Rolling my eyes, I pushed my phone away and finished responding to Kent’s email. He asked me to travel to New York at the end of the year to get started on the hotel. Since my due date was in October, I agreed. I wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure how being a working mom would go, but I’d prepared for every contingency with a list of highly recommended nannies and preschools. Not that I was sure I’d need them since our company had a great childcare program, and I had fabulous aunts already fighting to watch Peanut. But a woman could never be too prepared.
My father, of course, encouraged me to take a year-long maternity leave, which I chose to ignore. My aunts had not-so-kind words to say about his idea, knowing it wasn’t what I would want, and since they were his older sisters, they had no issue saying them to his face.
I guess I also had Ian now.
I would probably know for sure if I’d returned his message from yesterday, but I just wasn’t ready. Would I ever be ready?
Groaning, I dropped my head into my hands. Just when I thought I had a grip on this pregnancy thing—accepting doing it on my own—along came Ian.
He put all my plans back to an unknown balance, setting my emotions on a spiral with it. Every time I tried to nail down how I felt about him being a part of our lives, things just churned harder. The one that haunted me the most was fear. I was terrified of how much he would take from me—how much of Peanut I’d have to share with him. Would Peanut love him more? Would I become second-best?
My phone pulled me out of that train of thought to nowhere with a reminding buzz of my father’s message. I needed to get up there before he came to get me.
I grabbed some papers I needed him to look at and covered my yawn. Each day, exhaustion wore on me a little more, but I was determined to squeeze in as much work before maternity leave as possible.
Walking the halls, I wondered what had my father issuing such harsh commands. He was brusque, but this sounded different, like he was mad. Maybe he was just eager to micromanage me a little bit more. I scoffed at the thought.
I knew he loved me—that he was proud of me, he just had a very old-school way of thinking, and I did my best to understand and continue to prove him wrong.
“You rang?” I said, popping my head through the crack in his door.
He looked up from his desk; his brows pulled low. The dark expression made even darker from the sun shining through the wall of glass behind him.
“What the hell is this?” he demanded.
I stepped closer to his desk and looked down at the stack of papers he tossed to the edge for me to see. Underneath our letterhead was the beginning of a contract with Bergamo and Brandt. But not one that worked directly with our company, but rather one that worked with me and a small team I’d assembled.
I’d tried to bring it up to him over the past few months, but he was so damn stubborn and never wanted to hear it. So, I did it anyway. Not necessarily behind his back—hence how he found it so easily. Just without taking it up with him directly.
“Where is the rest of the team on this? Why haven’t I seen it before now?”
Pulling my shoulders back, I rested my palms on the top of my stomach and stood proud, not letting him steamroll me. “Because I’m handling it on my own.”
“Carina…” The muscles in his jaw ticked. “Did Jake at least help you settle on the contract?”
Meaning did Jake make sure the big men didn’t talk little ole me into a lower cost than what we deserved. Obviously, he hadn’t looked past the first page. Otherwise, he’d be eating his words.
“No, he didn’t because I can handle it myself. I did handle it myself.”
His shoulders dropped, and his hand rubbed at his mouth, trying to hide his exasperated sigh. “I’ll have to re-read it. See if we got the most out of this contract.”
“What?” I breathed the word, barely able to speak past the frustration his doubt incurred.
“I’ve met Mr. Bergamo before. He’s a hell of a shark and knows what he’s doing.”
“So do I.”
He kept talking like he didn’t even hear me. “I’m sure he worked a better deal on his behalf. I’ll look it over.”
Oh, fuck this. Maybe my father never saw me as a shark in the boardroom because I let him take the lead, but I was done listening to him ramble about how I failed.
“He didn’t get a better deal,” I spoke loudly, so there was no doubt that it was time for him to hear me. “I know because I talked Mr. Brandt up ten percent. And no changes are needed because it’s my contract. End of story.”