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Assistant: Title: We Might Live Like Never Before
        Author: JustLikeAPapercut JustLikeAPapercut 
        Chapter: 1/13 
        Summary: His wife is dead but his daughter isn’t because Grace didn’t think to take their kid along on a drunken drive through a canyon road.
        Contents: Chapter 1
    

    


      
        
          
          (See the end of the chapter for  notes.)
          
      
  

  
  
    
      we might live like never before    when there's nothing to give    well, how can we ask for more - Damien Rice, "Delicate" 
  
  
He’s in a meeting with a bunch of suits when the call comes in. His dad’s been talking about yanking him out of Films, back to Operations, and he’s shoved in a conference room with a bunch of people, Frank and Karl, maybe Gerri. He won’t remember much of it later, just that he’s texting when the call from Grace’s phone comes in and he sends it straight to voicemail. A phone call is the perfect excuse to get up and leave, bail out on all of this boring b@llsh@t, but he’s getting tired of people never taking him seriously and he knows Grace is only calling to complain about something because she’s always angry now, the two of them just sniping back and forth like something out of a f@ck@ng fifties sitcom. He sends the second call to voicemail too, but then he worries that it’s something to do with Isla and he goes back, reading his phone’s transcription of the voicemail message. He squints at the sh@tty job the algorithm does because all it gets is “Calabasas” and “Pacific Shores Hospital,” putting his phone up to his ear now, even though Gerri or someone else is still talking. He listens to the message, the doctor’s stoic voice asking him to call, and then he’s walking out of the room and right to the elevator, bumping into people as he goes because he can’t be bothered to walk around them when some doctor with an unpronounceable last name is telling him that Grace was in a car accident. She’s dead by the time he gets to California. Was probably dead by the time the ambulance brought her into the hospital, but apparently they operated anyway, Isla sitting in a nanny’s lap until Roman gets there, and all he can think is thank God Isla wasn’t in the car. His wife is dead but his daughter isn’t because Grace didn’t think to take their kid along on a drunken drive through a canyon road. “Daddy,” Isla says as she clings to him. “When can I see Mommy?” And he doesn’t know what to say here. F@ck@ng never? She can never see her mother again because she was a f@ck@ng idiot who got day drunk and probably day high, and then climbed behind the wheel of the Lamborghini Roadster that no one in their household even knows how to drive?“Not right now,” he says instead, his voice cracking. “How ‘bout you just sit here with me for a while. Daddy needs some cuddles.” The funeral is in New York because everything in his life that isn’t dead is in New York and he never wants to set foot in the state of California again, no matter that Grace’s parents live there and they're p@ss@d at him now. The ceremony is a sh@tshow, poser friends of Grace’s he’s never met crying their eyes out while Isla ducks her head into his body, burying her face as people sob around them, Roman making a to-do list in his head as he goes through the motions, sitting twenty feet away from his wife’s closed casket.  There’s a small gathering of people at his dad’s house afterward, mostly family, but apparently some people from Waystar too, and that last part chafes, sandpaper against his skin. It’s bad enough that Ken keeps looking at him with big, sad eyes and Shiv doesn’t know how to talk to him; he doesn’t want Karl coming up and trying to f@ck@ng hug him. “You’ll get on with it,” Logan says to him. “People die.” And he shouldn’t have expected anything more here but somehow he did and it all feels fresh again, like he’s back in that hospital, a doctor carefully extending condolences because an apology might be construed as some kind of culpability for not saving his wife, no matter that a third of Grace’s head was gone. At some point Frank comes over to him, all teary eyed, and Roman bristles here because this is the last thing he needs— a parade of suits telling him how torn up they are just to score a few nonexistent brownie points with the old man. “I’m so sorry, son,” Frank says, his voice shaking, and Roman remembers now that the fourth or fifth time Frank got fired, it was because he wanted to spend more time with his first wife when she was dying. “I’m so sorry.” He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Frank