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My PA, Annabelle, is frowning at her computer as I approach.
“Mr. Grant?” She looks up with an eager smile.
“I need you to clear my meetings for the next three days. And get me on the next flight to London.”
With that, I walk into my office, barely glancing at the skyline of downtown LA through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s a view I’ve seen every day since I took over from Atlantic Airways’ previous CEO for US operations five years ago.
“The board meeting too?”
“Especially that.” I turn to Annabelle as she scurries in behind me, gripping a tablet tightly in one hand while tapping the screen to make notes. “Reschedule everything for when I’m back.”
“Consider it done.” She lifts her eyes to mine. “Shall I book you in at the Savoy?”
I walk to my desk and pick up the phone. “That won’t be necessary… That’s all, Annabelle.”
Nodding, she hurries from the room, closing the door on her way out. She’s timid, but her work is good. I hope she lasts longer than the last one.
I check my watch as the call connects. It’s mid-afternoon in London.
“Son?” My father’s warm voice filters down the line.
“Dad.” I sink into my chair and spin to face the window.
“Everything okay? I wasn’t expecting to speak to you until tomorrow’s meeting.”
I stare at the bright blue sky. Another hot day in California. It matches the rising heat in my blood as I lie to my father with sickening ease. The UK fleet doesn’t have the same aircraft as the US. He has no idea.
“Everything’s fine. I’m coming over to speak with Logan Rich about his company’s biofuel engines. Can I stay at the house? Then I can fill you in on things here.”
“Of course you can.” The lilt in his voice is unassuming, trusting. We haven’t seen one another face-to-face for weeks. I’m overdue a visit.
And this conversation definitely warrants for that.
“I won’t be interrupting anything?”
“Hold on.” My father’s voice muffles as he moves away from the phone, likely speaking to someone else, before returning back to the line. “Just checking.”
“Checking?”
“That the playgirl bunnies I have around between your visits can manage without me.”
“And can they?” I stretch my fingers out on the arm of my chair in an attempt to loosen the ache caused by hours of typing out figures.
“They said they’ll manage.” He chuckles.
“That’s a relief,” I reply dryly. The thought of my father with anyone, let alone someone half his age is ludicrous, yet it’s not the first time I’ve heard the joke.
“I’ll tell Margaret to expect you in case I’m not in when you arrive.”
Ah, the new housekeeper.He keeps them longer than I keep my PAs. But it’s a shame Bella retired. I liked her and her no-nonsense approach to running my father’s house.
“Okay, fine,” I clip, spinning back to my desk and clicking into a report on my computer I need to go over.
“Bye, Son.”
I end the call and lift my head as Annabelle peers around the door.
“You’re on the 78 at three p.m.”
