“Elle . . . excuse me, Colton, may I speak with my daughter alone?” Dad asks.

“Of course, Daniel. Elle, it was nice to see you this evening. Enjoy yourselves.”

“I don’t like this. Not one bit.”

Once upon a time, Dad’s biting proclamation would’ve had me backing down. We’re the home team, the two of us against the world. But these growing pains were always going to happen, maybe not like this, where there’s a competitive edge, but I was always going to have to stand my ground with him. Repeatedly, if necessary, until he sees that I’m fine on my own two feet.

“Dad, it’s fine. I am fine. Other than my father stomping around and pissing off my new boss. If I worked anywhere else, would you walk up to my boss and start shit with him? No, you wouldn’t. I get that this is different because of the HQ2 thing, but I need you to look at me. Really look at me.”

I hold my arms out a bit, and Dad glares at me like he doesn’t get it. “You look beautiful, baby girl. Which is another thing . . . I don’t like the way Wolfe is looking at you.”

I put a hand on Dad’s arm. “Dad, I get it. I’m not your little girl anymore and that’s scary. But it’s okay. I can handle this project, I can handle Colton Wolfe, and most importantly, I can handle myself. If you’ll let me. You taught me well. Now it’s time for you to gloat over how good of a job you did raising me.”

We’re a veritable nine o’clock drama show on NBC, all up in our feels and on the verge of tears when Dad finally looks at me.

“Shit. I’m botching this up, aren’t I?” I nod, and he sighs heavily. He covers my hand with his, though I know he wants to hug me. I appreciate that he’s holding back because of the professional surroundings we’re in because I know it’s killing him. “I am proud of you, and I do believe you. It’s just hard for a dad to let go of his little girl. Especially when . . .” He stops himself, though I know he was about to say something else cutting about Colton. It’s progress and I’ll take it.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Guess Tiffany was right. I do have big, brass balls after all. That actually went pretty well, and hope blooms in my belly that maybe I can do it all. Work on Colton’s HQ2 project, have a little fun with the dares with him, make Dad proud, and ultimately, who wins the HQ2 race will be out of my hands. We can all just do our best and let the chips fall where they will.

Inside, I’m doing a giddy dance of accomplishment accompanied by a choir singing, ‘Get it, girl!’ and I barely refrain from letting the music raise my hands in celebration. It’s a good thing, too, because the actual music the party band is playing ends.

“Dinner is ready. If you’ll please make your way to a seat. We encourage you to mix it up too. Please don’t sit with your own department, if possible.” Mrs. Fox is holding a microphone on the stage, inviting us all to sit at the numerous round tables spread throughout the garden.

Dad takes my hand and leads me to a table. “At least we’re not in the same department, so I can sit with my daughter, right?”

It’s an olive branch, one I take gladly as I sit beside him.

Tiffany reappears, taking the seat on the other side of Dad. “May I?”

“Of course, you’re always welcome, Tiffany.” Dad even stands slightly, pulling her chair out for her. He’s such a gentleman. I really need to find him someone. Other than my best friend, who’s making goo-goo eyes at him right now.

“Thank you so much, Daniel. Such manners, a kindness sadly lacking in so many these days.”

I swallow the groan, knowing I literally just told my dad that I’m an adult and to back off and now wanting to pinch my nose and say ‘gross’ like I’m ten again.

The rest of the table fills up and introductions are made. I’m honestly surprised when Colton doesn’t come to sit with me, but with Mrs. Fox’s decree of not sitting with your own department, it makes sense. And I’m honestly glad to not feel like Gumby for a little while with Dad and Colton pulling on either side of me. Though maybe it won’t be like that anymore with Dad realizing that I’m okay, even if this is awkward with us on opposing sides of the HQ2 thing.

The waiters begin bringing around salads. A hand reaches over my left shoulder, setting down my salad. But then a throat clears from beside me and I turn. “Ma’am?”

Oh, God. It’s the waiter from the hors d’oeuvres dare. My eyes go wide, and he looks down to the small bread plate in his hand that holds three more pastry puffs. “You asked for more of these?”

“Oh, uh . . . yes. Thank you.” He sets the plate down on the table, and I force down the laugh, not daring to look at Tiffany because I know she’ll make me break.

“If there’s anything else, please let me know. I’m Jeff, by the way.” His demeanor is completely professional, his eyes locked on my cleavage.

"Thanks, Jeff. That’s it, though. These are just so good.” I pop one in my mouth as a way of ending the conversation, and he walks off to continue salad service.

When I do manage to look around the table, every eye is on me. Once I swallow, thankfully not spitting this time, I try to explain. “These were just so good and I was only able to get one during the cocktail hour. Wasn’t that nice of Jeff?” The other people at the table nod politely, and finally, I chance a glance at Tiffany. Yep, she’s grinning wide and biting back laughter too.

Bitch. Good thing I love her. If only she’d stop chatting up my dad.

“Everyone, if I may?” Mr. Fox says from the stage, interrupting my train of thought and thankfully pulling everyone’s attention as I stuff another pastry in my mouth. Dare aside, they really are that good.

“Please continue with your dinner, but I wanted to say a few things tonight.”

Mr. Fox goes on to rave about how we’re a family at Fox, all working together for one goal and a bunch of other rah-rah pep rally speak. But he truly means it, so it comes off as genuine, not false at all.

“In closing, as everyone knows, the HQ2 project has been the cornerstone of our growth plans for the past year, and we’ve had several excellent proposals.”

The entire room goes still. Is he going to announce which plan they’ve chosen? Next to me, Dad sits taller, sets his napkin on the table, and brushes off his lapels.

What’s happening? Did Dad’s plan get selected?

Emotions roil through me—excitement for Dad, sadness for Colton, and even disappointment for myself at having only gotten out of the clerical pool for a week. Megan had better get out of my chair if I’m getting shipped back downstairs to Miranda’s team.

“We’ve narrowed it down to two plans that hold the most promise, Daniel Stryker’s and Colton Wolfe’s.” Mr. Fox begins the round of applause and the room follows suit.

“I’ve asked them both to take teams to their prospective locations, and tonight, they’ll be announcing those teams. Daniel?”

Dad gets up from his seat, eyes on Mr. Fox as he makes his way to the band stage. He takes the microphone and holds court over the room.

“Thank you, Allan. I’m honored that the Tennessee location is being considered and thrilled to take a research team for a more in-depth analysis. I thought hard about this, about what skills I’d need on the ground and who best to fill those shoes . . .” Dad goes on to list a team of six members, from legal to manufacturing, engineering to his assistant. It’s a big crew, but it’s a big undertaking.