Page 48 of Point of Contention

Everything I’d worked for, everything my mother had worked for, would be gone. Reed Publishing—specifically it’s unrivaled romance imprint—would be absorbed into Haven House. In no time, my job would become obsolete, and I’d be pushed out of the business altogether.

It was a tale as old as the industry itself.

But we weren’t failing, weren’t in a position to need rescuing. There was no reason—logical or otherwise—to sell Reed Publishing to the highest bidder. No reason but greed.

And wanting to cut me out.

My father couldn’t possibly be serious.

I breathed deeply, trying to calm my nerves before I joined the meeting with my father and Landon Grant. The last thing I needed was to storm in there like an insolent child.

When I strode off the elevator on seventy-five, an older woman sat behind the reception desk. I smirked at the evidence of yet another temp unable to handle me.

Was competence and intellect too much to ask for?

“Welcome to Reed Enterprises,” the temporary assistant said, rising quickly to her feet as it became clear that I wasn’t stopping to speak with her. “Sir? I’m sorry, but you need to check in…”

The look I shot her shut her up, and as Travis met me in the hallway, she must have realized I wasn’t someone who needed to sign in or have an appointment because she didn’t say another word.

“What’s going on?” I asked as we strolled toward my father’s office. “How long have they been in there?”

“Just a few minutes. You got here in time.”

I breathed deeply and nodded, then composed myself and opened the door to my father’s office without knocking.

At the interruption, both men looked up, and the smug glint in Landon Grant’s eyes made my shoulders tense. He already believed he’d won.

“Ah, Cabot,” my father said, “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon. How did everything go in Los Angeles?”

I blinked as my mind caught up to the fact that my father could switch so easily into empty pleasantries when he was just seconds ago discussing my demise.

“Grant,” I said by way of hello, inclining my head.

“Mr. Reed. A pleasure.” He rose to his feet, extending his hand toward me. “I hadn’t anticipated you would be joining us today.”

“No, I expect you hadn’t.” I shook his hand swiftly and strode to the bookshelves lining the wall. This office mirrored mine, but what my father used to decorate his shelves did not. Classics and leather-bound tomes that he’d never read lined each shelf. Trinkets and inimitable artifacts he spent too much money on and likely didn’t understand.

Unlike my bookshelves, which were lined with my successes in publishing. Books to be proud of. Literature I’d breathed life into.

I focused on my father as I unbuttoned my suit jacket and leaned against the edge of his wet bar. “Care to catch me up?”

Travis settled into the one remaining chair opposite the old man’s desk. He crossed his leg, resting his ankle on the opposite knee, the picture of composure.

I’d been trying to mimic that man’s quietude for decades and had yet to succeed.

My father looked at Landon, giving permission for him to speak, rather than catch me up himself, and my hackles rose.

“Well,” Landon began, “we were just discussing a merger—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Son,” my father warned.

My gaze flicked to him, then back to Landon. “Apologies, Mr. Grant, but I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time. Reed Publishing is not for sale.”

He smirked, then swiveled his head to my father.

“That’s not for you to decide,” my father said.

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