A/N: Yep. New story. Special thanks to Laurie for being the best idea-bouncer-offer, cheerleader extraordinaire, and all the late-night texting sessions. :)
Chapter One
She had stepped into the restroom to quadruple-check her appearance, but Cat Watson also took the time to give herself a mental pep-talk. After making sure her teeth were clean, she gave her armpits a tentative whiff to be certain her deodorant was working. The buttons of her white blouse weren't uneven. The side seams of her black skirt were straight. Her black pumps were free of scuff marks and mud.
Her hair wasn't unkempt. Could she say it was kempt? Was that a word? It should be, she decided. Her makeup wasn't a mask, nor was it smeared. The clasp of her necklace was at the back of her neck. Drawing in a deep breath, she expelled it slowly.
"I can do this," she whispered to her reflection. "I've been called back for a second interview, with the man I'll be working for. The battle is practically won. Just be cool. Don't get to rambling. I've got this."
Was it her imagination, or had her reflection rolled its eyes? With a shake of her head, she turned away from the mirror. "I've got this," she whispered again. She picked up her purse and strode to the door, stopping to make sure no toilet paper was stuck to either of her shoes. Not that the bathroom was messy – it was easily one of the cleanest public restrooms she'd ever entered – but one could never be too careful.
Her shoes were toilet paper free. She sighed again, then squared her shoulders and left the restroom. Chin up, shoulders back, she strode down the hallway, following the directions the receptionist had given her. Hoping she exuded more confidence than she felt, she went to the end of the corridor and hesitated only briefly outside the door she was to go through.
"Got this," she hissed under her breath and entering the room. It was an outer office. Her office if – no, when – she got the job. It was bright, sunlight coming through the bank of windows on the southern wall. The two chairs for guests matched others she'd seen in the building. The U-shaped desk in the corner was empty save for a bedraggled philodendron and an office phone. There was no office chair. Nothing on the walls.
She took a step forward, a curse coming out in a yelp as her foot connected with something solid. Looking down, she saw a white storage box. It was full, obviously. Stepping over it, she saw others stacked here and there. The door leading to the inner office was open, and she could hear music playing from within. Stepping around the other boxes, she stopped in the doorway and leaned in. No one was in there. Just in case her possible new boss had stepped into the restroom, she rapped loudly on the open door. No reply. She rapped again, a little bit louder this time, then stepped over boxes to take a chair and wait.
The philodendron had dropped more, if possible. As she looked at it, a dead leaf fell to the desk. She bit her lip, then finally muttered a curse and retrieved her bottled water from her purse. She had to lean across the desk to pull the pot closer to her, but did so, uncapping the bottle so she could give the plant some hydration. Unable to help herself, she plucked off the dead leaves, making it look sadder than it had before. She saw no wastebasket and crumpled the leaves in her fist for later disposal. Surely there would be one in the next room. Satisfied she'd done what she could to extend the poor plant's life, she returned to her seat.
She was beginning to think she'd come to the wrong office when the outer door swung open. A male figure backed in, head tilted at an odd angle. He turned slightly, and she saw a phone pressed between his ear and shoulder. In his arms were two of the storage boxes. One began slip and he leaned to drop both on the floor. Back still too her, he caught the phone in one hand.
"I know," he said. His voice was smooth, modulated. It reminded her of the silky-voiced radio DJs of her childhood. From the days before digital music. When she'd had to hold a tape recorder up to her dad's old stereo to record a new favorite song. Despite the smoothness though, his voice was laced with irritation. "Look, I've got to go. I've got someone coming in for the assistant job." He paused, shoulders rising and falling on a sigh. "Yes, I'll be there. We have to be there at eight, so make sure the boys are ready. What? …Why would I bring my sister? Yeah. Bye."
He lowered the phone with a sound of disgust. Cat sensed that he wished it was a flip phone so he could end the call angrily. Instead, all he could do was jab at the screen and shove the phone into his pocket.
