His office phone beeped, and Lance answered to his assistant. His father called for him in his office. Why did it feel like going to a principal’s office?
Lance straightened his tie, and then he closed his laptop. He shut his eyes and took a cleansing breath. He flexed his fingers.
No sense in procrastinating. Lance made his way to his father’s corner office without even bothering to knock. He knew the routine too well. Time was money and if his father called for him, there was no point in double checking in with him with a knock.
“I was thinking you wouldn’t make it in today.” His father’s head was down, possibly reading over another deal. His glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. A coffee mug sat on the corner of his wooden desk. Lance took the cushioned seat across from him.
He ignored his father’s comment, not wanting to pick an argument. Instead, his eyes diverted to the plain walls, decorated with pictures of company leaders. Between his father and his business partner, Bill Lawrence, the junior partners, and interns, they handled all the mergers and closing deals. The whir of his father’s laptop filled Lance’s ears, along with the steady drone of the air conditioning.
Lance inhaled cleaning supplies mixed with air freshener. Then he averted his attention from his dad’s laptop to the sheets of paper his father stared at. It had to be a contract in his hand.
“What are your thoughts on Petros merging with Billings?” His father asked.
“The terms and conditions are fine. Petros will benefit from collaborating,” he said.
“Any layoffs with the office headquarters moving?”
“Not this time.” He made sure of it.
His father nodded in obvious approval. “Well done. The Wilkes account is underway too. What about the Bramble account?”
Another vast deal this year for the firm. Lance adjusted in his seat. “In the bag.”
“Good. I will need you to travel to New York to make sure it closes.”
Lance stared at his father. Another trip. “I can’t video conference?”
His father raised a thick eyebrow. “Mr. Bramble prefers an actual meeting. We work with our clients based on their needs. You know that.”
“I know, but he didn’t get back with me about a scheduled meeting date.”
“He didn’t have to,” his father said. “This is something, I decided. I’m only sending you since you are one of my best lawyers.”
The compliment should have made Lance proud, but his skin only itched. He scratched his wrist. His father was showing him off again.
Lance’s father continued. “If you want to take my place someday, I need to know you’re committed. There are no special privileges because you’re my son. You’re one of the best, but that doesn’t mean I won’t push you to be greater.”
“Noted,” he murmured under his breath. He bobbed his head in a clearer response to his father.
This was his father’s business. Lance did the leg work, although his dad wouldn’t admit the idea. He couldn’t help but think his father’s obsession was because of his sister. After her death, his father immersed himself in his law practice. Late nights at the office. Missed family dinners.
How were they supposed to heal as a family if no one talked? The times he tried, his father told him to grow up. Life was tough and he couldn’t wallow. Following the most influential man in his life, he complied, but as the years passed it got tougher to hold his emotions inside.
There was a time he had someone he could talk to. He blinked and stood from his seat. “I’ll be there. Anything else?”
His father motioned for him to leave. Lance didn’t linger. He’d been dismissed, so he walked back to his office. He didn’t have time to unplug before the board meeting, so he left his office again and headed down the carpeted hallway. He was first to arrive entering the room, so he took his seat.
Clearing his throat, he focused on his papers. The memories lingered like an unloved guest. The peace he experienced when he and Chantelle were together compared to nothing he had ever felt before. She listened to him when his parents were too busy keeping up appearances. He’d never forget the first few days after Amelia’s funeral. He had skipped lunch at school and escaped to the basketball court.
Sitting by himself on a bleacher, he had stared into space. His muscles had felt weak and exhausted from the weekend. The tightness in his chest would not loosen. Then he saw Chantelle climbing the steps. Her angelic face glowed in the fluorescent lighting. Lance had not said a word, but sat slouched back against the concrete wall.
“I came to check on you,” she had said.
He bobbed his head, at a loss for words. If he spoke, he would break down and cry. He couldn’t cry. He had to be strong.
“Lance?” Chantelle had coaxed.
He didn’t respond, but only stared back at her.