Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“I’m sure they’ll be happy to give you time off.”
I shook my head, even though he couldn’t see me. “It’s not that kind of job.”
I could hear his frown through the phone. “What kind of job is it?”
“I’m a cowhand,” I said proudly. “On a ranch.”
There was another long pause. Then a snort. “A cowhand? This another of your larks?”
His tone of voice caused me to deflate a little. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting from him. Perhaps respect. Interest. Support. Or, at the very least, acknowledgment that I had a job and wasn’t a lazy layabout like he thought.
“You’re the one who said I needed to get a job and that you wouldn’t help,” I pointed out a little too defensively. “So I did.”
“Jesus, Richard. As a cowboy? Leave it to you to make a point in the extreme.” He let out a sigh. “If it’s money you want, fine. You’ll be back on the payroll at the VP level—same as before.”
“I’m not coming back to work for you.” I hoped I sounded more sure than I felt.
He took a breath and let it out. “Fine. I can see we’re in the punishment phase of negotiations. I’ll cut you in on this deal if you pull it off. Two percent. That should net you at least a million.”
I lost my breath at how casually he said it: a million. Dollars. And sure, perhaps I’d been casual about that kind of money once too. But after being broke for several months and then working my ass off for two weeks shoveling shit, I had a much better appreciation for money.
And what my father was offering was a shit ton of money for very little work. In fact, I’d probably make more money going up to Jackson Hole for this one deal than I’d make in a hundred years working at the Silver Fork.
All I had to do was turn the truck around and set my navigation app for Jackson Hole.
All I had to do was walk away from Boone and the ranch. Let down the one man I couldn’t imagine ever letting down.
The answer was easy. “I’m sorry, Dad. I can’t.”
“Fine,” he huffed. “Five percent.”
I ran a hand down my face. It wasn’t like I was integral to the day-to-day workings of the ranch. I was sure if I asked Boone for a few days off, he’d let me go. Probably without even asking why.
But I also knew it wouldn’t just be this one deal. It wouldn’t stop. My father would expect me to keep working for him. He would snap his fingers and expect that I would drop everything to do his bidding. I’d cease to be my own person again, and I’d find myself slipping back into that old world, living a life I hated.
That was the entire reason I’d quit working for him in the first place.
“It’s not about the money, Dad. I have a job. I made a commitment. I would think that you of all people would recognize how important that is.”
He snorted. “I would think you would understand how important family is.” His voice was ice. He wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted, especially from me. “But I guess you just don’t give a shit, do you?”
“Dad,” I protested. His words were cruel and unfair. “I do give a shit. I’m respecting my commitments. Something you’ve been trying to teach me my whole life.”
“What about your commitment to this family?”
“Closing a business deal isn’t the same thing as respecting our family.” I expected us to talk about it, for him to come around and see things my way, maybe even recognize that I was finally following through on something without following the next shiny thing on the horizon.
But he didn’t.
“Goodbye, Richard.” He ended the call without waiting for a response.
I sat in the truck, staring at the blank screen of my phone. Tears burned the back of my throat. All the joy I’d felt earlier in the day, all the pride at my first paycheck, was gone. I felt like a kid again. One who could do nothing right.
It wasn’t fair. I was doing everything right—everything my father had wanted. I had a job, I was working hard, I was making it on my own.
And it still wasn’t enough.
I was never going to be enough for my father.
Suddenly, my earlier plans of trying to convince Boone to do unspeakable things with the cherry pie I’d picked up seemed childish and unappetizing. I wasn’t in the mood to be around people right now, so I took my packages and retreated to my old room in the bunkhouse.
Alone, I found myself resorting to old habits. Growing up, whenever I’d been upset, I’d retreated into fashion. I’d lost myself in designing or creating a new outfit, channeling my feelings into something I could put on to make myself feel beautiful and accomplished.