Dead on Arrival

Sophie

My office phone buzzes from the intercom, and Andy’s hesitant voice broadcasts from the speaker. “He wants to see you.”

He doesn’t need to clarify. I know who he’s talking about.

“Thanks, Andy. I’ll go in a sec.”

I wrap up an email to one French man who is happy to deal directly with me, which I can largely attribute to my time in France. We connected over French cuisine, and that opened the door for me to impress him with my business expertise. I do have a lot of contacts who respect me, and I’m grateful for them. I just wish I could say the same about all of them. Or at least more than forty percent. That mentality starts with my father, though.

The man I now have to face.

I walk past Andy’s desk area and remind him to hold my calls until I return. An unnecessary reminder, but it gives me a pathetic ego boost to say it as I walk down the corridor.

“Can I go in, Joel?” I ask, giving him a smile.

“Yes, ma’am. He’s waiting for you.”

I take a deep breath and push the door open, finding Henry McNamara sitting at his desk underneath the six-foot wide McNamara Enterprises logo affixed to the wall. Just in case anyone was confused where they were by the time they made it all the way to the CEO’s office.

“You wanted to see me?”

He doesn’t look up, but gestures for me to come closer. Not to sit down, which means this will be a quick chat.

After he finishes whatever he’s writing with a flourish, he addresses me. “The annual dinner for our Alma Mater is next Wednesday. Your mother and I will be attending, and I expect you to come too. I already bought a table.”

I stifle a groan; the thought of spending the evening outside of work hours with my father and his associates isn’t pleasant. Whether they’ll ever consider me as an equal remains to be seen. At this point, I’d be surprised if they saw me as anything more than an object. Doesn’t matter if I graduated from the same program as them or that I’ve been McNamara Enterprises’ senior import and logistics executive for three years. It’s not nearly as impressive as being a middle-aged man with narrow world views in an international industry.

“Is that all? I’m assuming Joel can send Andy the details?”

“Who?”

“Joel. Your assistant?”

“Sure. Or you could call your mother.”

My resolve is faltering because I can’t stop an audible sigh from escaping. I nod, then spin on my heel to leave.

“Sophie?”

I wonder if other grown women have the same visceral reaction to their father saying their name in that authoritative tone. It’s like a hand around my throat. “Yes,” I ask as I turn back to face him.

“I expect you to bring a suitable date.” Then my father—no, my boss—waves his hand to shoo me out of his office.

Apparently, it’s evidence of a fatal business flaw if a female shows up to an event without a date. Not just any date; a “suitable” date. Meaning someone who has a pedigree or a bank account to impress complete strangers. Someone who can have the personality of drywall dust, as long as their career sounds impressive.

When I return to my office, I park myself behind my desk so I can sort through my options for a date. The list is not long. Non-existent, really.

How pathetic is it that after fifteen minutes, my options boil down to my assistant—who has no interest in going on a date with a woman—or my twin brother?

“Andy? Can you come in here, please?” I call through the intercom.

My finger is barely off the button before he walks through the door. “Yes?”

This is humiliating. “Did Joel send you details for an event next week?”

“He did. About sixty seconds ago. Do you need a dress?”

“Well, I need a dress, but I need something else, too.”

Andy appears apprehensive. He looks a lot less enthused than he did at the prospect of dress shopping. “Okay?”

“I need a date, Andy. Not a boyfriend. Not a carriage ride through the park. No hand holding. Just someone to sit in the seat beside me and schmooze with people we’ll likely never see again.”

“Okay…”

He’s really going to make me spell this out for him, isn’t he?

“Don’t feel obligated to say yes. Saying no will not impact your job or my opinion of you. But…” I blow out a breath. “Will you be my date?”

My assistant, all five-foot-ten of handsome Baltic man, appears lost for words.

“You can help me choose a dress.” I flash him a smile, despite feeling at my peak for pathetic.

“I have a standing Wednesday evening volunteer thing, but I can—”

“No.” I put my hand up to stop that sentiment before he can even consider it. “You are not rearranging your schedule or anyone else’s. Not to worry. I’ll figure it out.” My smile fades at the realization I have to ask my workaholic brother. It’s hard enough to find a dress in seven days. Let alone a real date.

