Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Dad holds his hands up in a calming gesture despite his clear frustration. “You misunderstood me, Carson. I merely meant that the video makes it seem that way. Even now, I know you well enough to recognize you’re trying to stay calm, but every vibe emanating from you says fuck off, asshole. You’ve got a severe case of resting asshole face.”
His laugh is hollow and does nothing to relieve the sting of his words.
But maybe he has a point. He’s able to see past my outer defenses better than most, and I do have a chip on my shoulder where he’s concerned. Especially about Americana Land. I work my ass off for him, for this place, with the weight of the future resting on my shoulders. I want it, I want to do a good job, and I’ll admit, I want to make him proud.
Somehow, it’s never enough.
“Jayme’s helping to fix me too, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s got me on a short leash, playing the part of the sweet little lap dog you want.” The fact that he expects that of me is laughable considering he doesn’t even meet that bar. Nor would a meek Shih Tzu type be a good leader for Americana Land.
“That’s not what I want and you know it!” Dad growls.
At least I know where I get my passion . . . and righteous anger. “What do you want, then?”
Dad takes a heavy breath, and I watch exhaustion wash over his expression. “Carson, I don’t . . .”
I’m not sure what he was going to say because he resorts to simply shaking his head in disappointment.
I’m done. Not with fixing things, because I always handle my shit, but this conversation is over.
I get up, looming over Dad for a split second until he rises too. Eyes locked, we stand with only the desk between us, but the truth is, there’s so much more keeping us apart.
“Jayme and I will continue working to repair the damage I’ve apparently done to our brand and myself,” I proclaim with all the finality I can muster.
He only hears one thing. “Jayme? You mean Miss Rice?” He tilts his head in warning, and I realize that I’ve played more cards than I intended.
It’s not that I called Jayme by her first name. That’s usual for our family-themed company despite the mess of our own family. But something in my tone must’ve shown that I’m not thinking merely professional thoughts about Jayme. Either that, or Dad is particularly in tune to workplace romance.
Bitterly, I wonder if it’s the latter.
“I’ve got it under control,” I bite out, spinning on my heel and striding toward the door.
“Carson,” Dad calls out. I ignore him and Boston’s questioning look as I pass by him.
Back in my office, I flop into my chair. I wanted to fill Dad in on the progress I’d made and maybe make him proud. Instead, we both got our hackles up, something that happens too often.
My gut instinct is to call Jayme and see what she’s doing, but she said she was busy and I want to respect that she’s putting out someone else’s fire today. I also don’t want her to think I can’t manage a simple project implementation, something I’ve done hundreds of times with zero issues. It’s not that, anyway. It’s my dad. And Jayme doesn’t need to play therapist to my family drama.
But with my phone in hand, there is someone else I need to check in with.
I push a few buttons and wait as it rings.
Toni answers. “It’s about time, butt-munch.”
“Butt. Munch? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ask, fighting a laugh.
Calling Toni was the right move to make. She always makes me feel better, no matter what’s going on. Even that first day of viral mess, when she called me and I tried to get off the phone to deal with everything, she’d somehow brought a hint of sanity to my craziness. I was refreshing my web browser and shouting, ‘no, no, no’, and she was giving me shit over not knowing who Abby Burks was because I’m such an old boomer. It could’ve been a case of kicking me when I was down, but it wasn’t. It was Toni showing me that in the darkest moment, there was humor to be found . . . if you know where to look. She does, and she’ll show you if you’re unsure.
Her teeth snap together on the other end of the line. Clack-clack-clack. “Eating ass. It’s all the rage, man. You should try it or your Yelp reviews are going to tank.”
“There’s a lot to address there. Let’s start with, I don’t have Yelp reviews. I’m not some hot new restaurant in town. And I’m not talking about butt stuff with you.”