Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82094 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
She opens the door and leaves.
“One week,” I call out and sigh as I lean up against the wall, smitten by my future wife.
Chapter 4
Brice
The limo parks in the executive spot outside of the Rowe Oil headquarters on the outskirts of Dallas. Grandpa stares at the window in his business attire, his crisp black suit, his perfect white shirt, his blood-red tie. He says nothing for a long moment and I begin to squirm in my seat.
I didn’t know it was bring-your-granddaughter-to-work day at the oil company but apparently Grandpa couldn’t leave me behind. Louisa wakes me up early and I take a fast shower, hurrying to get ready in time to leave. I have to practically run out to the front driveway to get into the limo before they pull out, and Grandpa barely says a word to me on the drive over. I can tell he isn’t happy that I “slept in.”
The sun’s peeking out from behind the buildings and it’s still practically nighttime. We park out front, and employees stream into the building all around us, dozens of them, so many people with all their different lives, all dependent on the company. I can’t believe these people are here so early, but that’s Rowe Oil: it demands a lot of its workforce.
Finally, Grandpa turns to me. “With your father gone, I want you to get a feel for what it’s like to work at Rowe today.”
I blink a few times in surprise and clear my throat. “Uh, Grandpa, I have another job, you know.”
“Yes, I’m aware of your job.” I can practically hear the square quotes around that last word. “I’m not hiring you. I’m asking you to understand the precarious position we’re in.”
“What will I be doing?” My stomach is a twisted mess. I worked hard to avoid this exact scenario—coming to work at Rowe Oil like everyone else in my family. I wanted a life and suddenly I feel like all my hard-won independence is crashing down around me.
“I haven’t decided. You’ll shadow me for now. Come along.” Grandpa pushes open the door and steps out.
I hurry to follow. He walks slowly, with a limp, leaning on a simple black cane. I offer him my arm and he takes it with a soft smile, but there’s something sharp behind his eyes.
“Since when did you use that, Grandpa?” I nod at the cane.
He grunts. “Since my arthritis began acting up. I’m sure you’ve forgotten, but I’m eighty years old.”
“I saw you three weeks ago and you weren’t using it then.”
“I was dealing with the pain better. As it turns out, arthritis is exacerbated by stress.”
I chew on my cheek and don’t have an answer to that.
We brush through security. As soon as Grandpa steps off the elevator on the top floor, he’s inundated with people: secretaries, managers, lawyers, accountants. All of them want something from him, from signatures to advice to direction, and Grandpa waves them all off. He listens to their questions and their suggestions, but he gives them nothing in return, and he closes the door to his office when we arrive.
His office. My father’s office. I stand near the windows as Grandpa gets settled behind the desk. Photos of me growing up are scattered along the shelves next to the old books my father liked to collect. There are other touches from him: trophies, an old fishing rod, a ship in a bottle. Little touches to make it clear that this room was my father’s once, and it all only underscores his absence and makes it that much louder.
“Brice, come sit down.”
I hesitate, but walk over and take the chair opposite my grandpa. It’s much more comfortable than the one in the study. “Can I ask you something?”
He narrows his eyes. “Yes, you can.”
“Why did we come in so early?”
Another pause, like he’s considering me. Finally, he says, “Because I wanted you to see the parking lot.”
I look away, toward the window. That’s what I thought. All those people. Grandpa wanted me to see the parking lot, and all the cars, and all the employees, and all the lives that will be affected by the decision I have to make. Apparently, after my conversation with Carmine, things didn’t go well between him and my grandpa. They didn’t argue—Grandpa has too much tact to actually argue with someone—but Carmine made it clear that he was disappointed in how things were going, and gave him the same timeline I was given.
One week to decide.
“That’s not really subtle, you know. Is that why you brought me here too?”
“I would never do something like that.” His lips press together in a smile as I turn back to him. “All I want is for you to think about them.”
“Think about them and marry Carmine, you mean.”
“Yes, that would be ideal.”