hugs him. Holds him like a f@ck@ng little kid who fell down and skinned his knee, only it isn’t a skinned knee and both of their wives are apparently dead and Roman has no idea how to raise Isla alone. He can’t even seem to get her in bed at the right time. When he pulls back from the hug, Gerri is hovering near them, her face impassive, and Roman feels abruptly self-conscious, like he just cried and wet his pants in the middle of class. He makes some horrible, tasteless joke, his face still hot and flushed. Locks himself in a bathroom for half an hour until Ken comes and finds him, handing him a beer. “Is this how you stay clean now?” Roman asks him after gulping down half the bottle. “You just watch other people booze it up? Some weirdo sexual surrogacy for addicts?”“Sure,” Kendall says. Leans against the bathroom door. “Let’s go with that.” “I’m a widower,” Roman says, chuckling here and turning around to look in the mirror. “This is the face of a f@ck@n’ widower.” He laughs until he cries, cries so hard that he makes himself vomit, Kendall throwing open the toilet lid just in time.  . . .  He closes on a brownstone on East 71st Street the week before his dad’s eightieth birthday. Gets himself in therapy again because Isla’s shrink has been making agitated noises about his own grief spilling over, which is ridiculous because he mostly walks around feeling numb. He has an actual panic attack after his dad’s stroke, goes full on loony tunes in the hospital, Shiv hovering behind him and trying to rub weird circles in his back until he yells at her to stop. But then someone gives him a Xanax or something and he no longer thinks he’s going to die, listening impassively as Shiv and Kendall argue about who the name on the paper should be. “I don’t love Gerri,” he hears Shiv say. “But I don’t hate Gerri.” “I’ll talk to her,” Roman volunteers. “Um,” Ken says. “Are you sure?” “She hates Shiv,” Roman points at his sister with his thumb, which may or may not be true. He's just pretty sure Gerri secretly hates everyone. “And you can’t even convince the mother of children to let you live in the house you paid for, so.” Really he just wants to be away from both of them and if talking to Gerri is his ticket out of this waiting room, he’ll f@ck@ng take it. “You alright?” Roman asks her, hopping up on the little coffee counter. “Not really,” Gerri says, sounding as shaky as he’s ever heard her. “This is where they brought Baird.” Sh@t, he forgot about Baird and Gerri having a dead husband. Does everyone in Waystar have a spouse that f@ck@ng died on them? “I’m sorry,” he says. “That’s sh@tty.” “I’m sorry too,” she says. “About Grace. I didn’t get to tell you that.” “Dad tells me that people die and I’ll get over it,” he says flippantly, kicking his legs like a child. “Speaking of my stroked out father, I’ve been sent here to finesse you into being the placeholder while he’s out cold.” He can’t bring himself to say anything that doesn’t make it sound temporary. Like this is just a passing thing and soon enough his dad will be up and about, shouting at people and hurling racial slurs. “No thanks,” she replies, not missing a beat. “I don’t really want the job that makes your brain explode.” “Yeah,” he says. “I figured you’d say that. You’re usually the smart one.” “Thank you?” Gerri says, sounding amused or something. “Though if this is your idea of convincing someone, I’m a bit concerned.” “Don’t worry,” he says, hopping down. “If he croaks, there'll be no shortage of companies wanting to hire the best wh@r@ in the wh@r@house. You’ll be fine.”“Did you even  try?” Shiv demands, and Roman shrugs. “She doesn’t want the job that makes your brain explode. Sorry. Find another sucker.” It ends up being Ken because it was always going to be Ken, Gerri disappearing with him immediately, Ken coming back in looking so pale, he’d swear Gerri just drained all of Ken’s blood. Which is possible.“What’d you do,” he asks Gerri, “tell him there’s no Santa Claus?” She’s typing on her phone and she doesn’t look up when he talks, just keeps pecking away. “Sorry,” she says, “this particular whore is busy. You’ll have to bother someone else.” He probably deserved that, but it doesn’t mean he has to stand here while she’s a b@tch to him. He leaves the hospital because one of his assistants is ten minutes late picking Isla up from therapy and now his kid is freaking out, apparently won’t stop crying, refuses to get in the car with the other assistant who is now absolutely fired. “You’re just leaving?” Ken asks, Gerri watching the exchange with that blank expression of hers. “My kid needs me,” Roman