I blink.
Alvin Landry has a comeback concert?
That makes me burst out laughing, and he’s not even my father.
Callie must be over the damn moon.
It also gives me hope.
Maybe nothing’s ever permanently broken.
Maybe—just maybe—what seems hopeless can be fixed.
“Sure,” I say, clapping his shoulder before heading for the stairs. “I’ll see if Dad will let us take the car.”
* * *
Frank stares at me across my desk, thick sweat beading on his brow.
I stare back, calm and waiting him out.
As usual, I’m worried he’s in aneurysm territory.
I’m just waiting to see which one of us breaks down first.
Of course, it’s him.
“Damn it, Mr. Osprey!” he explodes. “Just because something’s legal doesn’t mean—”
“I should do it, you mean?” I finish without missing a beat. “What’s wrong with it? I promise this won’t lead to a lawsuit.”
“That’s not the point,” he grumbles, slouching in the chair on the other side of my desk. He’s always so put together, but right now he sags like a huge bag of flour. “This isn’t just about lawsuits. It’s—you’re proposing a change to the entire structure of the company. That will have legal ramifications when it comes to everything from state taxes to FCC accountability to people unhappy with the changing scope of their positions. And angry employees could get litigious if they feel like you’re giving them no choice but to quit.”
“Full company-paid retraining with paid time off. Transitional bonuses,” I point out. “If we give them the opportunity to step up on the company dime and they don’t take it, that’s a choice, and they can’t sue over it.”
“What about the impossible expectations? You’re overhauling strategic direction, content delivery, marketing, systems implementation... You’ll have people filing workplace complaints for working them too hard left and right. I know how you are with deadlines.”
“Not if we implement a year-long staged rollout with flawless planning. Take it day by day. No one’s working more than ten hours in one go if they don’t want to, Frank.”
He gazes at me bitterly. I smile back blandly.
“You’ve really thought of everything, haven’t you?” he asks with disgust.
“It’s what I do.”
I swipe my fingers over my tablet screen, bringing up the draft cover page article.
It’s just waiting to go live on The Chicago Tea’s main page.
Outwardly, I’m calm. I’m sure Frank thinks I enjoy giving him a triple heart attack, but inside I’m rattling like a can of jumping beans.
“Any other objections to publishing this?”
“Yes,” he says dryly. “It’s by far the worst decision you’ve ever made. Which means it must mean a hell of a fucking lot to you, and that means I can’t stop you, can I?”
“Unfortunately, you can’t. A-plus for effort, though.”
I can’t even stop myself.
It’s like a compulsion.
With my breath stalled in my chest, I hit Publish and watch that loading bar fill up the screen until the little Success! message pops up with a steaming animated teacup.
For better or for worse, it’s done.
I may have just hurled my entire business, my reputation, everything I’ve built over the years into the gutter.
My gaze drifts past Frank to a splash of color on the bookshelves.
Next to the record player, a forgotten tube of lipstick.
Callie left it there one day, just waiting for me to find it the next time I went to put a vinyl on after hours. Little brat that she is.
A brat who’s worth all of this.
Who’s worth everything.
Who’s set to be the final judge, jury, and executioner of what’s next.
For now, there’s nothing to do but wait.
* * *
I’ve never been good at waiting.
No. That’s a lie.
I’m usually extremely patient, even if it takes years to reach my goal, crouched like a trapdoor spider until my mark stumbles into my lair.
Which is why it’s driving me fucking bonkers that it’s been three days without a single word from Callie.
Another night on my pier, staring at the water and watching the stars. Their position in the sky subtly changes each night as the Earth moves on—a hellish reminder of just how briefly I had her in my life.
It was hard before I hit publish on that article.
Since then, the solitude, the waiting, became pure torture.
I lean back on one arm with my palm braced against the boards, one leg dangling over the edge above the water. Weathered grains bite my skin.
On the far horizon, the moon looks like it’s reaching down to stir the lake, and yet can’t quite touch it.
I never thought I’d have something in common with the moon.
Always so close.
Always reaching.
Always falling short.
Sure, it’s possible Callie hasn’t seen the write-up yet. She wasn’t a Tea reader before, and she definitely wouldn’t make it a habit now.
Still, you’d think someone in her network of friends, acquaintances, and assholes coming after her for comments would’ve seen it and asked for her opinion.
Then again, after one appalling media expose and reporters hounding her like starving hyenas, she’s too smart to leave herself open.