25. Isaac
CHAPTER 25
ISAAC
T he air in my office feels too thick. My heartbeat throbs in my ears, a pained drumming that underscores the tension coiling in my stomach. Baxter paces restlessly, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor with each frantic lap he makes around the room.
“Easy, boy,” I say. But my voice lacks conviction. I’m anything but easy.
Baxter doesn’t understand the stakes of today, how this meeting could change everything for this quarter. If only Carol were here, she’d take him out, let him burn off that energy that’s got him acting like a furry tornado.
I glance at my phone, drafting a text with thumbs that feel too big. Carol, Baxter’s in my office. Could you please walk him when you get back?
I stand, my movements stiff and robotic as I leave Baxter behind and head to the boardroom. The door looms before me, and I’m shocked to discover that I’m more nervous than I thought I would be. This is my company; soon I will sign the documents that make me the official — not just acting — CEO, and yet here I am, feeling like a schoolkid.
It’s not like these clients can make or break the company, but they can certainly make things uncomfortable if they decide to pull. I shake my head to clear the thoughts of doom and gloom, trying to focus on the opportunity instead of the danger. I’ve led countless meetings like this in the past, but never with stakes as high as this. I suppose that when you’re playing for keeps, every move feels crucial, even when it isn’t.
As I step into the boardroom, I feel their eyes on me. Watching me. Judging me.
They’re already seated — suits and ties, leather briefcases, an air of importance that chokes me. Their eyes turn toward me, expectant, assessing. Do they see the cracks in my armor, the doubt that gnaws at my insides?
“Good morning,” I say, but it comes out hoarse, as if I’ve forgotten how to speak.
There’s a chorus of greetings in return, a chorus of politeness that masks the scrutiny happening beneath the surface.
I sit, papers shuffled in front of me, figures and projections that should make sense but now swim before my eyes. It’s all there, the result of sleepless nights and relentless work, but somehow, it feels like sand slipping through my fingers.
“Let’s begin,” I say, but my voice sounds foreign to my own ears.
I start talking, laying out the plans, the numbers, the benefits of choosing us for this massive deal. Yet, every word feels laborious, like speaking underwater. They nod, they jot down notes, but I can’t read their expressions. Are they impressed or simply polite?
I stumble over a figure, correct myself with a flush creeping up my neck. They don’t comment, but I see it — the brief flicker of doubt in their eyes.
“Apologies,” I say, clearing my throat. “Long night.”
“Understandable,” one replies with a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
We continue, the dance of negotiation persisting, yet I feel two steps behind the rhythm. With each passing minute, the burden of expectation grows heavier, pressing down until I fear I might crumble beneath it.
“Any questions?” I ask finally, my voice a plea for this to be over, for them to see beyond my faltering and recognize the potential of what I’m offering.
They exchange glances, murmurs pass between them, and I’m left to the mercy of their judgment. I’ve laid out my hand, played my cards; now it’s up to them to call or fold.
“Thank you.” The head of the team stands and shakes my hand. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you,” I echo, my heart sinking like a stone in deep water.
I rise, legs unsteady, a veneer of calm plastered on my face, while inside I’m a tempest of doubt and recrimination. I shake their hands, the touch brief and impersonal, and watch them leave the room that now feels cavernous and empty.
As the door closes behind them, I lean against the conference table, the cool wood a sharp contrast to embarrassment burning my cheeks. How did I let myself get so distracted? Emily, Baxter — they’ve become my world, but at what cost?
I need to regroup, to find my footing again. Sighing heavily, I head back to my office, checking my phone on the way there to see if Carol ever responded to my text.
But she didn’t… which is odd for her.
Unlocking the phone, I discover that, while I typed the text, I neglected to send it. The mistake is enough to make me want to slap my forehead.
I pick up the pace, knowing that Baxter likely needs a potty break. Carol’s desk is empty, meaning she’s probably still out running the office errands.