says, waving over his shoulder. “And you never listen to the sh@t I say, so maybe just talk to Gerri like you would anyway.” Isla’s calmed down by the time he gets to her, and that feels like a different kind of sh@tty. Like she can’t even rely on him to make things better so she has to self-sooth, work through her own freakouts even though she’s only six and her mom is dead, maybe soon enough her grandpa, too. His bedroom is technically the one at the end of a long hall but he hasn’t slept in yet, always crashes in the guest bedroom that’s next to Isla’s, both of their doors open in case she needs him in the night. Listens for the sound of her breathing even though he can never hear it, the walls of the brownstone too thick and the rooms too large, the heat kicking on intermittently as he debates whether to get up and check on her. “Did you have a bad dream?” Isla asks as he hovers in her doorway. “Yep,” he lies because that’s better than telling his daughter that he hasn’t slept in weeks. “Me too,” she says. “But it was just a dream. Mommy says dreams can’t hurt us.”“Sure can’t,” he says. Feels himself tearing up. “Go back to sleep okay? I’ll be right here.” He cues up old videos of Grace on his phone when he gets back into bed. He replays the one with her laughing again and again, streaming the white hot pain through his headphones each time he hits repeat. . . . He zones out for most of Thanksgiving dinner, unsure what’s going on when his dad starts getting mad at Iverson for basically being Iverson, f@ck@ng fidgety and weird just like Roman was at that age. But then Isla is right there beside her cousin, that p@ss@d off little voice she uses when someone forgets to cut the crust of her sandwich or puts pickles on her plate, and Roman’s head snaps up because he didn’t even notice her leaving her seat. He sees it in slow motion when his dad’s hand shoots out toward Isla, maybe to slap her across the face or shake her by her clothes, the way he always manhandled Roman and sometimes Connor. Never Shiv. Rarely Kendall. It’s like a f@ck@ng out of body experience. He doesn’t feel like he’s moving, still feels rooted to the back of his f@ck@ng uncomfortable chair, but then he blinks and he’s standing, his father’s arm gripped in his hand at an unnatural angle, the sound of Isla sobbing behind him as people shout his name, Kendall out of his seat too, shouting at Logan, maybe trying to pull them apart. He’s bundled Isla up and is on his way out when he sees Kendall and Gerri alone out on the balcony, but he doesn’t give a sh@t what they’re plotting. He just wants to get his daughter the f@ck out of here and never come back again, Marcia trailing him now, trying to get a word in, but f@ck that and f@ck her.“I’m sorry,” he tells Isla in the car, her eyes still big and wet. “I’m so sorry. You never have to see him again, okay?” By the time they’re halfway home she’s playing a game on his cell phone, his text message chime going off every minute or two. “Uncle Ken says to call,” Isla reports, her face scr@w@ng up as she reads the scrolling words. “Maybe after you beat that level,” Roman says. “You gotta really crush it so we can have some victory ice cream.” Ken wants a meeting the next day, but they can’t do it at Waystar and Roman doesn’t want to leave Isla again, so he makes everyone come to the brownstone. “This is nice,” Frank says, looking around. “I like it.” “Thanks,” Roman says. Hands him a drink.He still hates that Frank is always hovering over his shoulder at work, a cockblock he can never quite get past, but he doesn’t hate anyone as much as he hates his father now, and Frank is maybe kind of alright. Isla’s playing a noisy video game in the family room in the back, but she pauses it to come out now. Shows everyone the tutu she’s still wearing but was supposed to take off well over an hour ago. “Will you change into your other clothes please, like I asked you before you turned on your game?” Isla sighs dramatically in response, dragging Gerri by the hand to show her something in the other room, and Roman lets her carry on because Gerri looks so clearly put off now, a pinched smile stapled to her face.Ken shows up late, ever ready to make an entrance, giving Roman the pitch about ousting their dad. “Sold,” Roman interrupts him. “No need to blow me, I’m already there.” Gerri cringes at that and Roman smirks at her. Grabs some apples off the kitchen island they’re all standing around now, beginning to juggle as they talk. “You think you can get the votes?” “We’re working on it,” Kendall says. “We could use your help.” “People sure do like me,” Roman says, and he sees