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“Thank you,” I murmur, squeezing her hand back.
We spend the rest of lunch having girl talk all about Marco. It feels good to share this with one of my best friends, stuffing our faces with sandwiches and giggling like we’re back in middle school. By the end, we establish I have a big, fat crush on the father of my daughter. What a strange thought.
When I get back to the office, I settle in at my desk and open my emails. There is one at the top of the list from the HR director, asking me to come to her office. My stomach sinks. The last time I saw her was down in the lobby when I thought I had lost my job after the whole debacle with security. I wonder what she wants now.
When I arrive at her office, she’s in the same upbeat and cheery mood when she told me I was being promoted, even though it was really a demotion. With her attitude, it’s hard to tell where this is going to go. I think back on the past few weeks in my current position. I haven’t missed any deadlines or pissed any of the writers off.
“Thanks for coming, Ms. Gunner,” she says, gesturing for me to take a seat in front of her desk.
“Of course. May I ask what this is about?” I say, sitting down and clutching my hands in my lap nervously.
“You’re being transferred,” she says as if she’s holding back a smile.
“Again?” I ask, raising my brows.
“This happens with acquisitions. There are a lot of moving parts. You seem to be one of them. I’m sorry for that, but I received an email from Mr. Vallejo and he’s adamant about this.”
I wonder why he didn’t tell me. I just texted with him this morning.
“Where am I being transferred?” I ask, my brows drawing together.
“To head ofThe NY Daily News.”
“Excuse me?” I almost choke, my voice catching in my throat.
“You’ve been here a long time, Ms. Gunner. I agree with him on this. You’ve earned your way up. The job is yours. If you want it, of course…”
I can hardly believe what I’m hearing. He’sgivingme the paper, my pride and joy outside of my daughter.
“I don’t believe it…” I say dumbfounded.
“Well, believe it. I have his email here, if you don’t believe me.” She turns her laptop to face me. There it is, clear as day. An email from Marco listing off a slew of reasons why I should take over the paper. His faith in me brings tears to my eyes. He knows me better than I thought.
“I have your contract drawn up. You can take it. Mull it over.” She slides over a manila envelope, which I take from her, hoping she doesn’t see the trembles of my hand.
“Thank you,” I say, shaking my head.
I stand from my seat and leave her office. I wonder why Marco didn’t tell me this himself, or was it meant to be a surprise? He knows how much this means to me. Maybe it’s his way of showing me what I mean to him. I clutch the manila envelope to my chest and head back down to my cubicle, feeling like I’m in some sort of dream.
Chapter 54
Marco
In the back of the town car, I refresh my email to see if the HR director has emailed me back with an update. I know she was planning on meeting with Erica today about the promotion, but I haven’t heard how the meeting went. I let out a sigh of defeat seeing my inbox is empty since the last time I refreshed it an hour ago.
I hope the meeting went well and that it was a surprise for Erica, showing her just how much I think of her. The truth is, I didn’t just promote her as a way to show her how I feel about her, but because I know she can do it. I believe in her. I knew how much the paper meant to her the moment we met at the rooftop party. The way she talked about it with such passion and ambition, setting the highest hopes for the paper.
I know she’ll do amazing as head of the paper. She’s proved herself by her tenure, and it’s a shame the previous owner didn’tpromote her sooner. He was sleeping on someone brilliant, with an eye for great writing and getting out news that matters. It pissed me off to think he was taking her for granted after everything they’d been through together. From the very beginning, she saw the potential. Now, I’m giving her the power to see that potential through. She just has to accept the job.
Having not heard from HR, it makes me think Erica hasn’t taken the job yet. I wonder why. I know this is her dream job, which is why I want her to have it. I also haven’t heard from Erica herself either, not since yesterday when I told her the good news about purchasing the newspaper here in Toronto. Since I’ve been here, we’ve texted throughout the day. Just little things. It’s been nice having to share something with, especially the win of taking over theToronto Times.
I took a chance in asking her to celebrate when I got back to New York. I knew it could go either way. We could celebrate with Josie, which I would love, or we could celebrate just us two, which I would also love. I think the question took her off guard, and in fear of scaring her away, I clarified that Josie would be involved. I hate the feeling of using my daughter as a pawn to spend time with her mother. But it’s not like that. I am just trying to figure everything out. I want to be in both their lives.
“The plane is ready, Mr. Gunner,” says the driver of the town car I’m in, pulling my attention from my phone in my hands. We’ve been here on the tarmac for the past twenty minutes waiting for the plane to fire up and for clearance. It’s felt like every minute has lasted an hour with how impatient I am to get back to New York, and I still have over an hour flight ahead of me. I just want to see Josie and Erica.
I should be getting in just in time to head over there around 6:30, which is my usual time, though they don’t know I’m coming tonight. I plan on surprising them. Erica thinks I’m getting back tomorrow, which is what I told her this morning when I texted her. I thought I would be flying back then, but I couldn’t wait. I pushed a few things around and wrapped up my business here in the city. Any loose ends will be taken care of by my team, or can be handled over email.
“Thank you,” I say with a nod, opening the car door and making my way to the private jet. The driver follows behind after grabbing my suitcase from the trunk. I board the plane and settle in my seat, pulling my phone out and refreshing my email again. There’s still nothing. Not from HR. Not from Erica. I’ve never been a very patient man, but I’m learning to be for her.