Not Quite
1120 Words
SHAWN’S POV
“Shit.”
I stroked the mild stubble on my chin as the gilded mirror captured my unconvinced stare, towel hung around my shoulders. Mornings like these would have me sitting like a doll while she pretended to be a professional barber. Funny. I used to hate shaving. Until she made it something else. Something I looked forward to.
“You look better with the moustache on your face,” she would tease, laughing at the ridiculous shapes she drew with shaving cream.
A sharp ping from my phone on the counter halted my reach for the clipper. I snatched it up.
“Shawn Mercer.”
“It’s Winston, sir,” my head of security said.
“Winston?” That was fast.
Dad announced the handover just last night. Sending his lawyer this early? I thought I’d have more time to prepare. To breathe, for damn’s sake.
“Alright, I’ll be up in five,” I said, ending the call.
I stared back at the mirror, trying to remember which version of myself I was supposed to be.
“Guess we’re doing this,” I muttered.
I tossed the phone on the bed and headed for the shower.
***
As I jogged down the stairs, every step steadied out my pulse; only just. Winston sat on one of the leather chairs, wearing a black suit, no tie. He sat too straight like the world would collapse if he slouched.
“Mr. Winston,” I greeted, forcing calm into my voice.
He stood, offering his hand.
“Mr. Shawn. Good morning. I trust I didn’t catch you at a bad time?”
“Bad time?” I said, shaking his hand. “You show up unannounced before breakfast—Of course not.”
He only quirked the corner of his mouth. Winston never laughed at my jokes unless he needed to. That alone put me on edge.
“I apologize for the short notice,” he said, adjusting his jacket. “Your father insisted this be done quickly.”
Insisted?
I gestured toward the couch. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”
He sat, setting his briefcase on the glass table between us. The metallic click as he unlatched it sounded louder than it should have.
“I received the official papers late last night,” he began. “Given your father’s… situation, time isn’t friendly anymore.”
My mouth went dry. “What?”
He slid a folder toward me. “It’s all in there. The signatures are complete. The board’s been notified. As of this morning, Mercer’s Holdings belongs to you.”
For a moment, I couldn’t hear anything but the hum of the AC.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. We’d agreed after the fiscal quarter—after we’d ironed things out. Not now. Not like this.
“What’s the rush?” My voice dropped, heavy with suspicion. “He didn't say anything about this yesterday.”
His gaze flicked up to me, then back down. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
He hesitated. That single heartbeat of silence did more damage than any words could have.
With his lack of words already poking at my patience, Rosario slipped in with a tray of red wine, setting two champagne flutes on the table. I motioned for her to leave, never taking my eyes off Winston.
Finally, he exhaled. “He was ambushed on the night of the gala, on his way out. But he’s safe. He—he just wants to make sure everything is settled before…”
I froze. My hand clenched against my knee.
“Before what?!”
Before he left me with a company I wasn’t sure I was ready to lead. Before the weight of everything he built came crashing down on me.
He pressed his lips together, avoiding my eyes. “I’m sorry Shawn, I thought you knew. But no need to worry, he's safe.”
His voice faded as he kept talking about documents, succession protocols, and power of attorney. My eyes found the reflection in the glass table—the faint trace of shaving cream still smudged along my jaw.
What s**t did he get himself into now? How stupid I was thinking those somber vows he made on Mom’s tombstone mattered. Of all the things he kept to remember her by, the promises were never part of them.
“Shawn?” Winston’s voice snapped me back to the room.
“Um, yeah, can…” I sighed, raking my hand through my hair. “It's just… a lot right now.”
He softened the expression on his face. “I understand how hard this is, but I know he’s making a wise choice handing the company over to you—especially now. Let’s make sure we play our part.”
My gaze switched from the papers to the pen he extended. With a reluctant c**k of my head, I took it from him, the metal cold against my fingers.
I glanced at the signature line a moment longer than I should have. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve waited for this, my whole life, but every letter of my name now felt heavier than it used to be. With as much conviction as I could muster, I scribbled my initials on the papers.
“That’s it, then. It’s official,” he nodded.
I leaned back, exhaling through my nose.
“Where is he?”
He looked up. “Your father?”
“On second thought.” I slid the papers back toward him and held out my hand. “Send whatever else you need me to sign to my mail.”
“Alright, sir,” he replied, already packing up.
“See him off,” I told one of my men.
Once he left, I stood there for a while, hands in my pocket as the quiet stretched thin around me. The morning light shifted, now spilling wider across the floor, reaching the chair where Celine used to sit whenever she waited for me to finish meetings.
Minutes ago, I wondered whether to shave. Now, I own an empire. But yet, I’d never felt less in control.
“ALEXA, call Dad.”
“Calling Dad,” the sterile voice followed.
I itched for the ring before a loud thud pulled my attention to the front door.
Celine’s heels accused the marble with every step. She flung her bag onto the glass table like it had quills, then sank into the red couch, eyes pinched in disappointment.
“Hey,” my voice gentle. “What happened?”
Her fists clenched before slamming against the cushion.
“Like… who does he think he is?!”
- Writer
