A Father's Bliss (A Holinight Novella)

2. Renee

For fifteen minutes I try to avoid the commotion my father is making in Marcus’s office. My eyes keep flashing back to the book reviews on the computer screen in front of me and I read the same line about Malachi Hughes before I actually process what I’m reading. Rockstar, golden retriever, black cat mechanic who fixes his bike. Looks like it’s the start of a four book series and already has plenty of praise.

I pull up the author’s socials and begin to draft an email to have Cindy, the next cog in the machine, to check out some books, when my phone rings, causing me to nearly jerk from my damn skin.

“I wasn’t sure at first, but now I just know they’re talking about you.” Troy’s voice prompts my hand to shoot out and pick up the receiver. Both of us are definitely not people anyone should ever trust on speakerphone.

My eyes move to Troy at the reception desk near the front and I tilt my head. “Why do you think that?”

He laughs and I can’t help but grin. “For one, they keep glancing at you every few seconds. Two, your dad looks like he’s thirty seconds away from either shitting himself or blowing a heart valve. And finally, and my personal favorite, three, Mr. Fine-bois has a smug little smirk on his face like he does when he gets something good. Like the cat who caught the canary. Only he’s a sexy cat. Is that a thing?”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from letting my smile expand. It’s been four years and Mr. Debois has only gotten finer, like a damn wine with age. “I’m not sure, but I feel like I need to contact PETA to report you. And also, my old man always looks like that when he’s talking to Marcus. You know they love to hate each other.”

“More like your dad loves hating him. Marcus never even looks slightly perturbed by your father’s shit.”

“Is it bad I think that’s hot?”

Me and Troy burst out laughing at the same time. Marcus is often our favorite topic of discussion when we find ourselves gossiping. Whether it’s about how our fingers accidentally grazed against one another when we reached for the same napkin at our work’s potluck, or when Troy caught him staring a little too long when I was Mrs. Clause for our Christmas party. The list goes on and on, and it’s mostly with his dirty musings or my impossible wishes. I’ve clearly got it bad, and Troy loves dousing my fictional flames in gasoline.

“Oh, oh shit! Dad incoming.”

“I gotta go. I’ll call you right back.” I start to move the receiver from my ear but stop short at Troy’s protests.

“Hell no! Girl, put me on speaker and I’ll mute my phone.”

I huff, watching my father shake his head as he crosses the office floor. “He’ll see the light.”

“Renee,” he whines and I roll my eyes, obliging him just for my own selfish needs of not wanting to remember every detail to regurgitate later.

“Mute. Now.” I hurry and hit the microphone button before tossing down the phone.

In the next second, my father fills the doorway as he enters before collapsing into one of the chairs in front of my desk. Like the entirety of my office, they were bought shortly after my hire. It’s oversized and plush, often my go-to spot to read on my breaks. Next to it is a duplicate that Troy’s ass is permanently ingrained in. The rest of the office was then redone to match the perfect chairs. The walls have been painted a soft white, a three piece bookshelves rest in one corner, vintage gold lamps supply the only light, and four varieties of pothos hang from the ceiling.

It’s cozy and calm, a direct reflection of what reading does to my system, and my father, looking nothing short of a pissed off radish, is the direct opposite.

“What’s wrong?” I try to keep my voice low and neutral even though I’m almost vibrating inside with curiosity. “You can’t be mad on Father’s Day. It’s bad for the blood pressure.”

He blows out a big breath before scrubbing his hands over his face. “What a Father’s Day gift this is. Jennie is officially on maternity leave and Numnuts over there needs a replacement.”

I give him my best stern look. “Numnuts” received his undergraduate at Yale, and his masters at Columbia. Though he went off the written path his parents had drafted for him by moving into publishing, he’s an incredibly intelligent man—yet another thing that makes him so fucking attractive.

“And he’d like for me to take on the role?”

In my current position, I discover smaller authors with voices that can’t quite reach the masses and bring them to the forefront. It’s been incredibly rewarding and I very much love my job. But I can also admit, it leaves me ignorant to some of the other elements of the publishing world, and by taking on the temporary position of an agent’s assistant, it could help me become more well-rounded. I’d actually be reading the manuscripts instead of finding people simply to pass them off to be read by someone else.

Plus, working with someone like Marcus who’s been on multiple sides of the industry would be a dream, and not just because of my little crush on him.

My father nods. “Yeah, but you’d also have to keep up with what you’re doing now. I don’t think it’s fair and told him he needs to hire someone else.”

“But why hire someone for only two months?” My hackles rise, the sudden desire to have this position coiling around me. “And I know Troy would be more than happy to help me with social media scouting.”

Troy fist bumps the air behind my father, but I ignore him.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what he said about a new hire.” He grunts. “But why you?”

My molars almost crack with the force. “Why not me?”

He shakes his head. “No, no. I’m not saying you wouldn’t be good at it. Hell, that’s the problem. You’d kick ass and have our little competition all jacked up. But after…Well, you know.”

Realization hits and a wave of annoyance washes through me. “Me and Harrison ended almost a month ago. Honestly, I could give two shits about him.”