Gerri smirk, just for a second here. “You positive you aren’t making a mistake, tipping your hand to Lady Macbeth over there?” “Roman,” Frank warns. “Easy there.” “Let him finish,” Gerri breezes, calm as you please, even though she’s got to be seething now. “Well you’re very good at dodging fire at the last minute,” Roman tells her, still juggling away. “And that’s cool and all, I’ve always respected that you’re a stone cold killer b@tch, but if you do that this time it’s Ken who’ll get sniped and well, I would take great exception to that.” “Are you telling me you have no reservations of your own about sitting in that room with your father? That you won’t sh@t your little pants when he all but dares you to knife him in the chest?” Her eyes are flinty now, chin titled in a challenge, and he thinks he likes her better this way. No polite smiles hiding the sh@t she thinks about him. “Oh, my cowardice is well documented,” Roman replies, catching all three of the apples in one hand. “But if you think I won’t happily gut the b@st@rd after what happened at Thanksgiving, you’re not nearly as good at your job as I thought.” Gerri’s face goes slack with something when he says that, maybe guilt. He relishes the victory, however small it is. It’s past dinner time now, and Isla comes running in, tutu still on, hollering about spaghetti. “Yes,” Roman sighs. “It’s spaghetti night. You wanna grab the instructions Lucia left, see if you can read them to me while I heat it up?” “Sorry we’re messing up spaghetti time,” Ken says, hugging Isla in that awkward as f@ck way he has. “We’ll head out.”“No!” Isla shrieks, Roman smirking as Frank winces. “Spaghetti night! Everyone stays for spaghetti night!” The declaration makes everyone so jittery and uncomfortable, of course Roman leans into it. “What a nice idea, Isla. I’m sure Uncle Kendall and our friends would love to join us for dinner.” Gerri looks murderous here but in that polite, smiling way she has, and Ken only nods at the rest of them, like he’s trying to make it an order but doesn’t know how. And they’re trying to make the spineless wonder the CEO, Jesus f@ck@ng Christ. Frank helps set the table, which is f@ck@ng ridiculous, and Gerri stands stoically typing away on her phone, which is pretty on par. But then dinner is reheated and served, Isla getting more food in her lap than anything, the tutu probably ruined, which is annoying because Roman isn’t even sure where they buy those and he hasn’t replaced either of the assistants he just fired. “I think it’s supposed to go in your mouth,” he hears Gerri say to Isla while he and Frank are talking, and when he looks over Isla is giggling, more spaghetti falling out of her mouth as Gerri hands her the napkin from her own lap. It’s a small thing but it makes him smile, his daughter still giggling away as Gerri halfheartedly picks at her own food, checking the screen of her phone like she’s glancing at the time, probably counting down the minutes until she can escape. . . .  Logan loses the vote, no matter that Ken couldn’t manage to make it into the room on time, his tweaky voice drifting in on a conference call. There’s a lot of cursing and threats, his dad calling him a pr@ck over and over again while Roman’s leg shakes, but he stays steady and so do Frank and Gerri, and after that everything gets easier and also surprisingly hard. He starts bringing Isla to the office after school because he gets fidgety whenever she’s out of his sight all day, hates the idea of only making it home for bedtime. He hasn’t hired a new nanny, can’t stand the thought of one taking care of his kid everyday, though he used to employ four of them. There were three employees in the California house when Grace died and no one thought to stop her from piling in the car drunk, probably wouldn’t have stopped from taking Isla with her if she'd decided to, and his blood goes cold whenever he thinks about that. All those people he paid money to year after year, and all they cared about was keeping their jobs and their bi-coastal lifestyles.No one at Waystar seems thrilled about Isla being at the office, not even Kendall, but Roman doesn’t care. Too f@ck@ng bad if they can’t swear as much as they’d like between the hours of three and eight. “I don’t think we can use this,” Gerri says, coming into his office. She never knocks and he can’t decide if he likes that or hates it. “Did you even read the numbers Frank sent you?” “Of course I read the numbers,” Roman pulls a face. “I’m not a moron.” Gerri’s expression says she’s not convinced. “Hey,” Kendall says, appearing in the doorway. “Dude, can I borrow you on