“Okay, that is objectively ridiculous,” he states. “A ten hour day is not a light day, Nikki. How many hours did you put in yesterday?”
“I’m not going to tell you,” I inform him, planting a hand on my hip. “Look, if you want me to be able to take a day off to spend with you each week, I have to log enough hours every other day to make up for it.”
“You do. You don’t need to work 80 hours a week. That’s ridiculous. Is it a money thing? I can help you out if it is. I make good money doing what I do.”
“No, it is not a money thing. I don’t need your money. I’ve come a long way from the girl who lived in a trailer park and couldn’t afford to buy the sweater she liked at the mall even though it was on sale. And you know what? I didn’t get here by taking time off, Derek. I got here by working my ass off. I’m building something, and that takes a lot of time and a lot of effort. You know that. You build things for a living.”
“Yes, I do—me and a whole crew of other people. If you have to log 80 hours a week to keep up with your workload, you need to hire another employee or reduce that workload. Period. You’re doing the work of at least two people. Cut it in half and you would have time for a life.”
“In half?” I can’t help laughing a little in disbelief. “I can’t cut my workload in half. And it would take more than one other person to handle half of my workload. I work tirelessly; normal people expect to have days off and work days that end before their head hits a pillow.”
His eyes widen, like I just proved his point for him. “Exactly. I love that you take pride in your work, I love that you’re building something you care about, but this is overboard, Nikki. Is it really worth it if you miss out on everything else to do it? Not to mention, you’ve gotta be so stressed out you’re ready to snap at the drop of a pin. You can’t even afford an emergency—one day off sets you back so far, you can’t catch up. This isn’t healthy. This is no way to live.”
“This isn’t helpful,” I tell him. “Can I go back to work now?”
“It is helpful. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you can’t afford to hire another employee.”
“It’s not that simple. Sure, I could technically afford to hire another person, but not another me. You have to find someone who knows what they’re doing already. My authors expect a certain level of know-how, that’s why they come to me in the first place. I may not be good at love or life, but I am good at this. I have an instinct for it. So many of these talented people write great books, but they don’t know how to get them in front of people. I know how to do that part. If I hire someone who doesn’t, my whole company suffers. It’s just easier to do it all myself, then I know it will get done right.”
“So, Louise doesn’t know what she’s doing?” he demands.
“No, Louise knows what she’s doing.”
“Does she work for you full-time?”
I sigh, already knowing this is the wrong answer. “She’s part-time.”
“So make her full-time. That’s a good first step. I get what you’re saying, some of the work needs to be handled by you—but not all of it. Surely some of the work you do could be handled by someone with less experience.”
“Sure, some of it could. I could technically hire another proofreader and lighten my load a bit. Delegate some of the promo work to Louise. I mean, book it myself because I know who to work with and what to ask for, but… the act of compiling information could be handled by someone else.”
“Okay, so let’s start there. These are good first steps. Make Louise full-time and give her the mid-level work, hire a part-timer to do the easy stuff. Keep your schedule full of strictly high-level work. You’ve gotta use your team, Nikki. I can’t build a house all by myself, and the guy drawing up the blueprints isn’t also painting the walls. Different workers do different tasks. I know you’re driven and you get tunnel vision sometimes, but there’s a better way to get the job done. You’ve gotta let people help you.”
All of his words make sense, but everything within me rejects them. He wants me to give up my control, and that’s only fun in the bedroom.
The man needs to learn to stay in his damn box.
Since this conversation isn’t going to end with him telling me I’m right and he sees the error of his ways, and it’s not going to end with me magically not having any more work to do tonight, I withdraw my participation. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
Shaking his head, Derek says, “Slick subject change.”
“I’m not trying to change the subject, I’m trying to get back to work so I can finish and go to sleep. I don’t have time to stand here and argue with you when neither of us will budge. What’s the point?”
“I’m not going to bed,” he states, so damn obstinate, I want to scream. “I’ll go to bed when you do. Get back to working yourself to the bone. I’ll be waiting.”
“Seriously?”
Pointedly grabbing the remote control, he flips the channel and turns his attention to the screen.
“You’re so stubborn,” I mutter as I head back toward the kitchen.
“That’s rich, coming from you,” he calls back.
---
Derek passes out on the couch, so I don’t feel so bad when I don’t turn my laptop off until 3:51am. I’m groggy as hell, but I got a jumpstart on tomorrow’s work since they’re both asleep. Something tells me tomorrow will be another frustrating work day with too many distractions and a million other things to do. That’s okay. I prepared myself the best I could for it tonight, that way tomorrow I won’t feel like the evil stepmother in every Disney movie when Cassidy inevitably needs things. That’s why I’m here, to help Derek out while he’s hurt. It’s only for a few days. I?
??ll make it work.