Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“How bad is it?” I asked, leaning back in the leather chair that had never felt comfortable, no matter how many hours I’d spent working in it.
Raquel’s shoulders sagged a few inches. “The servo actuators failed stress testing. Again. We’re looking at another six months of development, minimum, and that’s if we can solve the head dissipation issues.” She paused, then added quietly, “The board meeting is tomorrow.”
We were rapidly approaching the board meeting, where I’d have to stand before seasoned executives and explain why we were behind schedule and over budget on our flagship project. I’d encounter the disappointment in their eyes and the longing for my father to return to his seat on the throne of our family’s legacy. I was the placeholder who couldn’t fill the shoes I’d never wanted to wear.
“The investors?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“Morrison is threatening to pull funding if we don’t hit the next milestone.” Raquel leaned forward, her voice taking on the same encouraging tone I’d heard from my lacrosse coach when I struggled in a game. “Ryder, this is just a setback. Every major innovation faces obstacles such as these. It was no different for your father. He—”
“My father would have had this solved months ago.” The words came out flat, matter-of-factly. Not bitter, just tired. So damn tired. “He would have seen the heat issue coming during the design phase. He would have anticipated the servo problems.”
“You’re not your father.”
No, I’m not. The thought should have been liberating. I’d never strived to become a clone of the man. Instead, it felt like another weight on my shoulders. I wasn’t my father, and I wasn’t on my way to becoming the teacher I’d planned to be. I was suspended in this corporate purgatory, failing at a job I’d never wanted while my dreams gathered dust and my boyfriend spent his nights alone, resenting me.
My phone buzzed against the desk, and my heart leaped into my throat. Alex. I glanced down to see Corvin’s name flashing across the screen for the second time today. I’d avoided his first call, remembering the pain in Alex’s voice when I’d mentioned dining with my friend last night. Corvin’s interest in me had always been a minor annoyance for Alex, but never a threat to our relationship. After last night, I worried I couldn’t have the two in the same room without Alex’s glare cutting Corvin down. I had zero interest in Corvin beyond anything but friendship. Sure, we’d hooked up a few unmemorable times, but that was five years ago, and nothing I’d pined for once it ended. Still, knowing I’d had dinner with a man who didn’t hide his interest in me when I was supposed to be with my boyfriend had to sting like a swarm of bees. Fuck, it had to cut like the sharpest knife. Putting myself in his shoes, I’d be murderous. We both knew I was the possessive caveman in the relationship.
I let the call go to voicemail.
“Ryder?” Raquel’s voice seemed to come from another room. “Are you all right?”
I blinked. I’d been staring at the phone for too long. “Sorry. Yes. The prototype.” I tried to summon some executive presence, some echo of the confidence and authority my father always wore like an expensive cologne. “What’s our next move?”
She outlined the technical solutions, the revised timeline, and the budget implications. I nodded at appropriate intervals, made notes I’d probably never reference again, and asked questions that felt hollow on my tongue. Through it all, a voice in the back of my head whispered the same mantra that had been growing louder each day.
This isn’t your life. This was never supposed to be your life.
Today I added an extra line.
You’re ruining your relationship with Alex.
When Raquel left, taking her disappointing data and placating smiles with her, I sat alone again with the weight of other people’s expectations. The prototype failure wasn’t really about servo actuators or head dissipation. It was about me and my inability to be the leader this company needed, the son my mother wanted, the man my father had tried to mold.
I dragged my laptop closer and started typing the email I’d been putting off for weeks. The one to my graduate program coordinator, explaining why I needed to defer my enrollment for yet another trimester. Each click of the keyboard felt like another shovel of dirt burying a piece of who I was supposed to be.
My assistant, Donna, knocked as I completed the email, reminding me of a quality assurance meeting on another project. The rest of my day passed in a haze of meetings, paperwork, and guilt. I tried to keep my crumbling personal life out of my mind so I could concentrate on the work before me, but I also failed at that. Even though we had busy and often conflicting agendas, Alex and I never failed to text throughout the day. Sometimes our communication consisted of nothing more than a quick check-in. Sometimes they were playful and flirty or sweet and emotional, and then there were the sexy texts. Filthy comments meant to drive each other crazy until our schedules lined up and we could act on all those dirty promises. And, boy, did we. Fire had nothing on the heat we created between the sheets.