something?” “Sure,” Roman says. “Gerri can stay with Isla.” He really doesn’t mean in any kind of way, it’s just that Gerri’s there and Isla gets weird about being alone, and for some strange reason Isla seems to like her. But the next day Frank pulls him aside after a meeting, dragging him into his office like it’s day one and he’s still in charge of grading Roman’s homework. “Did you make Head Counsel watch your kid yesterday?” Frank asks him. “What?” Roman pulls back. “No. She was just there and Kendall needed me.” “Roman,” Frank sighs, shaking his head. “I didn’t leave her with a baby and a pile of diapers. I just asked her to f@ck@ng stay in the room she was already in. Maybe check her emails while my kid finished her math homework.” “You owe her an apology,” Frank says. “Please do it today.”“F@ck that,” Roman says. “Are you f@ck@ng kidding me?” “You do not want that woman p@ss@d off,” Frank says. “She’s too valuable and frankly, if you give her anymore cause she won’t hesitate to knife you in the ribs.” “I literally asked her to sit with my kid for fifteen minutes!” He gets the same speech from Kendall, albeit far less convincingly, no less so as Ken was literally standing in the room when it happened and apparently had no reservations about it at the time. Gerri turns up at his office later in the day, right before he has to leave to go pick up Isla, and he isn’t sure if this choreographed or she really needs something from him. He doesn’t particularly care either way. “I’m told I owe you an apology,” he says, and he sees the irritation flash across her face before she smooths it away. “So I’m sorry, I guess, for leaving my daughter in a chair across from you. But I’d like it noted it was done without any thought given to you having a uterus or whatever the f@ck. She just seems to like you and most of the time you strike me as a not horrible person, but I’ll make sure to adjust my expectations from now on.” “We need to discuss the Vaulter acquisition,” Gerri announces, after a long pause that he interprets as her swallowing down all the sh@tty things she wants to say to him but can’t, since he’s technically her boss. “I’m going to pick up Isla,” he says, standing up. “It’ll have to wait for forty-five minutes.” She checks her phone, grimacing. “I’m in with Karl in an hour and this can’t wait. I’ll go with you.” “No f@ck@ng thanks,” Roman says. “I can only imagine the tongue lashing I’ll get for hauling your French twist all over Manhattan to pick up my kid. You’ll have to catch me later.” “Can you stop being obstinate for five minutes,” she says, gritting her teeth. “This really is important.” “Fine,” he shrugs. Feels better now that she’s just directly insulting him. “But I want it on the record that this was your idea.” Traffic is horrible, he fidgets the whole time, worrying he’s going to be late and Isla will freak out before he gets there. “Did you hear a word I just said?” Gerri asks, staring down her glasses at him. “The Vaulter numbers are b@llsh@t,” Roman summarizes, annoyed now. “I’ve been saying that since Ken was only half hard for this acquisition. Big deal. What’s your point?” “We need to get Kendall to back off of this. You’re probably the only one he’ll listen to, so it needs to be you talking him down.”“Have you even tried talking to him?” he asks, looking around to see if traffic’s so bad he just hop out, walk the rest of the way. “Or are you just dancing around him, giving him hand jobs, the way you all did with our dad?” “Excuse me?”“I get it,” Roman waves her off. “The old man was terrifying and he never listened to anyone but his own dictatorial ego. But Ken isn’t like that and neither am I, so please just drop all the cloak and dagger b@llsh@t. Tell Ken what you actually think. And tell me when you’re p@ss@d off, so I don’t have to hear it from f@ck@ng Frank.” He hopes out at the next intersection, surprised when he makes it ten feet and Gerri’s right beside him, matching his stride. “We’re trying, you know. This isn’t easy for any of us.” “I know that,” he says. “The old king is gone and you’re stuck with the two limp d@ck princes none of you really wanted. But unlike our f@ck@ng dad, Ken and I know who makes the trains run on time. You and Frank are both safe, Gerri.” “Thank you,” she says, sounding surprised. “I appreciate that.” “Needle-d@ck Karl should be f@ck@ng worried, but don’t tell him.” Even if she does, it doesn’t matter. It might even be fun to watch Karl twist on the line for a while before he dies. “I won’t,” she says. Sounds like maybe she even laughs a little. Isla barrels into him, almost knocking him down, and he chats with one