Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
To have to grapple with the layers of my despair while directly in front of him.
The test results would be in any day now anyway. I nodded. “I’m glad you two stuck it out.”
His forehead creased. “Is there a reason you’re asking me that, son?”
I shrugged. “I guess I’m feeling like there might be a lot I never asked about.” I gave him a small smile. “I’m moving away and—”
“Gage, your mother and I are a phone call away.”
“I know.” I paused, more questions flowing to the tip of my tongue. Did you ever doubt your path? Did you sometimes feel like you were on autopilot, rather than really enjoying the journey? When Mom came along, did she soothe that feeling? Or did her presence in your life create more questions? Before I could figure out a way to ask any of that, though, my dad continued.
“Speaking of moving, though, things are going to be a whirlwind over the next week or so, so while I have you for a minute, I wanted to say something.”
I gave a nod. “What is it, Dad?”
“I just wanted to convey my gratitude and my deep respect. Everything I’ve worked for, since I was a young man, will coalesce as you cut that opening day ribbon in London. My son, my pride and joy, at the helm as the business I built with my own blood, sweat, and tears becomes an international success.” He cleared his throat, obviously holding back tears. “It’s everything I dreamed of, through hungry nights, and setbacks, and scraping and scrounging. Because of you, my ultimate dream won’t only be realized, it will endure through future generations.”
I smiled, feeling moisture burning at the backs of my own eyes. “Thanks, Dad. Thanks for trusting me.”
“Always.” He smiled, obviously shaking off the emotion. “And by the way, I hope you’re still giving serious consideration to taking Blakely with you to London. She has some wonderful ideas about stirring up the ultimate online excitement surrounding the hotel opening. And, Gage, the only thing that could make that ribbon-cutting moment any sweeter, is if my son is standing next to my best friend’s daughter. What a powerful match that would be.”
“Dad, I told you—”
“I know, it’s only a possibility. The choice is yours.” He winked. “But a dad can dream.” He stood and glanced at his watch. “We’ve got that board meeting in ten minutes. Ready?”
“Uh, yeah. I’ve got one more thing to wrap up and then I’ll be there.”
My father gave me a quick nod, turned and left my office. I sat tapping my pen for a few minutes. My pride and joy. I felt this internal ticking that seemed to be racing the clock on the wall of my office.
It’s all about timing. Too early, half-cooked, too late, tough and charred. You have a gift, but to be a master, you must master timing.
Chef LaCourt. Again, his voice in my head.
The thing was, I had mastered timing. In all ways. I’d taken his lessons and I’d applied them to so many things. Perhaps even more than the lessons my own father had taught me. And the guilt I felt about that…
God, I couldn’t catch my breath suddenly. I stood, going to the mini bar in my office, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and downing half of it one swig. I needed to keep my father’s words in my mind and instead, that soft lilting French accent kept interrupting my thoughts. I’d shut it down for a long time, but now it was back and louder than ever.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, returning to my desk where I suddenly found my cell phone in my hand. I didn’t let myself think before I punched in Rory’s number.
“Ivy League.”
“Cakes.” My lungs expanded with air.
“How are you?” I could hear the smile in her voice too and energy infused my body so that it felt like I’d just come alive after days of being partially dead. This woman didn’t exactly soothe me—the opposite, perhaps—but God, I craved the way she made me feel.
“I’m good. No luck in the treasure hunt you went on with Faith, I assume?”
She sighed. “No luck. I’m afraid I’ve exhausted every antique shop and vintage store in the area and just…nothing.”
“Ah, but you still have two more attics to explore, and the contents of said attics belong to men whose initials match those of the artist.”
“I know but they still haven’t called Faith. She’s left them several messages, but she hasn’t even had a chance to tell them what she’s calling about.”
“Okay, we’re changing tactics. If they do call her back, tell her not to mention you because I have a better idea for getting inside one of their homes.”
She was silent for a beat. “Breaking and entering is illegal, in case you weren’t aware.”