Feeling as though she were intruding, she made no sound and looked to the floor while he sighed and ran a hand over his face. Gaze landing on a pair of gleaming red and white sneakers, she blinked in surprise. They looked as though they'd just come out of a box straight from the factory. She was positive she'd never seen such clean sneakers. Did he wear surgical booties when he went outdoors?
The absurd thought caused a giggle to bubble up her throat. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but the sneakers moved. She jerked her gaze upwards as he turned, and her eyes met his. Seeing the surprise on her face, she swallowed the giggle and cleared her throat, slowly rising to her feet.
"Um, hi," she greeted. Then mentally kicked herself. So much for the brilliant greeting she'd rehearsed in her mind.
"Hello." His hand fell to rest over the pocket he'd put his phone in, and there was a brief look of panic on his face before he replaced it with a warm smile. He stepped forward. "I'm sorry I kept you waiting."
"I was early. No problem." She uncurled her fisted hand and slipped it into his for a shake, only to freeze at the grit between their palms. Looking down, she saw crumpled leaves floating to the floor. Her face flamed with mortification and she jerked her hand away, rubbing her hands together to get rid of the leaf debris. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. Your philodendron needed water, so I gave it some of mine. And I picked off the dead leaves. There's no wastebasket in here, and I couldn't just throw them on the floor. Like I just did…"
Her voice trailed into a sigh and she brushed her palm over skirt to make sure no more bits of leaves were there.
"What do you say we start over?" she offered meekly, looking to his face. His close-cropped hair was dark, shot through with silver, and he was clean-shaven. A light tan set off the strong square jaw, and she saw a slight cleft in his chin. He was fighting a smile. Or perhaps he was fighting laughter at her stupidity. But he nodded, lips twitching, then turned his head to the side to cough against his shoulder. Or maybe he was choking on a laugh.
"Right. Sorry." He turned to her again, once more smiling warmly. "Good morning."
"Good morning. I'm here for my eleven thirty interview with Mr. McMahon."
"Of course. You're Miss Watson?" He was extending his hand again.
"Very good," she whispered.
"Don't break character," he whispered in return. Then, in normal tones, he continued, "It is Miss Watson, right?"
"Yes." She slipped her hand into his for a shake, pleased that this time is was problem-free. His hand was warm, his grip strong. "Mr. McMahon?"
"Yes, but please call me Shane. Mr. McMahon is my father." His brown eyes twinkled, and he released her hand. As he did so, her anxiety slipped away.
"Then you must call me Cat."
"Cat?" he repeated, one eyebrow rising.
"Short for Catriona."
"That's a beautiful Irish name. Why shorten it?"
"I… Don't know, honestly. My parents always called me Cat. If someone calls me Catriona, I think I'm either in trouble or back in school. Besides, most people pronounce it wrong…"
"Then Cat it is." His lips curved into a grin. "Good do-over."
"Yes, it was," she agreed, letting out a relieved laugh.
Shane gestured to the open door leading into the inner office. "Please, come in. And forgive the mess. I'm still getting things arranged."
She stepped around boxes, grateful to find his office wasn't littered with them. While he moved to the speaker dock on the large desk she looked around, taking in the panoramic view the two walls of windows offered. Her first thought was that she wished she could photograph the vista. Her second thought was that he had really meant t when he said he was still getting things arranged. There were a few boxes stacked in front of the empty shelves that lined one wall, and random mementos of a life she didn't know were bunched together here and there.
The music ended mid-word, and she quickly crossed to the chair he indicated. As she sat, her gaze landed on a framed photo of three boys. All were mugging for the camera, with extreme grins and wide eyes, the smaller of the three in the middle. They resembled Shane, she thought. "Your sons?" she guessed.
He smiled. "Yes. My pride and joy." He set his iPod down on the desk then sat down in the chair beside hers after turning it slightly. One foot propped on the opposite knee, he gave her a reassuring smile. "This is all just a formality," he said, gesturing between them. "I've read over the notes from your other interview, gone over your résumé, and checked your references. Just a few questions to go over, and we'll move on from there."
