“Promise me you’re not going to leave,” I say to Abby, once we’re alone in my office. We spent the last four hours with Eric, going over every single action item on his plate and making sure all of his client files are in order. Now he’s in his office packing his personal things, and Abby and I are trying to figure out where to go from here.
Or, more accurately, I’m trying to figure out where to go from here. Mostly, I’m just trying to get through the day and take it all in stride. Fortunately, there are no current client crises, and if we can just maintain that status quo for the next week or two, then maybe I can find a replacement for Eric, get myself back into a work groove, and get the business moving forward again.
“Are you kidding?” Abby says. “I’m not going anywhere. I mean, it sucks that Eric dumped this on us, but you gotta admit, it makes for a pretty good opportunity for me.” She grins as she lifts one shoulder, looking impish.
I smile. “You think?”
“Hell, yeah,” she says. “Talk about an opportunity to make myself indispensable. I mean, I pick up the slack, and you realize that you can’t live without me. I figure I’ll get a raise, a promotion, and probably a Ferrari as my Christmas bonus.”
I laugh out loud. “And that, Abby, is why you are my favorite employee in my tech department.”
She snickers. Of course we both know that she’s the only employee now in my tech department.
“Seriously,” I say. “Thanks.”
She shrugs. “Don’t worry, Nikki,” she says. “You got this.”
While she’s there in my office cheering me on, I actually believe she’s right. But as soon as she leaves, my confidence fades. How the hell am I going to pull this off? Especially since Abby—although eager and bright—doesn’t have the skill set to be indispensable. Not on the client development side of the equation, anyway.
Which means that falls on me. The phone calls. The travel. The inevitable chats over cocktails and dinner. All those things Eric was so good at. Things that I can certainly handle, but when? After Anne’s evening feeding? Before Lara’s bedtime story?
And what about all the little fires that have to be put out on a daily basis? I mean, hell. It’s not even been a day yet and Eric has already left me with a list. Not to mention all the calls I need to make to clients to tell them that I’ll be taking over their account personally until I’m certain that someone even more competent than Eric can take the reins.
The whole thing makes my stomach hurt.
I love my business, but I got into it for the tech. Because I was designing kick-ass phone and web-based apps, and had even paid for much of my college education with the income from sales across the various platforms. I wanted to keep doing that—only on a much larger scale—and I wanted the freedom to run the business the way I wanted to. So I focused on learning the business side of things, and when I was ready, I launched my small company, relying on Damien’s expertise, but not his money.
Only after the company was solidly on its feet did I license my web-based note-taking app to Stark International. The product is pretty brilliant, if I do say so myself, and since it’s utilized across all Stark International offices, affiliates, and subsidiaries, it brings in a nice income. It also requires a significant amount of time on the backend, implementing upgrades and troubleshooting.
I’d already intended to hire more people, I just hadn’t planned on it quite so soon. But with Eric’s departure, I don’t really have a choice. Between the two of us, Abby and I can service Stark International and handle any crisis that pops up with any of the apps and products I’ve designed for other clients. But we can’t take on new business.
And without new business, Fairchild Development can’t grow.
I put my elbows on my desk, then bury my face in my hands. Well, fuck.
I’m deep into my own little pity party when the alarm on my phone rings, reminding me that I’m supposed to meet Jamie for a quick drink—virgin for me—at five so that I can give her the scoop on my day. I glance at the phone and see that it’s already four-thirty.
Double fuck.
I’m sure she’s already on her way, but I snatch up the phone to call her and cancel. I hate doing that so last minute, but I plan to make a bold gesture of apology. Like giving her and Ryan access to our Lake Arrowhead house—and the wine cellar—on the weekend of their choosing.
The moment I pick it up, the phone starts ringing, and I answer without checking the screen, certain that it’s Jamie. But it’s not. It’s Sylvia.
“I wanted to check in,” she says. “How’s the first day back?”
“Not so great,” I admit, then tell her about Eric leaving.
“Well, that sucks,” Syl says, cutting straight to the chase. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Can you hire me a rock-solid team and train them?”
“Ah, yeah, no. I was thinking more along the lines of delivering chocolate.”
“Well, that’s good, too,” I say, and we both laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know how you do it. Especially back when Jeffery was so little. Yesterday I thought I’d be fine, but today it feels like I’ve cut off a limb.”
