Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Fuck these people. Fuck weddings. Fuck fishing. Fuck everything.
I get to the exit as cheers erupt behind me. Someone’s caught the bouquet. I just need to breathe. To get out of here. To escape.
I want to hold off the reality of what Ed’s just said a tiny bit longer.
I need to sort through what’s going on in my mind. I want to think about what Ed is really saying to me—and what he’s not saying. What he’s hiding. Does he want out completely? Or maybe he just wants to be a silent partner. We’re earning good money from this business, but it’s not enough for him to never work again. Especially if he and Katherine are planning to raise a family. Does he have other plans? Maybe he wants to work for a competitor. Or maybe he doesn’t want to be his own boss anymore and just wants to work a nine-to-five.
I stumble to the bench underneath the apple tree in front of me and put my head in my hands. The music has started up again, and I wonder whether I can go back to the hotel. Would anyone notice I was gone? I need space to think. I’ve always known Ed and I are different. He comes from old money in Boston. My family is from good Irish working stock. We’re not as polished as Ed. And we expect to work. Maybe Ed has some inheritance I don’t know about. My thoughts are all jumbled, and I just wish I could tear off this stupid tux and breathe.
“Hey,” she calls.
My head is in my hands, and I don’t look up. I know it’s Lucy. I don’t need to see her to know it.
She sits beside me on the bench. “I caught the bouquet. Well, Katherine passed it to me. I’m not sure it counts.” She stops. “Are you okay? I saw you talking to Ed.”
I nod, but I can’t find the words. She smooths her hand over my back, and I sit back finally.
“What did he say that’s sent you spiraling?”
“I need to step back,” I blurt.
“From the business?” she asks.
I shake my head. “From everything that isn’t the business.” I’m going to have to be the one who takes all this on. I can’t rely on Ed. I don’t want to bring in new people. If he’s going to step back from the business, I need to step forward. I need to work harder. Harder than I’m doing at the moment. I need to keep all the plates spinning. I glance over at her, and she looks like I’ve struck her. I hate myself, but I don’t have any other options. I need to refocus.
“What did he say?” Lucy asks.
“He wants to step back from Portis. He wants me to ‘loosen the reins.’” My mind is racing, trying to find solutions, to come up with a silver bullet that’s going to solve this problem. “Fuck,” I spit. I knew this was coming. Why wasn’t I more prepared?
“But he’s not saying he’s leaving, is he?” she asks.
He might as well be. “No,” I say. “He wants to have more balance. To have barbeques at the weekends and stuff. I don’t know.”
“And that’s not what you want? You work really hard, Hunter.”
“The reason we have a successful business is because I work really hard.”
She sighs beside me. “If you say so,” she says.
“What?” I ask. I’m caught up by my own thoughts, but it feels like she’s imparting some important wisdom that I don’t want to miss.
“If you think you’re successful because you work a lot of hours, then you’re successful because you work a lot of hours.”
Is she saying my success doesn’t come from working hard? She knows how hard I work. She knows what time I arrive in the office and what time I leave. “Running your own business takes up your whole life. That’s just how it is.”
“If you believe it, then it’s true.” She stands and smooths down her dress, like she’s done.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that unless you see that your success is more than just the hours you put in, you’re never going to work fewer hours.”
There’s no point in responding. Lucy has never worked for herself. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand what it’s like to be responsible for paying salaries and making sure you don’t default on a lease.
“The thing is,” she says, fiddling with one of the flowers in the bouquet. “If that were true, there’d be a low ceiling on success. There’d be no Warren Buffett or Steve Jobs. People would have a cap on how much they could achieve because there are only so many hours in the day.”
I try to hear what she’s saying, but it’s like she’s spouting quantum physics. I can’t make sense of her words, and I’ve already got too much spinning around in my head. I can’t take anything else in.