"Alright." She set her purse on the floor and nudged it beneath her chair with one foot. Hearing her mother's voice reprimanding her to sit properly, she straightened her spine, crossed her ankles, and made sure her knees were pressed together before clasping her hands in her lap.
Shane settled back in his chair, knee bouncing lightly as he looked inside a folder he'd pulled from his desk. "Your passport's in good order, isn't it? The job requires travel."
"Just renewed it last summer," she told him. "And I've had all the vaccines."
"Good. No reason you can't go overseas for, say, a month at the time, is there? No elderly relative living with you?" He was squinting at the page he was looking over, and the way he tilted it hinted that he needed reading glasses.
"No, I'm clear of those kinds of responsibilities. I live alone. No pets. No kids." Why had she said that? If she had children, it would be in the file he was flipping through. The man who'd previously interviewed her had told her they would do a thorough background check. And he'd said it in a way that hinted she better come clean immediately before they dug up something on her.
"How familiar are you with the business?" Shane asked, dragging her attention away from the annoying man she'd spoken with last time.
"You mean wrestling? Um… Well." She faltered, pursing her lips briefly before exhaling sharply. "I watched a little bit when I was a kid, but it was never really my thing. My mind was always on other things, so… I suppose the answer would be not very much."
He nodded, and raised his head. "We're on the road year-round. You'll be traveling with me, which means you'll be on the road Saturday nights through Tuesday mornings. Wednesdays and Thursdays you'll be here in the office. Fridays and most of Saturdays you'll be off. Every once in a while you'll be able to fly out on a Sunday. When we go to Europe and the like you'll be there until the tour ends, and they usually last a few weeks." He paused for a moment, his gaze inscrutable. "The sleep schedule probably won't be the best, but there will be plenty of hours off during the day to yourself to catch up if you need to."
"I understand."
"It's not glamorous," he went on. Then he chuckled, seemingly reading her next thought. "Don't think I'm trying to talk you out of taking the job. This company is a great way to see a lot of the world. I just need you to understand how it will be, at least as much as you can before you're thrown into it. Do you have a boyfriend?"
"I beg your pardon?" she blurted, surprised by the sudden change in subject.
"People that aren't used to the lifestyle tend to not understand. Jealous significant others are one of the uglier realities." He dropped his foot to the floor. "If you do have someone in your life, I can meet with him—"
"I don't have a boyfriend," she announced.
"I didn't mean to pry," he said softly. Then, clearing his throat, he tossed the folder back onto the desk. "Now, to your duties. I know you met with Jason two weeks ago. But, to be honest, he's in an office eight hours a day, five days a week. He has no idea what needs doing on the road. Did he go over anything at all?"
"He said the job included minor secretarial duties, like keeping up with appointments and making travel arrangements. And when you're on the road I have to keep in contact with the office here in case something comes up. Keep track of Mr. McMahon, Mr. and Mrs. Levesque, and Mr. Dunn?" she added a questioning lilt, unsure if she'd remembered the name correctly. When he nodded, she continued. "I'll have to keep track of where they are in arenas, in case either of them need you. He also said I have to see to things like your cleaning, your luggage, and making sure all your needs are met."
Shane wrinkled his nose. "That makes me sound like a spoiled kid, doesn't it? I promise, you won't have to cut my steaks or sing me lullabies."
Cat snorted on a laugh. Then her humor died away. He was speaking as though she'd already gotten the job. As if it were already decided. Heart thudding in her chest, she drew in a shaky breath. "I—"
"Can I ask why you moved from finance to this type of job?"
The breath left her in an instant.
"I saw that your last position was with Goldman Sachs. I spoke to your reference from there, a Mr..." He reached for the folder.
"Hines," she supplied, hating how croaky her voice sounded to her own ears.
