Seb #2
Monica’s glare warned me not to push my father past his limits because she’d be the one having to deal with the aftermath the rest of the day.
She went back to the email she had been feigning to compose as a dismissal.
Straightening my cuffs, I moved down the hall and prepared for what was ahead; the doors were already slightly ajar.
That was never a good sign. He only left them open when he wanted to make a point—today’s probably being that I was late and made him wait.
“Sebastian,” he said, not looking up from his computer. “Come in.”
His office’s walls were a mix of dark oak, navy leather, and cold functionality.
A fortress of masculinity. The corner chair, where my father made me sit and watch him yell at his staff when I was younger, remained the same as when I was a kid.
I preferred playing with my trains, but that didn’t matter to him at the time.
“You’re late,” he added. It was his favorite line for me.
“I wasn’t aware we had a set time.”
“I asked you to stop by this morning. It’s now past noon.” He finally looked up, jaw taut, silver watch catching the light as he folded his hands together. “This attitude of yours, this flippancy—it’s lost its charm. You’re supposed to be a man now, but you’re still acting like a boy.”
I bit back a sigh and sank into the chair across from him. “What’s this about?”
He eyed me for a beat too long. “Let’s not pretend, Sebastian. You’ve been playing at this job for long enough. You come in when it suits you. You cherry-pick deals like you’re assembling a dating roster. This isn’t a game.”
“No, it’s a multi-billion-dollar company,” I said, tone drier than I intended as I recited the words my father said to me far too often. “And I’m still bringing in clients. Still making money.”
“For now,” he said sharply. “But that won’t matter if people believe you’re just another rich boy wasting time until Daddy hands him the throne.”
I bristled. “I’ve earned my place here.”
He stood then, slowly, like he wanted the act of rising to feel like a warning. “I’m getting really sick of your shit. If you don’t start getting it together, I’ll find someone else to take your seat. Even if that person is outside this family.”
The intensity of his gaze was searing as I stared at him. “You’d really cut me out?”
Not a single muscle on his face moved. “Do you think sentimentality built this company? You wouldn’t just lose your spot here. You’d lose the penthouse, the cars, the trust fund. Everything.”
For a few seconds, I couldn’t speak. Although my father had voiced his disapproval on several occasions, the threat of total estrangement was new.
Did I like to indulge in the bachelor lifestyle? Yes.
Was that a crime? It shouldn’t be.
The occasional drink and the company of a beautiful woman were tempting, but my future ambitions were more important.
Contrary to popular belief, I envisioned a bright future for Whittaker Holdings.
I knew I had the potential to grow the business beyond luxury goods.
But I wouldn’t be able to make that happen if I was ousted before I ever got to take the reins.
I stood slowly, letting the chair scrape against the floor just loud enough to make a point. “So that’s it. My loyalty comes with an expiration date.”
“It comes with expectations,” he corrected, smoothing the crease in his cuff like he hadn’t just threatened to disown me. “You’ve coasted long enough. Show me you care about this company. Or I make good on my promise.”
A long pause settled between us. One of those rare moments when I could almost hear the words he wasn’t saying about legacy, and image, and how I’d never be enough unless I played the part he wrote for me.
The man wasn’t capable of love in the traditional sense.
He’d proved that with the endless rotation of mistresses he’d betrayed my mother with.
Making demands was as close to affection as he’d ever offered.
I gave him a tight smile. “Your wish is my command.”
He didn’t laugh.
I walked out without another word.
Outside, Monica raised an eyebrow as I passed. “Did you survive?”
I didn’t break stride. “Define survive.”
“Still breathing. Still irritatingly smug. Still … hot.” She ticked off each item on her fingers and said the last one under her breath so my father wouldn’t hear.
I knew she was expecting me to ask her out for drinks, but I just threw her a half-hearted wink and kept walking, slipping into the elevator as the doors slid shut. Alone inside the steel box, I braced my hands on the railing and closed my eyes.
The truth was, I hadn’t been coasting. Not really. I’d been circling. Orbiting the things I couldn’t fix. My father. My career. My love life. And now, Roxie.
Her silence was stretching longer than I’d expected. I was starting to worry that she’d never respond. I couldn’t decide if I should be offended or infuriated.
Maybe both.
The elevator chimed. I stepped out, making a break for the ornate doors of the Whittaker Holdings building, the city noise just on the other side waiting to envelop me.
Friday couldn’t get here fast enough. I wanted out of this city as quickly as possible. Even if I was walking into a battlefield. Because sparring with Roxie sounded far better than going ten rounds with my father.
So, for better or worse, I was willingly walking straight into the line of fire.