“I’m coming, Bax…” The rest of his name dies before it takes shape, and I stop walking.
My office door is open.
“Baxter?” The name falls from my lips, a whisper of hope against the dread blooming in my chest.
I push the door open, finding what I feared. My office is empty. The dog isn’t in here.
My heart slams against the inside of my chest. Not only did I neglect to send Carol the text; I also forgot to close my office door when I left. What the hell is wrong with me?
The cushion on his bed is indented, a ghost of his presence. His toys are scattered, a chaotic testimony to the energy that once filled this space. But Baxter is not here.
“Isaac.” The voice startles me, and I spin around to find Yasmin, one of my employees, standing in the doorway, her face pale and eyes wide with concern. “It’s Baxter. He?—”
Dread coils tight within me. “What? What happened?”
“He got out,” she says. “The front door… The doorman tried but… Baxter slipped away.”
“Slipped away?” I repeat, the reality of the situation crashing down on me. “He’s loose in the city?”
Yasmin nods, her expression mirroring the panic that’s starting to claw its way up my throat. “We’ve got people out looking for him now, but…”
But the city is vast, and Baxter is small in comparison. A wave of frustration washes over me. This was my responsibility. My father entrusted me with caring for Baxter as a test — a test I have clearly failed.
“Thanks, Yasmin,” I manage to say, though my voice sounds distant even to my own ears. “I’ll join the search.”
She steps aside as I stride past her, each step fueled by a growing sense of urgency. I can’t lose Baxter. Not because of what my father would think of me, but because at this point losing Baxter would mean losing a piece of myself.
Out on the street, the city looms large around me. The cacophony of blaring horns and chattering pedestrians is dissonant, and for the first time I imagine how scary it must all be for a lost dog. I scan the crowds, searching for a flash of Baxter’s golden fur among the sea of faces and legs.
“Where are you, boy?” I murmur, though Baxter cannot hear me. I feel adrift in this metropolis, so full of life and yet so devoid of the one life that matters most to me right now.
“Sir!” One of our security guards jogs toward me, breathless. “Any luck?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
“We’ll find him, sir,” the guard assures me. “I’m so sorry. I tried to stop him, but he slipped right past me. He’s fast.”
“It’s all right. It’s not your fault. Anyway, he can’t have gone far.”
But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. Baxter is curious, adventurous. The city is an endless labyrinth of sights and smells for a dog like him. He could be anywhere.
I walk on, my eyes never ceasing their search. Every honk, every shout sends a jolt of fear through me. Is it Baxter? Has someone found him? Or worse — has something happened to him?
“Please,” I pray to no one in particular, “let him be safe.”
“Isaac!”
I turn at the sound of my name, my heart leaping in my chest. It’s Carol, finally back from her errands, her face flushed from running.
“Carol, thank God,” I breathe out. “Have you?—”
“No,” she cuts me off, her voice tight. “I just heard. I’m so sorry, Isaac.”
“It’s not your fault,” I tell her, though part of me wants to blame someone, anyone, other than myself.
“Let’s go in opposite directions and circle back around,” she suggests. “We can cover more ground that way.”
“Good idea,” I agree, though I feel anything but good. We part ways, and I’m alone again in my search for Baxter.
As I search, asking people if they’ve seen a golden retriever anywhere, I think about how different things could have been if I’d only paid attention, if I hadn’t let the distractions of business and romance overshadow the simple task of caring for my dog. My father’s words echo in my mind, a reminder that responsibility is about more than just showing up — it’s about being present, being mindful.
“Please,” I say again, my voice breaking with the strain of holding back emotions that threaten to consume me. “Come home, Baxter.”
I should’ve been better. My father entrusted me with one simple task — to care for Baxter — and I couldn’t even manage that. The weight of his disappointment feels heavier than ever, even with him not here.
I’ve done it. I failed the test, just after starting to think I had aced it. There’s no coming back from this, I know. This will be the nail in the coffin both for my job and my self-worth.
And all because of a dog.