Page 83 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

Now if only I could keep reminding myself of that.

ZANE

A text exchange between Warren Porter and Zane, Friday, September 27, 8:47 a.m.

Dad:Are you sure about this?

Zane:Yes. If I’m going to run this company, then I need to. Thanks Dad, for being a great example to me. I love and appreciate you.

Dad:

“SO, I WANTED TO STAND before you all today and let you know that the deal with Summit was my idea and my contract,” I say to the executive team at our weekly meeting. We’re in a bland conference room, everyone gathered around a large, oval-shaped table.

“And we have my dad to thank for getting me—and the company—out of the mess,” I add, gesturing toward him with my hand. Warren Porter saved the day. I’m still not sure how he did it. As far as I know, I’m still his firstborn, so I don’t think he offered me up as payment—which is a relief.

“I have a lot to learn from him,” I continue. “But if I’m going to run Foothills someday, then I need to admit where I’ve fallen short, listen to those of you with more experience, and ... work harder to earn your trust.”

It’s not exactly the speech I envisioned yesterday when I told my dad my plan. In my head, there was more passion—maybe a bit of fist pumping—a rally-the-troops kind of thing. But this version—humble, honest, and a little repentant—feels right. It’s probably better this way.

It feels good to stand here and take responsibility for my actions. I’ve realized that if I’m going to run this company someday, I can’t have my dad bailing me out every time I mess up. And I do want to run it. It didn’t take me long to come to that conclusion. When I walked into the office the day after getting home from England, I just knew—this is where I want to be.

I think not owning up to my impulsive decisions is what was holding me back, and I have Macey to thank for pointing that out. Maybe that’s why I struggled with knowing what I wanted—because I was afraid of making another mistake, of jumping into something without thinking it through. But what she didn’t say, and what I’ve started to realize, is that being impulsive isn’t always a bad thing. It means I take risks. I dive in. What I need to do now is channel that into something meaningful—something this company, and the people in this room, can count on.

I hope this risk I’m taking with Macey pays off. It doesn’t feel impulsive—if anything, it’s the exact opposite. I’m giving her space, letting things settle, and taking the time to figure out the best way to tell her how I feel. The risk is in the waiting. What if I hold back, finally lay it all out there, and it’s too late?

Because for me, these four days since we got back have been brutal. We’ve barely spoken, and yet my feelings for her have only gotten stronger. I miss her. I want her. I think I might even need her. But what if this time apart is all she needs to decide she doesn’t want me?

I have to take that chance. She’s not a whim to me, and I need her to know that. My feelings aren’t going to change. If anything,these four days apart have only made me more certain how I feel about her.

Sure, it all came on fast, but who decides how these things are supposed to go? There aren’t any hard-and-fast rules for falling for someone. As they say, the heart wants what it wants.

Wow. I sound like Lady Catherine.

“Good job, Son,” my dad says after the meeting, giving me a look of pride and a pat on the back before he walks out of the room.

Smiles and nods from the rest of the team let me know I did the right thing, and it feels like a weight has lifted off my shoulders. I’ve done the right thing, made the right decision. I can feel it in my bones.

The worry of how things might turn out with Macey is still there, weighing on me, but I have to hope that will all work out too.

WHEN I WALK INTO THE condo late that night after a long but satisfying day at work, the familiar music from thePride and Prejudicesoundtrack hits me. In the living room, Macey and Amelia are sprawled out on the sofas, eyes glued to the movie, with boxes of takeout scattered on the coffee table.

“Are you serious?” I ask, laughing but also shaking my head as I set my computer bag on the floor.

“Shhh,” Amelia says. “You’re ruining the best part.”

I look at the scene playing out on the television—Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth talking to each other at the Meryton assembly, I think. I’m instantly taken back to my time at the Park’s version of that dance, with a very beautiful Macey wearing her dark-blue gown, her red hair pulled up to show off her neck. She was stunning that night, and she’s stunning right now, in a white T-shirt and pajama pants, her hair down around her shoulders.

“I think all parts of this movie are the best parts to you,” I say to my sister, who’s now scowling at me.

“You’re not wrong. Now please be quiet,” she says.

“You still want to watch this after living it for a week?” I ask Macey.

“Yes,” she says. “Even after that.”

“At least this version doesn’t have Lady Catherine in the corner directing everything.”

“Indeed,” she says. “Or Edith to pinch your butt.”

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