“It gets easier,” she assures me. “But never easy.”
I lean back in my chair, grateful that she’s not sugarcoating the truth.
“I wouldn’t trade it for anything, though,” she continues. “Not after how I fought for this job.”
She did, too. She started out as Damien’s executive assistant, but she wanted a career in real estate and she kicked serious ass to get it. And even got Jackson along the way.
“And I had it a little easier than you,” she adds. “I mean, Ronnie already had a nanny even before Jackson and I got married. And he does a ton of his work at home.”
Jackson’s an extremely sought-after architect. And while he also has a development side to his business, that branch is mostly run by his staff, freeing him to sit at a drafting table and dream up the brilliant, cutting edge designs that launched him as a “starchitect.”
For that matter, Syl’s pretty flexible, too. She’s a project manager for Stark Real Estate Development, and though she manages a team, she also has a ton of support and flexibility. But me? I’m already feeling like I’m locked behind this desk. Because even if I hire more people, I’ll have to train them. And that will eat into my time even more.
At Stark International, there’s an HR Department to shoulder part of that load. Here, it’s all on me.
“I get that,” Syl says when I explain how I’m feeling. “But I still think it will get better. This was your first day out of the gate, Nik, and it sounds like it was a crazy one. Cut yourself some slack. I promise, you’ve got this.”
Those words are still rattling around in my head when we end the call. You’ve got this.
That’s what Abby said, too. But do I? Because despite their confidence, I’m still feeling like a surfer on stormy seas, doing everything I can just to stay upright.
I’m plowing through emails when Abby buzzes that she’s about to head out, and that she’s taking a pile of work home with her. Since Marge left at five, she promises to lock up. So I’m surprised when my door opens a few minutes later.
I glance up, expecting to see Abby with a question or some bit of news that she forgot.
Instead, it’s Jamie.
“Oh, dammit,” I blurt, and she laughs.
“Great to see you, too.”
“Sorry,” I say, immediately contrite. “I meant to call and cancel, but I got distracted. Do you hate me?”
“Yes,” she says, in true best-friend form. “My hatred for you runs deep.” She plunks herself down on the small couch in my office. “So? How’d it go?”
“Fine,” I say, because I don’t want to share my angst again, not even with Jamie.
“Rough, huh?” she says, and my shoulders sag with relief. Because of course she gets it. Jamie always gets me.
“Syl swears it’ll get easier.”
“Well, since I don’t have kids—”
“Yet,” I say, and Jamie rolls her eyes. She and Ryan are still pretty much in the newlywed phase, and although I know he’d be thrilled to start a family now, he’s mostly happy that he finally got Jamie to the altar.
“Since I don’t have kids,” she begins again, “I couldn’t say. But I figure she knows what she’s talking about.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m not convinced. I sigh. “So do you mind if we blow off happy hour?”
She nods at my desk. “Too much work?”
“Yes,” I say truthfully. “But mostly I just want to get home and see the kids.”
Want, however, isn’t good enough, because apparently my will alone doesn’t have the power to make traffic run more smoothly. And when I finally burst into the house, Bree gives me a small, sad frown.
“I wanted to keep her up, Mrs. Stark. But we had a busy day, and she just zonked out after her bath.”
“That’s okay.” I’m frustrated, but I get it. It’s only seven-thirty, but I know well that my little girl often conks out before eight. “Anne, too?”
“Yes, ma’am. She went to sleep no problem. She’s been a perfect baby today. Not a problem at all.”
“That’s great,” I say, even though a little devil inside of me wants to hear how much they’d both cried for me. And I’d really wanted to see their faces light up when I walked through the door.
I already know that Damien is running later than I am, because he’d called while I was stuck in traffic. Now I dismiss Bree for the night, then go peek in on both my girls. I want to wake them, to cuddle them close, but I let them sleep, contenting myself with watching the steady rise and fall of their little chests.
Then I take a quick shower, change into yoga pants and a T-shirt, and stretch out on our lovely iron bed, surrounded by paperwork.
That’s where I am when Damien finds me—although I’m asleep instead of busily working.
“Hey,” he says, brushing a kiss on my shoulder. “Long day?”
As I claw my way back to consciousness, he gathers my papers and sets them on the bedside table. There’s a glass of wine, too, and he hands it to me. I try to avoid alcohol since I’m breastfeeding, but I also did the research and know that a little bit isn’t a problem so long as I wait to pump or feed Anne.