"Yes, Mr. Hines. He gave you a glowing reference, and said that you were on the cusp of promotion." Shane's eyes held many questions.
"I needed a change of pace," she answered after a moment. "I had been there since my internship. I got bogged down. Sixty hours a week and…" She was starting to babble now, and forced herself to stop to take a breath. "It wasn't the pace of the job. I had no trouble keeping up with it all. It just… It no longer fit me."
He tilted his head slightly. "And if this doesn't fit you?"
She blinked. Thought of her dwindling bank account. The borderline nagging phone calls from her family members. The suggestions that she could always move back home. "I don't know," she managed. "Look for something that will, I suppose."
"I see." He rested his hands on his knees and rose to his feet.
Disappointment flooded her. He wasn't going to offer her the job. He probably thought her flighty. She was going to have to keep looking. Or move back in with her parents. Working for her father wouldn't be too bad. At least it would be a job, the fact that she had no interest in bookkeeping for a mechanic notwithstanding. Reaching for her purse, she got to her feet and wondered what she should say.
Shane pushed up the sleeves of his gray Henley. His expression was relaxed, and as she still searched for words to say, he smiled. "I won't make you wait for a decision. As far as I'm concerned, the job is yours."
"Really?" she croaked.
"Really," he chuckled. "You're competent, intelligent, have a wonderful work history. You seem fit enough to handle running back and forth in an arena if need be. And, between you and me, you're the only applicant that wasn't a wrestling fan."
"Why would that be in my favor?"
"Miss Watson – Cat – I don't want a personal assistant that is more interested in checking out the product than they are making sure their job is being done. I don't want someone that's going to want to talk wrestling and storylines nonstop. I need someone who can keep track of everything that's going on. And I think that someone is you."
"Thank you," she said, the gratitude heartfelt. "I truly appreciate your willingness to give me a chance."
"Everyone deserves a chance or two." He glanced to his phone when his phone vibrated, then his attention swiveled to her again. "When can you start?"
"When do you need me?" she asked. She was anxious to get started, because she would have to get used to working with him. She would prefer doing that in the office, where she would know where nearly everything was. Besides, she saw no need to wait a week. It wasn't as though she had another job to leave before she could start.
He gestured to the mess of boxes, lips forming a self-deprecating smile. "As soon as possible. You know the job has to start Monday in Detroit, and if you'd like to wait until then, that's fine."
"Tomorrow?" she suggested. The sooner the better.
"That works for me. There's still your salary to go over, and I think there are about three thousand forms for you to sign. You don't have carpal tunnel syndrome, do you?"
She laughed, wriggling her fingers. "Not a bit."
"Good. We'll get started on that right away." He held out a hand.
She took it, returning the squeeze he gave her fingers.
"Welcome aboard, Cat."
Shane was later getting to the office than he had planned. He had wanted to get there early so he could help Miss Watson – Cat – settle in, but Fate had intervened. He would have liked to have been able to blame noisy neighbors, or a headache that kept him from falling asleep, but the truth was that he'd just had a crappy night. His mind had not wanted to turn off when he'd gone to bed. It wasn't a regular occurrence, although it happened enough to be annoying. And now that he was back to working in the family business, it was happening more and more frequently. Nerves, he supposed. Trepidation after being gone so long. When he had finally managed to fall asleep, it had only been a couple hours before his alarm started blaring.
Then his coffeemaker had decided to die. Groggy and cranky, he'd had to take everything off the counter in the kitchen to clean up the leaked water. Coffee grounds had gone everywhere. By the time he'd gotten it all cleaned up, he'd been crankier than he had when he'd gotten out of bed.
His scrambled eggs had stuck to the pan. His toast and burned. He'd cut his chin shaving.
Still grumbling under his breath, he crossed the lobby, noting with irritation that the receptionist had coffee and a delicious smelling breakfast sandwich on his desk. Everyone waiting for the elevator was holding coffee. He would have damned them all to hell if he had thought it would do any good. Instead, he managed a smile, letting it slip once he was on the elevator.
