Page 10 of All Grown Up at Mountain Creek Ranch
“Why? I have my truck.”
He looks like he’s trying to find a reason to go with me, but this is something I need to do on my own.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be right back after I talk with him.” I kiss Landon and head out the door.
It's been almost three days of radio silence between my father and me. I'm not sure if he's looking to try and patch things up or if he's going to be a stubborn old man and refuse to treat me as anything more than a child to him.
I park outside his office and head inside. Dorthea, the receptionist, is too busy watching her soap opera on the little TV behind her desk to give me anything more than a quick wave without taking her eyes off the screen.
I knock on my father’s office door and wait.
“Come in.”
I walk in, expecting to feel like I did when I was little like he was some hulking giant sitting behind his desk. But it's different. I'm all grown up, and I don't need his approval to do what I want to do. I've worked my ass off to get where I am, and I won't let him try to take that away from me.
“Have a seat.” He points to one of the two chairs on the other side of his desk. I sit down but don't say anything. He called me here. He can do the talking or, hopefully, the apologizing. "I called you in today because I've given what you said the other day a lot of thought. I have been having a hard time letting go of all the control here. I asked you to join me in working with me, and I haven't given you a fair chance."
I'm pretty sure my mouth is hanging open in shock. I imagined him saying all this when I drove over here, but I never imagined it would happen. He hands me some papers.
“I had my attorney draw up some paperwork to make it official.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, leaning forward to take it from him.
"Yes, of course, I am. It says that I'm giving you forty-nine percent of the practice. Upon my retirement, I will hand over another two percent to give you controlling interest. If you find these terms are acceptable, I think that it would be prudent for you to turn down your offer in Wyoming and stay here in Centennial Springs.”
I look up at him in surprise. “How did you know that my offer was in Wyoming?”
He lifts a curious eyebrow at me. “That Holloway boy cornered me at Mirabelle’s today to tell me that you were seriously considering leaving.”
I feel my fingers tighten around the paperwork in my hand. I can't believe Landon did that. He had no right to but into my issues with my father. I knew it was too good to be true that he made this offer now. He just didn't want to lose his control over me. It wasn't that he actually thought I was capable of doing the job.
“Thank you for the offer, but I’m going to need to think this over.”
Shock flickers in my father's eyes. He was not prepared for me to not immediately sign on the dotted line. I stand up.
“Well, please don’t take too long. I know that Friday is a deadline for you.”
The paper crumples in my hand, but for once, this isn't because of my father. I tell him I will let him know as soon as I've made my decision. I walk outside and find Landon parked next to me and leaning against his truck. He looks hopeful, but the smile on his face fades when he sees the glare I'm leveling towards him.
“You talk to my father about my offer?”
He pushes off the truck to walk over to me. “I can explain.”
“He offered me a partner position in the practice.”
“That’s great.”
“No.” I wave the papers in front of his face. “He only offered it to me because of what you said to him.”
"But I only just talked to him a couple of hours ago." He tries reaching for me, but I step out of his grasp. "I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't bear the fact that you could leave. He needs you, and you want to stay. I thought if I could help, I could fix it for both of you."
“Don’t pretend this was anything more than you not wanting what’s best for you. Now I will never know if he gave me this offer because he thought I was leaving, or he truly believed I was capable of doing the job.”
"Is that the paperwork with the offer?" he asks, looking down at my hands.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.” He points to the front page. “Do you see this slightly yellow mark on the side there?”
