Page 65 of Caleb
Chuckling under his breath, he stands up, yanks his drawer open to pull out a manila folder, and drops it on the desk before me.
Of course.Paperwork.
“My relationship with my daughter is one of the things I cherish the most.” He tosses a Montblanc pen over the folder. “So believe me when I tell you that I am willing to do whatever it takes to keep a peaceful and harmonious dynamic between us.”
My brow flies up. This is some next-level bullshit.
“The document is pretty standard,” he continues, like he’s not unhinged. “It’s somewhat similar to the NDA you signed when you were hired.” His tone is grave, a reminder that he’s got my hands tied up with a triple lock behind my back.
You don’t want to mess with me,his eyes would say if they could speak. And I don’t want to mess with him. All I want is my job. But this is a powerful and ambitious man standing before me, and he’s not backing away from this madness.
We’re leaving on April 12, so the day after her birthday,” he informs me. “The contract indicates you’re free to break the news about your decision to reject the job offer to come to New York only on a seventy-two to twelve-hour window before we leave. No earlier than that. No later than that.”
This is a nightmare.
“I don’t want her to stress out about it when there are still a few weeks left,” he explains, “or give her time to try to talk me out of it because it’s useless. So if she asks, you can tell her you’re coming, but you’ll ‘change your mind’ a few days before we leave.”
He retakes his seat, glances at his wristwatch, and pours himself a Scotch. It makes my mouth water. I know I could use one of those.
He takes a sip and sets the tumbler on the antique mahogany desk.
A thousand what-ifs invade my train of thought as I scan through the document. It’s three pages long, and I’m sure he can smell the hesitation.
What if I don’t want to sign this?
What if I tell her the truth?
What if I punch him in the face?
What if, what if, what if …
“If you don’t sign this document right now, I swear to God I’ll put you on the first plane back to Israel, and you won’t ever see her again.” He smiles, barely, and takes another sip of his drink. I guess that does it. “I’m offering you a new job, a chance to keep your dignity intact, and the opportunity to say goodbye to my daughter. I’d say that’s a generous offer.”
Without hesitation, I grab the pen and sign both copies of the contract, tossing one of them on the desk in his direction. The pen goes next. I don’t even bother reading it because I don’t have a choice. I could be selling my soul, and it still wouldn’t matter. I’m not leaving without saying goodbye.
“I appreciate the cooperation.” He puts the contract away in the same drawer he pulled it out of in the first place—top right. “I do suggest, though, you take a good look at the contract in your own time,” he tosses in. “There are a few guidelines that need to be followed, and you know how I like to be thorough.”
“Of course, Mr. Ambassador,” I say, the words burning my tongue like acid.
He stands up, shoots me with his signature derisive once-over, and says, “You fell for the wrong girl, Caleb.” He drains his Scotch and settles it on the desk with a thud. “You’re dismissed.”
Grabbing my copy of the contract, I head for the exit, not caring to look back or acknowledge him before almost sealing the door shut. Outside, Aaron waits for me, and when our eyes meet, he knows hell broke loose.
“Take care of her for me, will ya?” I say, pressing the pages that own my soul against his chest and dropping them there. He catches the document mid-air while I march away.
“Caleb!” Aaron shouts, but I’m not stopping. I can’t be inside this building. I need to get out of here and head back to the house. I need to talk to Annette. I need to think of something. “What the hell happened in there?” He grabs my arm, stilling me.
“I’m not going to New York.” I shake his hand off my arm.
“Tell me what happened.”
“Not here. Let’s go.” We’re beginning to draw attention from the Embassy staff. So it’s best to leave. I learned the hard way that the walls, floors, and doors have ears around here, and they all report back to the Ambassador. And I physically can’t stand being under the same roof as that asshole.
We step out of the main Embassy building and walk back to the Residence in silence. It is only when we’re back in my room that I feel comfortable talking.
“Why didn’t you accept the offer to come to New York?” Aaron presses as I throw myself back on my bed and drag my fingers through my hair.
“Because there wasn’t one to begin with,” I say, staring blankly at the ceiling. “He fired me.”