“The longest,” I say, then take a grateful sip. I lean sideways against him, my back supported by the pile of pillows that rest against the wall. I give him the full rundown, the highlight of which is Eric’s surprising departure.
“You can handle continued growth,” he says, his loyalty giving me a nice warm boost of confidence. “But you’re also well-positioned to simply hold the line if that’s what you want to do. Even to downsize if it works out that way.”
I push away from him, frowning as my chest tightens uncomfortably. “What?”
“I’m just saying that you don’t have to go back to work full-throttle.”
I sit up straight. “Excuse me? Why? Because you can support us?”
“I can support us. But what I’m—”
“So I’m supposed to feel guilty about wanting to work just because you bring in billions?” Dammit, he knows how important my job is to me. How hard I’ve worked to build my business on my own, not relying on money that comes from Stark International.
He stares at me like someone might stare at a wild hyena. “That’s not what I’m saying at all.”
“Maybe, but it sure sounds that way to me,” I retort. “Well-positioned, my ass.”
“Nikki—”
“How many times have we talked about my business?” I snap. “About ramping it up? About really making a splash in the tech world? You know what I’ve been working for, Damien. How many conferences have you gone to with me? And didn’t you hold my hand when I actually braved Dallas to land Greystone-Branch?”
I grew up in Dallas, and that trip hadn’t been an easy one, though in a lot of ways, my return to Dallas is the reason we have our girls now.
“The ocean’s not going anywhere,” he says. “And neither is your talent. You can make a splash in a few months or next year or five years.”
I bristle. “That’s not the kind of attitude that makes a business thrive, and we both know it.”
“Oh, baby,” he says in a soothing tone that I would normally find sweet, but right now is just pissing me off. “All I’m saying is that you don’t have to do everything. If Eric left things hanging, maybe those are things you should trim.”
“Is that how you built Stark International?”
He draws a deep breath. “I didn’t have a family then. I’m not alone anymore.”
I tilt my head. “How was San Diego on Saturday?” I ask, referencing the fact that he scurried down there on a weekend in order to perform crisis control. And, yes, I know I’m being bitchy, but the intimation that Stark International is more important than Fairchild Development grates on me. Maybe that’s empirically true, but Fairchild Development is important to me. Building it. Growing it.
And right now, even with Damien right beside me, I feel terribly, horribly alone.
“Nikki…”
I hold up a hand. “It’s okay. I just—it’s okay.” I slide out of bed and he takes my fingers, as if to pull me back.
“I want to check on the kids,” I say, slipping my hand free of his. I draw a breath and walk away, feeling a bit lost as I do because Damien’s not at my side right now, and yet he’s always been the compass to guide me home.
Tonight, that compass is my kids, and I peer first into the bassinet at Anne’s sweet, sleeping form, and then move down the hall to find Lara hugging Kitty tight. I look at her, so innocent and perfect, and swallow a lump in my throat. That’s when I realize I’m crying.
Roughly, I brush the tears away, then crawl into her bed beside her, so that she’s snuggled against my chest, her little body melding to mine.
I stay still, letting the rhythm of her breathing soothe me, knowing that Damien is giving me space but at the same time wishing that he’d come to me. But he doesn’t, and I simply lie there, trying to let the night take me.
But then I look up and see a shadow in the doorway. Damien may not have come to me, but he is checking on me. And the steel band around my chest eases a little.
I kiss Lara’s cheek and carefully slide out of her bed.
“I’m sorry,” I say when I find him in our room, a magazine open on his lap. “I’m tired. I’m frustrated. And I’m bitchy.”
“No.” He holds out a hand and I take it, then slide onto the bed next to him. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. You’re frustrated about something important to you, and rightfully so. My first response shouldn’t be that you can cut back. That’s not fair to you or to what you’ve accomplished with your work.”
I close my eyes and nod, a single tear escaping to trickle down my cheek. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“I want to help, Nikki,” he says. “But I need you to help me too. I need you to tell me what you want.”
I take a breath and open my eyes. I look around our beautiful room, then at my wonderful husband. I think about our kids and our friends and the family we’ve made. The life we’ve built together.
“I have everything I want,” I say, snuggling close. And as I lie in his arms moments later, I know that I’ve spoken the absolute truth.
But if that’s the case, why am I still unsatisfied?