He stopped by his father's office. The secretary, who had held the job for as long as Shane could remember, was sipping from a cup of coffee. She told him that Vince wasn't expected for another hour. Shane looked longingly at the coffeepot behind her desk. He was offered none, though, and made his way down the hall to his office at the other end of the building.
As soon as he passed through the outer door, he came to a standstill. And felt his irritation begin to slip away.
Miss Watson – Cat – was already there. And, God bless her, she was scooping ground coffee into a brand new coffeemaker. And, God bless her future children, there were two cups waiting next to it.
"Good morning," she greeted cheerfully, switching on the pot and storing the can of coffee on the shelf next to it.
"Morning." He let go of the doorknob and entered the room fully so the door could shut behind him.
She looked at him, head tilted to one side, light blue eyes squinting just a bit. "You've got a little…" She motioned to her own ear. He stared at her, confused, and she stepped over and swiped a finger over his earlobe. "Shaving cream," she murmured, wiping her finger on a tissue she pulled out of nowhere.
"Thanks," he sighed, just a little amused when she stood on her tiptoes to wipe his ear again.
"There," she declared, stepping back. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Cream, no sugar." She was making him coffee. Okay, maybe she was just being polite because she was making coffee for herself. But he was pleased just the same.
"I'll bring it in as soon as it's ready." She was walking over.
He glanced around, blinking in surprise when he saw the desk had been transformed from its barrenness. The scraggly houseplant she'd babbled about the day before was still there, in what he was sure was a new pot. The computer that had been brought in the previous afternoon was in place and on, the WWE logo serving as its wallpaper. A few small picture frames were grouped together near the monitor. Beside the office phone was a vase with a cluster of yellow flowers.
The door to his office was closed. He went inside, still marveling at the transformation of her office, and halted again. Once more, he blinked in surprise.
"If you don't like them, I'll take them out," Cat said behind him. He could hear the worry in her voice.
"No, no, it's fine." He felt the urge to smile, this time for real, and did so as he entered the office. The blinds were open. The newspaper was waiting for him on the center of his desk. She'd straightened up. He looked around, noting she'd arranged all his mementos and the little things he'd brought in to liven up the space. When he'd left the day before they'd been jumbled. All the boxes had been emptied and were now gone. Even his desk was neater. There was a blotter. His office phone was no longer on the floor. The scattered pens were neatly tucked into a cup. The guest chairs had been shifted to face the desk, cattycorner to each other. On a small table against the wall was the vase of flowers.
Shane sat down, taking it all in. Catching a faint aroma of citrus, he looked down at his desk and saw the wood was gleaming. Had she polished it?
"Here you go." She was striding into the office, cup of coffee in hand.
He half rose, leaning to take the cup. A sigh passed his lips after he breathed in the aroma. "Thank you."
"No problem."
"You didn't have to do…" He gestured to all the things she'd done in the office. "All this."
"I didn't mind. I got here at eight, and once I set up my desk, well, there was really nothing to do." She gave a brief smile. "And if you don't like how I put things, my feelings won't be hurt if you redo it all."
"You got here at eight?"
"I had to set up my stuff," she explained.
"I'm just a little surprised." He lifted his cup for a sip and sighed again. God bless her future grandchildren, too. "You got here early, I got here late. Seems fitting."
"If you want, I can be late tomorrow."
He looked up in time to see the teasing smile. "Did you get my email—"
"Your schedule? Yes. Media wants you this afternoon for a photoshoot." She took the empty cup from his hand.
He groaned, not looking forward to time spent in one spot for a photographer. It was impossible for him to stay still for too long. "Let them know I'll come down at two. I have to run home and get a suit at lunch."
"Sure thing. Refill?"
"Yes. But, Cat, you don't have—" He cut off with a sigh. She was already on her way out the door. With a shake of his head, he reached for the newspaper. Through the open door he could hear the phone on Cat's desk start to ring, then her voice.
