The Lineup(100)

Right on time, my dad knocks on the door and is surprised to see Mr. and Mrs. Carlton already seated. I have yet to tell him everything that went down on Friday because frankly, I wasn’t only embarrassed, but heartbroken. I didn’t have it in me to disappoint another man in my life, so I sent him a quick email to meet me on Monday in my office.

I can only imagine what’s running through his head. He’s probably thinking I closed on the deal from the bright smile on his face.

Shit, I hate this. Facing the consequences of my actions.

Once he greets the Carltons, he takes a seat as well.

With a deep breath, I say, “Thank you all for meeting me here today and adjusting your schedules. I really appreciate it.” I scoot forward on my chair, trying not to fidget like my dad taught me. Fidgeting shows weakness and if anything, I need to be as strong as I can possibly be in this moment. “I’m really sorry about canceling dinner on Friday.” From the corner of my eye, I see my dad pull on his cufflink, an indication that he’s not entirely happy to not be briefed before this meeting.

“That’s quite all right, Miss Domico. We are understanding people.”

Let’s see just how understanding.

“I told you I had to cancel because of an emergency, which in fact, was true. The dinner we prepared caught up in flames.”

“Oh dear,” says Mrs. Carlton. “Is your home okay?”

“Yes, it was contained in the oven, but it happened because of me. You see, I’ve been dating Jason Orson, but not for as long as I told you.” Mr. Carlton’s eyebrows sharpen. “I’ve only been seeing him for a little over a month.”

“I see,” Mr. Carlton says, his usual jovial self, angry.

Controlling my breath and not letting it escape me, I say, “I was desperate to show you that even though I might not have been the family person you were looking for, we still were a family operated company. I wanted to keep you interested to grant me more time to prove that to you. I went about it the wrong way, and . . . I’m so sorry I deceived you.”

“I see,” Mrs. Carlton says looking out the window.

“I never meant to deceive you or make you feel like you’d been fooled. I can tell you from the heart, right now, that Jason Orson is everything I ever asked for in a man and I really—”

Mr. Carlton clears his throat and grips the edges of his armrest. “Yes, well, I don’t need to hear you prattle on. I think our time here is done.” He stands, lending his hand to his wife who takes it and lifts from her chair. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

Fuck. Panic constricts my throat, desperate pleas at the tip of my tongue that can’t seem to find a voice. No.

“Mr. and Mrs. Carlton,” my dad says, standing as well. “Please know this isn’t how we conduct business.”

“No?” Mr. Carlton asks, a sturdiness to his question. “She’s your daughter is she not? She must have learned how to be untrustworthy somewhere.”

My dad reels back, as if he’s been slapped. Shit . . . shit, shit, shit.

The crashing down of the moment drowns me as I try to float to the top, try to find the courage to stand on two legs as I realize this is just like the last time I disappointed my dad. The disappointment in his face, but the need to protect me as well.

I step in, placing a hand on my dad’s forearm. “I assure you, Mr. Carlton, my dad had nothing to do with this. He didn’t condone what I did. This was all on me and I will forever regret this decision.”

“Yes, you will,” he says, heading toward the door. He takes his wife’s hand and says, “What you learn quickly in this business, Miss Domico, is even though it’s a take-no-prisoners atmosphere, the businesses and executives who finish in a golden light and live a fruitful life are the ones who take the honest path in business. I hope this lesson serves you well.”

They vacate my office, disappointment written all over their features, and that’s when I realize, I’m pretty sure they were ready to pick the Domicos. Had I not come clean, we’d be popping champagne and celebrating.

It wouldn’t have felt right though, especially with the way things ended with Jason.

God, I miss him so much it hurts.

When they’re out of earshot, my dad turns on me, anger etched in his eyes. “What the hell was that, Dorothy?”

And here’s the moment I’ve been dreading the most about today. “It was the truth. They deserved it.”

“They deserved it from the very beginning.” He drags his hand over his face. “You just cost us millions over that deal.”

“I know, Dad—”

“No, I don’t think you do. You not only cost us money, but you cost us our reputation.” He tosses his hand in the air. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this now?”

“Nothing,” I say, as an acute sense of loss builds inside me.

In my dream of dreams, I pictured everything going right, that the Carltons would congratulate me on being truthful, and my dad would think it was a risk but proud of me for not hiding behind deception.

That was the dream. Somewhat misguided.

Reality? This is the end of everything I’ve built over the last few years, everything I thought I wanted and worked for since college. I wasn’t sure if I was going to do this or not, but I feel as though I don’t have a choice. I pick up a letter off my desk and hand it to him. “Here’s my resignation. Please consider this my two weeks’ notice or until you can find a replacement.”