Page 67 of Accidental Dad's Best Friend

Clearly.

“Mm,” I respond indifferently, sipping on the bourbon. I’m savoring it at this point.

“But you’ve always been a heart on your sleeve kind of man. It’s a shortcoming of yours I have turned a blind eye to over the years. But it’s getting a little harder to do. It’s making you sloppy.”

My teeth are gritted like a vice. This is the part where I would usually bolt from the chair. Slam the glass on the desk. Tell him to fuck off. This is the part where I would walk out if I could. But I’ve never been able to. I realized long ago that Liam has always had a shock collar on me. If I leave, he will do to me what he’s doing to everyone else. My name would be the headliner for his next blasphemous article. My neck would be in the guillotine.And my career as an editor in American journalism would be toast.

I say nothing. At least nothing in my own defense. Instead, I stroke his ego. At this point, it feels like I’m stroking more than that. The man has me on my knees and he knows it. But I keep the goal at hand at the forefront of my mind. It’ll all be over soon. The magazine goes to print tomorrow. After tonight, it’ll all be over.

“I guess that’s why you’re the owner and I’m not,” I say.

He grins. It’s almost entertaining watching him eat my words, not realizing they’re laced.

“Ain’t that the truth. Here’s a thought. I have a lot of meetings today. Chad may be gone but Brews News is coming in hot. Can you believe microbreweries are even a thing? Apparently big enough that there’s actually a magazine about it. And I have a meeting with their CEO today. Guess where we are meeting?”

“A brewery.”

“Fucking ridiculous. It’s an easy shot, though. We’ll just write up a paragraph or two about the scam that is overpriced beer and watch them walk out with their tails between their legs. IPA bros gonna cry themselves to sleep for a hot minute when we show them what’s what.”

“Never did understand why people drink IPAs. Too hoppy,” I answer just to agree with him.

“Why don’t you make the rounds today?” He nods at me. “Make sure everyone is on track and bring down the hammer on anyone who isn’t. I know you like letting your writers off leash. Creative freedom and all that. But sometimes if you want a job done well, you gotta yank on that collar from time to time. Get a yelp out of them.”

“I can do that,” I nod with no intention whatsoever of actually doing that. But if taking over his office strutting gets him out of the building and out of my hair, I’ll agree to it.

My phone buzzes and I glance down at it with only my eyes. It’s Izzy. I can feel it. And I have to make sure he doesn’t see.

I shove it in my pocket and shove myself from the seat. “Well, speaking of business, I should get started on that.”

I make my way out, glad to finally be done with it. With all of it. The meeting, this office, everything. But just as I am about to pass through the threshold of freedom, he calls me back.

“Savage?”

I stop. Take a breath. Turn back to him.

“What’s going on with you recently?’

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You just seem distracted lately. And today, there’s something different. A fire. You finally coming around to doing your job?” He chuckles at his own jab.

I give him a half-shrug of complete indifference. “I guess I just see things for what they are and I’m ready to make a change.”

Liam takes another gulp of whiskey and points a finger at me. “That’s what I like to hear. Crush em, Savage.”

“Plan to,” I mumble with a satisfied grin as I head down the hall.

Izzy- I need to talk to you about something…

The text Izzy sent earlier has been left on read. Between my whiskey infused bitch slap meeting with Liam, running back and forth between my office and the main floor, I haven’t had time to respond. If I had to guess, she’s worried again. It’sunderstandable, but I need her to trust me. Everything we are doing is built on trust.

I’m not doing what he told me to do, by the way. I’m showing face in the cubicles, checking what everyone is working on, and shooting the shit. Like I always do. I even make a point of ordering the office lunch from a nearby pub, wracking up a pretty penny on NBT’s company card. Kind of a farewell party. One last hoorah, if you will.

Not to mention a big finger up.

“You should be in charge more often,” Steve, one of the editors below me, says as he piles more loaded baked potato salad on his plate with a grin. Steve is a good guy. A nice guy. The exact kind of guy that Liam hires. He doesn’t like strong personalities, that would run the risk of someone trying to challenge him. Instead, he hires a bunch of Steves. Steves always stay in line.

But I am not a Steve.

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