Besides, Amy was right. You didn’t say no to Lewis Carroll.
Reluctantly, he nodded.
“Okay, sure,” he said. “I’ll stay, and I’ll see what I can do. But only for as long as it takes to fix whatever has broken.”
Amy muttered something beneath her breath, her eyes as dangerous as a snake’s.
“Good,” said his dad, slapping the desk with one big hand. “I knew you’d come through for me. I think you should—”
“He needs to start somewhere low,” Amy interrupted. “A job’s just opened up on the cleaning crew. If he’s going to go unseen, I can’t think of anywhere better.”
“A janitor?” said his dad. “Sure, good idea. You can start tomorrow morning. Eight sharp.”
Christian nodded. He knew Amy had only suggested the job to humiliate him, but he’d spent the last five years doing messier jobs than cleaning restrooms and getting stains out of the carpets. Besides, she had a point. If he was going to observe the company, this was the best position to do it.
“Sure,” he said. “Eight.”
“Here’s everything we know so far,” said his dad, pushing a Manila folder across the table. “Read up on it tonight.”
Christian took it, waiting for his dad to say something else, something nice. He thought, after all this time, that he might at least invite him over for dinner. But he just picked up his oxygen mask and breathed deeply from it, waving his free hand to dismiss Christian from the room. Amy leaned over the old man, helping him, and Christian watched them for a moment before making his way to the door.
His father was dying. The company was dying. Just what kind of Christmas had he come home to?
My Bereaved Billionaire: A Clean Billionaire Romance (My Billionaire A-Z Book 2) Page 17
