Page 11 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

Has it really been that long? I only remember that I didn’t want to go. I wanted to work and keep learning the ins and outs of a company that has been passed down through three generations. To prove to everyone else and myself that I’d be capable of eventually running this organization. But my parents insisted we go, since we hadn’t spent much time together.

“You have to take more breaks, Son,” my dad says. “This is how mistakes are made, working yourself to the bone.”

No, mistakes happen when you get cocky, thinking you’ve got everything handled, only to find out ... you don’t. And then your watch keeps buzzing, reminding you that your heart rate is too high. Maybe I should take this stupid thing off. It’s not like I need a reminder—I can feel my heart pounding well enough on my own.

“What about spending time with friends? When’s the last time you did that?”

“Uh,” I start, but then stop because I can’t think of the last time. The truth is, I’ve turned my friends down so many times that they stopped asking me to hang out.

“And dating?” he asks me, raising one eyebrow dramatically. “When’s the last time you did that?”

I pull my chin inward, my brows furrowing. Because that’s not a normal inquiry from my dad. “Did Mom put you up to that?”

He smiles. “She may have asked.”

My dating life is definitely the number one thing on my mom’s mind. She’s backed off Amelia since she’s been seeing that tool, Garrett. Unfortunately, that makes me the sole focus of Beth Porter’s scheming. She hasn’t been outright asking me about it lately, since I asked her to stop. Now I see she’s got my dad doing her dirty work.

I look down at my hands. “Yeah, there’s not much of that happening. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Mom.” He chuckles at that, and I know very well he will tell her every part of this conversation.

It’s not like I’ve got all this time on my hands to meet someone. Plus, what could I possibly offer when I have dedicated all my time and energy to learning how to run this company and becoming the person my dad would want to hand it over to when he retires?

Maybe I do need a break.

“I’ll take some time off,” I tell him, “as soon as I fix this mess I got us into.” I look at the man across from me, the one who raised me, who’s been a constant and a guide throughout my life, and watch him shake his head.

It reminds me of the time he taught me to drive the forklift at the quarry. I hopped on, ready to impress him, but he made me get off and walk around it first, checking every tire, every latch. “You don’t operate anything you haven’t inspected,” he said,watching me with that same look he’s giving me now. Back then, I thought he was just being overcautious, but now I see his point. It was never about the forklift. It was about handling things the right way, not just rushing in and hoping for the best.

Apparently, I didn’t learn a thing, because I rushed right into that contract, blinded by dollar signs and the promise of a few pats on the back. Sure, there was plenty of praise at first, but now? Just silence and whispers behind my back. Then again, maybe I’m just being paranoid—because, thanks to my dad, few people know about my blunder, but it’s hard not to think there’s been a shift.

“What you need to do is take some time off now and let me handle it,” my dad says.

“I feel like that will look bad to everyone else out there,” I say, pointing toward the door to the offices where the leadership team works. To where I work. I’m pretty sure there are at least a couple of people who think they could take on the CEO position better than I could, that it’s unfair that I’m going to be handed this company on a silver platter. But I’ve never treated it like that. I knew I’d need to work hard to prove to my dad and myself that I could do this. Until recently, I thought I could. And now ... I’m not so sure.

“I’ll handle that too,” he says.

“I don’t need everyone in this company thinking that anytime I mess up, my dad is going to bail me out. And I also don’t need them thinking that every time we hit a problem, I question whether I should be in charge.”

Even if right now I am questioning it. But it’s not because I don’t want to do it—I just don’t know if I’m capable. That’s the crux of it. Am I capable of running this company?

He waves my worries away with a hand. “I’ll deal with it. Your reputation is as important to me as it is to you.”

As it stands, my dad has taken the fall for the contract with Summit Ridge, and the payment delays, saying that he was the one that gave the go-ahead. Despite it being all me.

“I don’t really understand how taking some time off is going to help.”

“Because you need time to think,” he says. “And also, because I did the same thing once upon a time.”

My eyes go wide at this declaration. “You made a mistake?”

He scoffs at that. “A huge one. Cost us a lot of money and really made me question my place here,” he says. “And I’ve made plenty of others since then. Kind of the nature of the beast with this company. Nothing is set in stone.” He gives me a wink. It’s sort of a family joke, to use stone or granite puns—and it makes me smile every time. Even right now, with this existential crisis looming.

“And then Grandpa told you to take some time off?” I ask, needing more details.

He nods. “Yep. Like you, I wondered if this was what I wanted to do. So, my dad told me to take some time and figure it out. And that’s what I did.” He holds his hands out toward his office, telling me without words that it all worked out.

The feeling that I’m alone in this, that I’m the only Porter to screw up and then question my role here, wanes knowing the great Warren Porter felt uncertain about his place in the company once upon a time. And look at him now. The people who work here respect my dad immensely, and some of them have been around since he took over as CEO. Employees of Foothills Stoneworks tend to stay. It’s a great place to work, mostly because my dad and the Porters before him always put people before projects.

Like what my dad is doing for me right now.

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