of the teachers - the hot one he used to flirt with but now only asks about upcoming events and how Isla’s doing. “Thanks,” he says when they finish up. “Tell Ms. Lilja thank you, Isla.” “Thank you!” Isla shouts, Gerri shifting on her feet next to him, and by the time they’re outside the driver has  caught up with them, the car idling right in front of the entrance. “Gerri and I have to do some work,” Roman says. “You want to use my phone, maybe text Auntie Shiv about that dead rat you saw in the street on the way to school?” Gerri’s mouth twitches here and Roman makes a funny face at Isla, handing her the phone he doesn’t use for work. “What if we talk to Kendall together?” Gerri asks him. “Pincer movement?” “And here I thought that time at the military academy was wasted.” Isla sets up shop on his conference table like always, Roman working straight through until he has something brought in for dinner, going over Isla’s homework as she streaks food all over the glass top of the table. “I like Gerri,” Isla declares. “She’s got pretty hair.” “She does have pretty hair,” Roman allows. No reason not to humor her here. “Hey rabbit, you missed a section on the back here. Let’s fill it out after dinner, okay?” He has Isla slung over his shoulder when it’s time to trudge home. He tries to hang back for the next one when he sees Gerri stepping onto the elevator, trying to give her some space, but she spots him with Isla and makes a show of holding the elevator door.“Is this the new game?” he asks her. “Trying to out nice each other?” “I could get behind that,” she admits. “It’s better than the old one. Much less exhausting.” “Fair,” he sighs. Feels dead on his feet, his eyes closing for a moment. “Daddy thinks you have pretty hair,” Isla announces, and Roman slips her off his shoulder here. The little traitor can walk on her own two legs for that. “Goodnight,” Roman says, ducking out of the elevator as fast as he can. Has no desire to look back and see whatever put off expression Gerri’s wearing. “Goodnight!” Isla shouts, arms flailing over her head, and Roman snatches her up again. Carries her on his hip like the duffel bag he theoretically takes to the gym he never goes to anymore. . . . He and Gerri corner Ken about Vaulter, but it backfires, Ken doubling down, snapping a little at Gerri. “I’m the one with the problem,” Roman says. “Chief Counsel is just chasing down the sh@t I asked her to, so if you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me.”“This acquisition is happening,” Ken tells them. “Your job is to make it happen.”Roman lets Gerri pivot around, be the good guy, and after Ken gets in a few more potshots at his expense, Roman leaves to take Isla to her dance class. Maybe he was a f@ck@ng idiot for thinking things with Ken would be different but he did and they aren’t and that f@ck@ng sucks. Everything f@ck@ng sucks and he’s so tired, he just wants to lie down for a year, be woken up when everything is better. He hired back one of the personal assistants he fired because Isla’s therapist keeps harping on the need for consistency and he knows he keeps changing things on her; her home, her schedule, her maternal grandparents being so far away. He should really do something about that last one, try to mend fences or whatever, but he doesn’t think he has any mending in him right now. He drops Isla off with the assistant while he goes to his own therapist.“Thank you,” Gerri says the next morning. “For that maneuvering with Kendall yesterday.”“It was my dumbass idea,” he shrugs. It’s a Sunday and they’re both in jeans, waiting for something to come through from Vaulter’s lawyers, neither of them f@ck@ng thrilled about it. “Where’s Isla?”“At a friend’s house,” he says. “I might have to duck out without much notice if she freaks out over there.”“Does that happen often?” Her voice sounds soft, concerned, and he wonders if this is the way she sounds with her own family. “Often enough.” He feels like a big enough failure as a father already, doesn’t need to go elaborating on it to Gerri Kellman.They get maybe an hour’s worth of work done before he gets the call he was dreading, already packing it in. “I don’t mean to be unfeeling,” Gerri says, sounding frustrated, “but we really need to finish this.”