us in line.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “Yeah, right. Like I can keep a bunch of ex-soldiers in check.”
He frowns. “You know, if you’re going to work here, you’re going to need to complete a bit of training.”
My eyebrows lift. “Training?”
He grins again. “Yeah. Like PT. I’ll get one of the guys on it, okay? Call me and let me know after you’ve thought about it over the long weekend. And then we’ll talk if you agree.”
I stand, a strange sense of excitement fluttering in my belly. “Okay, Dad. I’ll call you after the weekend.”
He pulls me into another awkward hug. “I love you, honey. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
I drive home in a daze. My father has his flaws, but inviting me into the professional fold was a big move for him, and it spoke volumes. Could I turn something like that down? Because it’s not just a job.
It’s an opportunity.
I’m so preoccupied that when I let myself into my apartment I realize I haven’t even looked at my phone since before my meeting. I flip it out of my purse and check the screen.
Missed call
He holds his hands up in front of himself defensively. “I know, I know. I’ve called her. I’ll stop by this weekend. I just wanted to ask you, because I know you were there and have firsthand knowledge.”
My head bobs, and I sink into one of his oversize chocolate-brown leather chairs. The seating in his office is comfortable, clustered around a rustic wooden coffee table. My dad’s desk is in the center of the wall of windows, but when he’s consulting with a client, they almost always use this more comfortable seating.
“Okay, let’s get down to business.”
He sits down across from me and leans back in his seat, steepling his fingers together.
“I asked you to come in today, Greta, because I need your help.”
I sit up straighter. “My help? With what?”
He gestures around his office. “Kyle’s a good assistant. He does solid work with scheduling and dealing with clients when I’m on an assignment. But the company is growing by leaps and bounds. I’m hearing from new potential clients every day. I’m going to need an office manager.”
I open my mouth to speak, and then snap it shut again. “You want me…to work here? Dad…you know my plans for my future. I cook. I want to be a chef.”
He frowns. “Yes, I know. I offered to pay for culinary school, remember? You turned me down.”
I stare at my folded hands. My voice sounds muffled. “I don’t need a handout. I can do it on my own.”
It’s not exactly true. My mom pays for my rent. I know the money comes from her alimony, which comes straight from my dad. But accepting it straight from him feels different somehow.
He sighs in frustration. “It wouldn’t be…I’m your father, Greta! Part of my job is providing for you.”
Yeah, you’ve always been a great financial provider. But don’t you understand there’s more to fatherhood than that?
But then my thoughts slowly turn in a warmer direction. My father asking me to share a workspace with him is like giving me a tightly wrapped hug. His company—his work—is his life. He always put it before his family; that’s why he and my mother’s marriage failed. That’s why his relationship with his three daughters suffers.
But inviting me into his world? That’s the same as asking me to share his heart.
I study him. “I’d have a normal salary?”
He nods emphatically. “Yes. And you could save it up so that you can send yourself to culinary school one day, if that’s what you want. I only want to help you, Greta. You’re my baby girl.”
My eyes begin to mist over before I can stop it. “I’ll think it over.”
He smiles, a gruff twist of his lips: a Jacob Owen classic grin. “Sounds good. That’s all I can ask. Along with Dare and I, we have a team of five other guys here. We could use someone like you to keep us in line.”
I laugh in spite of myself. “Yeah, right. Like I can keep a bunch of ex-soldiers in check.”
He frowns. “You know, if you’re going to work here, you’re going to need to complete a bit of training.”
My eyebrows lift. “Training?”
He grins again. “Yeah. Like PT. I’ll get one of the guys on it, okay? Call me and let me know after you’ve thought about it over the long weekend. And then we’ll talk if you agree.”
I stand, a strange sense of excitement fluttering in my belly. “Okay, Dad. I’ll call you after the weekend.”
He pulls me into another awkward hug. “I love you, honey. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
I drive home in a daze. My father has his flaws, but inviting me into the professional fold was a big move for him, and it spoke volumes. Could I turn something like that down? Because it’s not just a job.
It’s an opportunity.
I’m so preoccupied that when I let myself into my apartment I realize I haven’t even looked at my phone since before my meeting. I flip it out of my purse and check the screen.
Missed call
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