CHAPTER TWELVE
Ellery
“You what?” Joshua stares at me with eyes wide and expression horrified.
But my focus is on my stepfather, Garland Haywood. He sits before me with his shock of gray hair going every which way as per usual and his dark brown eyes locked on mine. There’s the slightest lift to one of his eyebrows as his lips purse.
“Starting when?” he asks in that gravelly baritone of his that used to strike fear in me as a teenager. Now it just sounds pathetic.
“A few weeks. We’re finalizing the details and schedules now. I’ll know more in the next week or so.”
He nods as a muscle pulses in his jaw. “And you’ve been using company time to do this? To meet with them and plan things?”
“No. Not at all,” I lie. It’s amazing. They don’t want me around “in their way” most days, but when I’m possibly doing something other than fetching coffee, taking calls, and filing, suddenly, where I am and what I’m doing matters. “It’s been in my free time at night.”
“And you didn’t use any company funds for the purchase of this whatever it is?”
“None.” Like he wouldn’t know if I took millions from the company. Give me a break.
“Ballsy,” he murmurs but doesn’t say anything else. His words have me standing a little taller. Garland Haywood’s words of praise are few and far between. Ballsy is the most I’ve gotten in years.
I’ll take it.
I remain standing, refusing to sit and be at eye level with them.
I’ve rehearsed this entire scenario in my head over and over.
What I’d say. How I’d say it. What might be said to me.
And the trump card I know I’ll have to pull at some point to secure my position here at Haywood while I’m away doing my own thing at the White Sands Inn.
I’m just curious how long it will take before I have to show my hand.
“She can’t do this,” Joshua says. “She can’t leave for months on end for this project that has nothing to do with Haywood. It’s dereliction of duty, Dad. It’s grounds for her to forfeit her stake in—”
That didn’t take long.
“Beg, borrow, or steal to get on Sharpe’s preferred contractors’ list?
How Haywood would be set with work for life?
Those were your words, right, Joshua?” He blanches at my question, clearly still pissed about Ford’s snub.
“Or is it only okay if you secure work with S.I.N.? Because from my perspective, my partnership with them could be a win-win for all of us.”
I play my card and hold my breath as Joshua sits there looking like a guppy, his eyes flitting back and forth between Garland and me.
Asking for a leave of absence was always going to be an issue.
I knew Joshua or Gregory would attempt to use it as validation as to why I should no longer be a part of Haywood.
With me gone and with Garland soon retiring, it would allow each of them to have a fifty-fifty stake in the company versus one of them holding a greater majority.
I wouldn’t put it past them to undercut each other either.
When I wondered how to play it, Joshua’s words kept coming back to me.
His desire to be on S.I.N.’s elite and exclusive contractors’ list. I have absolutely no intention of propositioning Ford or his brothers to give Haywood Redesigns work.
None whatsoever. But that doesn’t mean I won’t use the suggestion of it to my advantage.
That I get to leave and remodel the inn while keeping my place here at Haywood.
It gives me options should this project crash and burn, and every good businessperson likes to make sure they have a Plan B.
“Those were your words, right?” I repeat. “What does it hurt to let me show the Sharpes the kind of work we can do? To sell them on Haywood while I do it? Dad?” I turn the conversation to him. He’s the one who makes the final decision, we all know that.
“I’m not happy about this, Ellery. You’re valued here at the company.”
I snort. To do what? Get coffee? Have my ideas and work ripped off by your sons?
But I don’t voice my thoughts nor do I back down from his scrutinous stare.
“I trust your judgment on this, Ellery.” Ford points to the proposal I suggested with the schematic I think will best fit the inn. A vibe that is completely opposite of the one he prefers. “If you think this is the way to go, then this is the way we go.”
“Just like that?” I glance around, expecting to see someone else in the conference room he’s putting on a show for. I typically have to fight for my opinions to be valued. But when I look back at him, there is no hint of uncertainty in his expression.
“Yeah. Just like that. Quit feeling the need to prove yourself to me.” His grin disarms me. “I mean, you said Chex Mix was better without the pretzels. Guess what? I tried it and you’re right. It is.”
“And that’s your basis for trusting me?” I laugh. Pretzels?
“It was a good start.” He taps his finger on the proposal. “But this is why I trust you. You have a good eye for what will work. You have an understated knowledge of why it will work. Why should I question you when you clearly know what you’re doing?”
I just stand there with my hands on my hips and my head shaking, not used to someone having such unequivocal confidence in me.
“But that trust goes both ways, Sinclair.” He winks. “When it comes to things I specialize in, you’re going to have to trust me too.”
“Like what?”
“Like what type of pizza we’re ordering for our working dinner, because I’m frickin’ starving.”
I’m valued at Haywood? That’s the last thing I feel. And that exchange with Ford last night proved what real professional confidence feels like.
It was such a little show by Ford, but it meant so very much to me.
And to hear Garland say I’m valued here at the company without ever giving me one ounce of respect Ford gave me last night only reinforces why I need the freedom and blessing to take time off for this project.
“It’s nice to hear you value my input here,” I lie, and the smile that strains on my lips says as much, “but—”
“But I think you might have a point.” He pauses and jots something down on his pad of paper in front of him while I slowly exhale the breath I’m holding. “I can move one of the boys onto your Revlon project to take it off your hands.”
Ha. Case in fucking point.
“You already did that. After I did all the legwork and scheduling, you told me it was better suited for Gregory,” I say, my smile lacking amusement. “Remember?”
“Oh. Yes.” He nods and waves his hand back and forth. “It’s neither here nor there now, is it? Since you’ll be leaving now anyway.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Yes.”
I fight the urge to do a fist pump when I leave the conference room, but that doesn’t mean I’m not doing one in my head.