“My kid’s mother is dead,” he says flatly. “You want to come over to the house later to get this done, that’s fine. But she’s not leaving my side the rest of the day.”Isla’s stopped crying by the time he picks her up but she starts up again when she sees him, and he wonders now if he did the wrong thing by swooping in to grab her. Maybe she was better off being left to calm down, motor through. He doesn’t know because his own parents were complete sh@t, borderline sociopathic, and he’s never lost a wife before, feels like he’s just treading water day in, day out.Gerri shows up at the house a little after three o’clock, Roman standing in the doorway, looking like an idiot because he forgot he invited her, never thought she would come anyway.“We don’t have to do this here,” he rushes to say.“I worked at your father’s house all the time,” she says, taking off her coat. “Yeah, that comparison makes it way f@ck@n’ better.”He pours them both a drink because there has to be a perk of working at home, leads her down the hall to the large office he almost never uses. “Gerri!” Isla shrieks, materializing in the doorway. “Gerri’s here to give Daddy some homework,” he warns her. “But if you let us get everything done, you can show her all your mermaid dolls.”“Would now be a good time to note that I hate dolls?” Gerri asks, eyebrows high on her forehead once Isla’s gone, noisily playing in another room.“Pretend,” he says. The only order he plans on giving her today. “Like the way you occasionally pretend that I’m your boss and you respect me.”“I respect you,” she frowns.“Ha. F@ck@ng. Ha.” He settles in a chair now, letting her have the desk. “Let’s start with sh@t we tracked down from their food and weed traffic.”They breakup around dinner time, Isla dragging Gerri through two different rooms before Gerri can escape, Isla showing her no less than a dozen dolls as Roman sips his watered down scotch, quietly smirking.“And this one has hair that changes color when it gets wet!”“Does it?” Gerri asks. Takes the scotch from his hand, downing it in one elegant motion before she hands back the empty glass back, Roman trying not to chuckle at the polite smile she wears all the way to the door. Isla insists on pizza for dinner because it’s Saturday and they watch movies in the family room, plates balanced on their bellies as Isla giggles her way through her favorite animated movie.“Mommy loved this part,” she says calmly, and it feels wrong that it’s only been eight months and she can already sound like that. But the alternative is worse and he feels guilty for even thinking it.. . . The Vaulter sale goes through and it immediately proves a mistake, Kendall coming around too late to do anyone any good.“You were right,” Kendall says, gesturing wide, the two of them alone in Ken’s office. “Is that what you want?”“F@ck@ng no,” Roman replies. “What I want is for you to trust me and not go all Logan Roy II.”“I’m trying,” Ken says. “It’s hard enough without you breathing down my neck.”“I don’t want your job,” Roman says, sitting down here. “If that’s what this is about, let me very f@ck@ng clear that I don’t want your job. I’m barely getting by with Isla and the job I already have. I’m not looking to take your throne.” Ken’s whole body relaxes at that. “Can’t you just talk to me like a f@ck@n’ human? Please?” “I don’t know why I thought it would be easier than this,” Ken admits. “Why did I think it would be easier than this?” “Because Pop is a psycho who made it look easy by way of having no human capacity for doubt or remorse.” He stretches his arms over his heads, popping his back. “Maybe there’s a doctor somewhere in Asia who removes consciences. Just scoop ‘em out with a f@ck@ng melon baller.” “Yeah,” Kendall sighs. Sounds more miserable now than he did a minute ago, which isn’t necessarily bad. “Do me a favor,” Roman says. “Stop taking sh@t out on Gerri and Frank. They already have to wipe my chin everyday, clean up my mistakes while I get up to speed. They don’t need to catch sh@t for doing the job you pay them to do.” “I swear Gerri used to hate you,” Ken says, smiling a little here. “Now it’s like you’re winning the popularity contest with everyone.” “There’s no contest,” Roman says as he stands up.  “And Gerri most definitely still hates me, so no worries there.” Isla has a dance recital at seven, so Roman works until six. Will probably log on at home later, work well into the morning since it’s not like he’ll sleep. “I just got an email from Kendall,” Gerri says, catching him on his way out. “Some kind of an apology for the way he’s been acting during the Vaulter stuff.” “Recovered addicts do that,” he says, packing things into his bag as she hovers in front of his desk. “Apologize a lot, often f@ck@ng randomly. You get used to it.”