Even if Caleb wasn’t working 100 hours a week, the chances of him showing up at an event, knowing our parents are going to be there, are slim.

Worst-case scenario, I show up alone, disappoint my father, and lose any ground I’ve made up in my job because I’m single. No big deal.

I arrive at Caleb’s restaurant, hunting down another employee who looks like they’ll be able to take me to him. Sure, I could have called, but a question like this requires finesse. Not to mention begging and puppy-dog eyes.

A woman walks past in a uniform, so I wave and call out to her, asking if I can see Caleb. Maria, according to her nametag, turns up her nose at me and tells me I can’t. I assure her he’ll want to see me, and after a bit of back and forth, she agrees to go ask him.

Three minutes later, she stomps back to where I’m waiting and instructs me to follow her.

My brother is hard at work when I walk in. “Hey. Give me a couple minutes. You can wait in my office if you want.” Like our father, he doesn’t look up from his task when he speaks to me. But I’d never tell Caleb I noticed that similarity.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll stay out of the way over here.” I lean against a stainless steel table, taking in the flurry of activity in the humid kitchen. Not wanting to stay in here longer than necessary, I blurt, “I have a favour to ask.”

He’s silent for a second and I’m not sure if he’s worried about whatever he’s cooking or he’s considering what I said. I don’t like asking favours of anyone, and I know this one is a particularly tall order. If I told him I needed a kidney, he’d probably grab a filet knife and hand one of his to me on the spot. Asking him to spend an evening with our parents is less likely to be an automatic answer.

“Okay. What is it?” He slides out some scallops onto a pair of plates, then flicks a towel over his shoulder.

“I need you to come to a gala with me next week.”

He gestures for me to walk toward his office. “My staff are not on their games today, so I only have a minute.” He opens his office door, but I stall in the doorway when I look inside.

“Caleb? What the hell is this? You call this an office? This doesn’t even qualify as a… dumpster.”

“I know, but I haven’t had time to sort through everything. I’ve got my necessary contacts, contracts, and purchase orders, so beyond that, I don’t care right now.” He squeezes past me to walk inside, then sits on the edge of his cluttered desk.

“This is not okay. You need someone with good business sense to get this organized for you.” Time to implement the puppy-dog eyes.

“In exchange for?”

“Baby brother”—I scoff—“I am offended you think I would only offer help, expecting something in return.” I walk in to inspect the damage. Maybe I can hire someone to clean this up and we can call it even for being my plus one.

“Soph, I can’t take an evening off right now. We’re booked every night, and none of the staff here are ready to handle it.”

That statement deflates me, so I sink into the extra chair in front of his desk. “I was afraid you’d say that. I don’t have anyone else to ask, as pathetic as that is, and Dad made it clear I need to bring someone. The male-dominated world of international business is already bad enough. Showing up as the poor single girl is even worse.”

Caleb doesn’t answer. He leans against the desk, arms crossed, his face going from one emotion to the next so fast, I can’t get a read on them.

“What is happening to you? You just stared off into space and made the full range of emojis,” I ask, studying his face for answers.

He finally directs his attention back to me, a smirk turning up the corner of his mouth. “Why don’t you ask the barista? You obviously have a thing for him. Just give it a go.”

“I can’t ask him!” Even if I hadn’t lied to him and told him I was in a relationship. “Could you imagine Dad’s reaction?” The thought of facing my father’s wrath for bringing a barista to an important event makes me nauseous. I scrunch up my nose, battling with the upset stomach. “It would be worse than if I brought you!”

The look on Caleb’s face makes me laugh. It shouldn’t but it does.

“Gee, thanks.”

This is obviously not accomplishing anything. I stand from the tacky vinyl chair, using my purse as a shield for my churning stomach. “We both know it’s true. I’ll let you get back to work, though. Someday, I hope you’ll make me something spectacular to eat.”

My big little brother pulls me in for a hug, resting his chin on my head. “Once my staff is settled in, I’ll make you something amazing. I promise. Love you, Soph.”

“Love you too, little brother.”

I exit the office before him and end up running into an old acquaintance, so I take a few minutes to catch up with her. When I leave, I’m no closer to finding a ‘suitable’ date. No closer to pleasing my father, and I’m not sure I ever will be.