That’s not completely true. There have been more than one occasion I’ve secretly hoped his pillow was hot, or he ruined his day by stubbing a pinky toe. But really, that’s nicer than what he deserves after being such an asshole. Then again, maybe he was my karma for only sleeping with him because I thought he was his father.

“Well, like father, like son, and two months of working for him might end just the same. Then I’d have to —”

“Old man.” I stand from my desk and move around to the unoccupied chair. I sink into Troy’s ass prints and place a hand over my father’s. More often than not, I become the calm to his storm and help him see through his clouded vision, but this time, the smallest part of me wonders if there’s any truth to his worries. But I quickly disregard it. “It’s temporary, and a great opportunity. Not to mention, I’ve known Mr. Debois for four years, so he’s not some random stranger. He’s nothing like his son.”

“You thin?—”

“Even so,” I politely cut him off. “I’m a grown woman. I can look after myself.”

His eyes shimmer how they always do when I mention being an adult. “But you’re my sweet little angel.”

My smile is gentle. “Your twenty-five year old angel.”

Though if Troy was off speaker he’d likely mention how my wings are more black than white. But what can I say, I’m a little bit of a dark romance girlie.

“You’re right.” He releases a reluctant sigh before nodding. “This will be great. I’m excited for you. Really.”

“Thank you.” My voice is soft as I stand, trying like hell not to look out of the glass and at the man I’m soon to be working much closer with. “Now, let’s get packed up. It’s almost five.”

My father agrees and stands, wrapping his arms around me in a bitter-sweet congratulatory hug. “Right. He-uh, he wants to see you before you leave to officially offer you the position and go over some details.”

Butterflies dripping with trepidation slosh through my stomach as he releases me. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I can go with you if—I know, I know. Grown woman. Okay. But make sure you think it through before taking it, okay? Promise your old man you’ll do that at least, huh?”

“Pinky.”

His lips thin in a tight smile before he pats me on my shoulder and turns to leave. I haven’t even gotten back to my chair or even processed anything before my door snaps shut and Troy is flopping over my still warm seat. “Oh. My. Fuck.”

A smile cracks. “Right?”

“You’re fucking taking it right?”

I hold up a hand, my nerves still tingling and my heart doing overtime in my chest. “It’s only temporary and I’d still have to manage my own load. I doubt we’ll even talk much.”

“I mean, I wasn’t banking on you talking much,” Troy says thoughtfully. “Then again, you might be noisy, I’m not sure.”

“Troy,” I hiss, my eyes finally flickering to Marcus’s office. He’s at his desk, his fingers moving over his keyboard with a fluid grace. His stare is so intense at the screen, I almost miss it—the quick almost indecipherable glance my way.

My core tightens as I turn back to my friend. He crosses his legs and leans over my desk. “Lie and say you can’t remember the thirty-five conversations we’ve had about the things you’d do, or let be done to you by that man.”

“That was before I dated his son,” I protest, picking up my reading glasses and shoving them on so I don’t forget them.

He waves a dismissive hand at me. “Like that blip of time matters.”

“Does it not?”

“For one, you only hooked up with him because, well, you know, and second, you only stayed because you didn’t want to make things awkward here.”

“Okay, but I did stay, and I liked him at first. You know, before. Not to mention Marcus—I mean Mr. Debois is my dad’s rival.”

Troy blows a raspberry. “If anything, sleeping with Harrison’s dad would be rightful revenge, and also, Marcus, doesn’t give two shits about that rivalry.”

I shake my head. “Wait, why are we acting like I’m about to fuck this man? I’m just taking the temp position of working with him. How did we go from zero to a hundred so fast?”

“Because that man stays here long after hours and I’m guessing there’s gonna be a night where you will as well.” He stands and walks to the other side of my desk. Turning my chair so I’m forced to face him, he adjusts my cardigan and fluffs my boobs a little.

I laugh and bat him away. “Stop.”

“Apply a fresh coat of mascara and gloss, and you’re good.”

“Troy.” I start but stop when I know it won’t do any good. “I’ll call you when I leave.”

“You fucking better.” He smiles and turns for the door. “I’m taking pops out for dinner tonight, but you know how agonizing that is, so I’ll definitely have my phone.”

“Yeah, I took my old man out for lunch because get this, he has a date.”

Troy winks. “Who do you think set up his account?”

“You didn’t.” I gasp, fakely scandalized by the news. While I love my father, he is an emotional mess. On Father’s Day particularly, he often goes on and on about still being a single dad, so finally Troy and I decided operation find-someone-to-date-my-dad needed to be in full effect. Hopefully, it goes well and he won’t call me later tonight after his second bottle of wine apologizing about how tough he raised me and how he’s worried I’ll never find “soft edges,” whatever the fuck that means. I roll my eyes every time.

When Troy leaves, I adjust my high waisted skirt, and run a hand through my waves while fighting the sudden nerves ricocheting down my limbs. It takes at least four deep breaths, a pep-talk about how there’s no reason to be nervous, and reapplying mascara and gloss twice before I pack my stuff and head to Mr. Debois’ office.