Faking It For Mr Right

At least, I thought it was good news. Until I hear the responding groan from the other line. “Xander, what have I told you about prioritization?”

This feels like a trick question. “That I need to work on it,” I reply. “And I have been. I’ve been prioritizing the farms from those with most potential down to the least, in order to be sure we visit all the ones we have the highest hopes for first.”

“The key word in that sentence is we, Xander,” my father snaps. “You need to learn to delegate. You can’t be personally running around on all of these funding hunts yourself.”

“But Dad, you said we should take a personal interest—”

“By which I mean reading through the contracts, finalizing them, going over the data with a fine-toothed comb. Not spending all of your valuable time running all over God’s green earth. How are you supposed to focus on any of your day to day tasks if you’re on the move all the time? And moreover, how is your life outside of the office going to progress?”

I grimace. Not this again. “Dad, my personal life is just fine.”

“You’re already 35, and you don’t even have any potential marriage prospects. No long-term girlfriend. When are you going to start to take dating seriously? You’ve had your fun. It’s time to settle down. Find a woman who’s wife material, have children. Carry on the lineage.”

“I’ve told you before, it will happen in its own time. When it’s meant to.”

“Marriage doesn’t just happen, Xander. You don’t just trip over the right girl when the timing is right. You have to work for it, like anything else in life.”

My stomach churns. I fall silent, my fists clenched in front of me. The truth is, I do want to get married. I do want kids, the house with the white picket fence and the dog running around the yard. The whole nine yards, really. But what I don’t appreciate is being strong-armed into it. My life, and my future marriage, need to happen on my own terms. Not my father’s.

But he’s already found a way to undermine that. Just like he always does, my father tries to micromanage my personal life as well as my business one.

On the other end of the line, I can practically hear the wheels in his head turning. “Xander, why do you need to push back against me so much?” he asks, a little softer now. “I know you want the same things.”

“You know what else I want, too,” I respond, my voice going harder as his softens.

“Well, there’s an easy way to get it. Once you marry—”

“Once you force me into marrying, you mean?”

“Well, you’re hardly taking any incentive to make it happen yourself,” my father barks. “You’ll thank me when it happens. Even if you don’t appreciate my methods in getting you there.”

“Yeah, well. We’ll see about that,” I mutter. Then I hang up before he can say anything else to infuriate me further. My father cannot just let his children live their lives. Everything with him is calculated, a business move. A negotiation. My relationship with him feels more like CEO and underling than it does father and son. Dad sees me as a pawn to get what he wants.

And he’s willing to hold the most valuable thing in the world over my head, if it means getting me to do his bidding. To obey his will.

With another loud groan, I shove at the stack of contracts on my desk. They go spilling out across the floor, papers fluttering every which direction. I groan again, mostly because now I’ll have to reorder them all again.

But what does it matter? It’s not like I was making progress double-checking them anyway.

With a sigh, I bend down to scoop up the nearest contract. It’s for the Keller farm. The one near Melanie’s hometown, where I spent three days assessing the potential of the place and the need the farmers demonstrated for more assistance. As I stare at the address, the name of the little town, a memory springs to mind. Melanie, talking about wanting to experience big city life at some point. About how she was dying for a chance to get out of her town, to travel more.

Unbidden, an idea springs to mind. A terrible idea. Maybe even worse than my father’s plot in the first place. But it just might get me what I want. And I’m fairly sure I know a way to make it worth both of our whiles.

A smile spreads across my face for the first time since I drove away from Melanie’s little countryside town days ago. I reach for my phone and grab the receiver again, pressing zero to reach Jake’s desk. “Jake? Do me a favor and cancel my meetings for the next two days,” I tell him. “Oh, and call down to the valet to prep the car. I’ve got another trip coming up.”