"Shane McMahon's office, Cat Watson speaking. How may I help you?"
He scanned the front page, nodding in approval at the professional tone. Answering the phone wasn't something they'd gone over the previous day. Most of the afternoon had been taken up with her signing al the required forms, and him showing her around the building so she would have a feel of the place. Proud of how she sounded, he continued reading over the front of the paper and glanced up when Cat cleared her throat.
"Mr. McMahon wants to see you."
Dad? Why hadn't he… Shane reached for the front pocket of his jeans, where he always kept his phone, and felt nothing. "Shit," he muttered, dropping the paper and getting to his feet. He patted his pockets repeatedly. As though by doing so he could make the phone appear. But of course it didn't. He could feel his keys. His wallet. But no phone. He would swear he'd had it when he left his house. "Shit…"
"He, um, wants to see you now." Cat pursed her lips. "Are you okay?"
"I think I left my phone in my car. Or at home. Now?" He wondered what the problem was.
"I'll check your car for you," Cat offered. "And yes, now. Is his secretary always so brusque?"
"She has been as long as I've known her." Handing over his keys, he met her eyes. "Thanks. And I promise, I'm usually more on the ball."
"We all have a bad morning here and there. Do you want me to go to your house and look for it if it's not in the car?"
"I'm positive it's in the car. I always put it in the cup holder." But what if it wasn't? Knowing his father would be getting more and more irritated with each passing second, he grabbed a pen from the cup and scribbled his address on a post-it note. "Just in case… The other key on the ring is to the apartment. This is the security code. Make sure to hit the 'Armed' button when you leave. And take my car if you have to go. No need wasting your gas."
"Got it." She took the note and looked at what he'd written.
"Just hold onto it until I get back," he requested before heading out. He wished he could restart the day. Better yet, he wished he could rewind back to his bedtime the previous night and restart it all. Hearing Cat call his name, he stopped and turn, smiling when she held out his refilled cup. Vince could wait one more minute. "Thanks."
Sipping it, he idly watched Cat gather her purse and phone. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Had it been that wavy the day before? It was dark, with hints of a reddish tint, and he watched the ponytail sway with each movement. She was wearing something similar to what she'd worn to the interview. A knee-length black skirt and pale pink blouse. Wardrobe leftover from her days in finance, he supposed. She leaned to retrieve her coat and he found himself looking down, taking in the gentle curves of her body, following the length of the leg she raised for balanced.
Pretty, too, he thought, glancing to the profile of her face as she fidgeted with the office phone. Little makeup. Her lips were glossed, and he thought he'd seen a touch of shimmer on her cheeks. Her skin looked creamy. He followed the length of her leg again. She was wearing high heels. Thinking of all the running she would undoubtedly have to do when they were at an arena, he silently hoped she would pack sneakers.
"Done?" she asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Shane blanked momentarily, fearing she'd noticed him checking her out. Then, when she gestured to his coffee, he nodded and handed over the cup. "Thanks for doing this," he said, opening the door and waiting for her to go out first.
"It's my job," she reminded him. "It has been for…" She shook her arm slightly and looked to the watch on her wrist. "Almost two hours now. Besides, I like to think you're doing this as a little test for me."
"If I was going to test you, I'd be sending you across town to pick up my cleaning."
She walked past him, leaving a faint aroma of perfume in her wake. "Do you need me to do that?"
"No," he promised. "You're in the employee lot, right? I'm parked in the center lane, at the far end."
They'd reached the elevators. Down the hallway, he could see his father.
"I'll find it."
"Thanks again." He waited for her to step onto the elevator before continuing on, and met his father outside the office.
"Where the hell is your phone?"
"Good morning to you too," Shane greeted. "I either left it at home or in the car. Cat's going to get it for me."
"Cat?" Vince McMahon held out a hand to his secretary, who handed over a neat stack of mail. "Coffee," he told her while going into his office.
Shane followed his father. "My personal assistant," he explained while settling into a chair facing the desk.
"The hot little piece I just saw you with?" Vince dropped the mail on his desk and shrugged out of his suit jacket.
Shane made a face. The description seemed crude, especially in relation to Cat. She was attractive. Pleasing to the eye. But a hot little piece? He recalled her bent over to get her jacket and steeled himself against the sudden wave of heat. She was his employee. Even if he wanted, he couldn't look at her like that. He shook his head slightly. Better not to answer at all. "You needed to see me?"
"Yes." Vince sat, much like a king on his throne. "Did she sign the papers?"
No need pretending he didn't know who 'she' was. "I told Mom… Yes. We meet in two weeks to discuss the financials."
"Are you still giving her half of everything?" Vince began to thumb through the mail. Why, Shane didn't know. His secretary opened it all, sorted it, and typed up initial responses. A bit presumptuous on her part, but Janet was an old-school dragon. Much like Vince.
"Not everything. Just what was acquired since the wedding date." Shane kept his face as impassive as humanly possible, focusing on a bit of nothingness just beyond his father's right shoulder.
"Hmph." Vince tossed the mail aside as the door opened. Janet marched in, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee, creamer, and a bowl of sugar cubes. The tray was placed gently on the corner of the desk. At Vince's nod, she scooped up the mail and marched out, the door snapping closed behind her.
"She's told me she won't touch the stock," Shane announced. Because he knew that was what his father was worried about.
"Make sure she doesn't. Get it in writing."
"Dad," Shane sighed. "You've always liked Marissa."
Vince's eyes narrowed. "I still like her. Hell, I love her like a daughter. I don't understand all this bullshit. You say you still love her. So what the hell is the problem? Why divorce?"
Shane sat back in his seat, knowing that nothing he could say would make his father understand. They'd gone over it countless times. And just when he thought the matter was settled, his father brought it up all over again. "We're not who we were twenty years ago."
"What the hell difference does that make? Nobody's who they were twenty years ago." Vince angrily sloshed cream into his cup and shoved his spoon into the coffee to give it a quick stir. "Are you having one of those damned midlife crises?"
"No." Shane tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. Knowing the diatribe that was coming, he could only sit and let it happen.
"Then just go fuck a few different women. Get it out of your system. That's what I've always done. Variety is the spice of life, you know. Go ahead and have some fun. Buy a new bike. Buy a woman for a weekend. Then you can get back to your normal life with Marissa and the boys."
"It's not a midlife crisis." Shane didn't bother raising his voice loud enough to be heard. Vince would barge on until he'd said his piece. Better to just let him do it.
"Or is she going through that menopause? Your mother did."
God, no, not this part.
"Tell her to go fuck around for a bit until all those hormones are settled. Or go see a doctor. Does she go to a shrink? They've got pills for everything nowadays."
Shane breathed a soft sigh of relief. Maybe he wouldn't have to hear how his father had handled his mother's menopause after all.
"Not having trouble getting it up, are you?"
That was a new one. Shane's head fell forward and he looked to his father in horror. "What?"
"Your dick."
"Jesus," Shane hissed.
"It happens to a lot of men. Why—"
"Don't," Shane exploded, sitting straight up and throwing out both hands in surrender. "Please, don't." He didn't think he would be able to take it if Vince admitted to that particular problem himself, and what he'd done to solve it.
Vince glared, then set his cup down with a petulant pout. "Divorce," he muttered. "Still like each other. No cheating. No money problems. No abuse. And you're getting a goddamn divorce."
"Why are you so upset about it?" Shane asked quietly, getting to his feet. His father didn't answer immediately so he leaned forward, head tilting to one side. "Are you upset because you hate seeing a marriage fall apart? Or are you pissed because it's just one more thing that you can't control?"
"Shane," Vince barked when he'd pushed away and gotten halfway across the office.
Shane stopped, but didn't turn around. "Yes?"
"Make sure she doesn't get one fucking share of the stock."