“Randomly,” Gerri repeats, clearly disbelieving, and Roman doesn’t pause what he’s doing to look at her. “I inherited the @ssh@l@ genes,” he announces, his tone light. “Ken’s just trying his best most of the time.” Isla’s performance goes well, she absolutely f@ck@ng kills her ballet routine, but Roman gets dragged to a group dinner afterward, happy families all crowded into a restaurant, smiling and laughing, and he must really be f@ck@ng damaged because the sound of it all makes his stomach turn. There’s a sleepover afterward, Isla getting into another car with another family, and Roman has to swallow down the bile that comes with watching his daughter disappear into a night, climbing into a car that isn’t his. But that’s his sh@t to handle and he doesn’t want her to ever know. He goes back to the office because it’s been better than being home alone, staring at Isla’s empty room. The only other light on in the executive suite is Gerri’s, but he never sees her, she doesn’t once darken his office door, and he thinks that’s better for everyone. . . .  The articles about Ken’s old shoplifting and Grace’s autopsy surface the same day, all of them gathered in England for Shiv’s wedding, and Roman wishes their father would have come now because he’d really like the opportunity to spit directly in the man's face.“How can I help?” Shiv asks him and it sounds like she means it, no matter that she brought Gil Eavis here and she’s never really on their side, always playing her own game. “Kill the Ken story,” Roman says, the two of them hiding in a corner when Gerri saddles up beside them. “You don’t want me to handle the Grace stuff first?” Shiv asks. “Rome, are you sure?” “It’s already out there,” he says. Feels numb again, like he did those first few months, just going through the motions of getting Isla dressed and then to school, repeating the same meaningless tasks in the hours he wasn’t with her. “The Ken stuff dad’s leaking will hurt the company more.” “Are you positive?” Gerri asks him, when Shiv moves away to make a call. “I don’t know if we can kill both, not even with Shiv’s help.”“My daughter’s already destined to hear that her mom wrapped her car around a guardrail because of a bottle of champagne and a hit of molly. No reason Sophie and Iverson should have to read about their dad’s perverse attraction to free lighters.” There are other reasons, money reasons, but none of them matter as much and the way Gerri looks at him here, all searching and weird, makes him wish he’d just lied. Spewed a bunch of b@llsh@t about stock prices and optics, the need to protect the CEO at all costs. They get bear hugged by Stewy and Sandy on the morning of the wedding and then the satellite explodes in Japan, right before Shiv’s reception. A banner day.“Did you know about any problems there?” Ken demands, all of them huddled up, watching him panic. “No,” Roman shoots back, angry that Ken’s turning on him when it’s been less than a f@ck@ng hour. “I mean, yes, there were some safety concerns, okay? But there are at least a dozen emails where I said to take more time, address them, not rush anything.” It was tempting to push it up, time it for the wedding, but he kept thinking about all the people involved and Grace’s car wrapped around that guardrail and no, no he wouldn’t. “I think Roman’s in the clear here,” Gerri chimes in. “Whatever happened is way below his level.” Isla’s playing with the other kids, happy and smiling while Sophie shows her something on a phone, both of them giggling when Iverson tries to show them a dance he’s learned, and Roman has to fight the urge to pick his kid up and throw her over his shoulder. Get on a plane and never look back. “Right,” Ken is saying now. “Of course.” But Roman doesn’t listen to anything after that, walking away a minute later. Dances with Shiv and ignores Wambsgans, Isla coming over to them because she dropped her bracelet and she can’t find it. “It’ll turn up,” Shiv says, which is probably a lie. There are way too many bodies moving around to find something as small as the little gold chain she lost. “We can always get another one,” Roman says. Picks her up and lets her sniffle against his neck. He’s back in his suite for the night, Isla watching a TV show on the couch, when there’s a knock at the door. “Hey,” Gerri says, when he opens the door, Isla’s bracelet in her hand. “Look what I found.” He doesn’t want to talk to her but he probably doesn’t have any choice. Invites her in and shows her to the other sitting room, the door halfway shut so he can still keep an ear out for Isla. “What can I help you with this horrible evening?” He hands her a drink but doesn’t pour himself one, feels too upset to let himself have a scotch. “Kendall wants us both in Japan,” she announces, glass cradled in her hands. “We leave next week.” “Isla has stuff in New York,” he shakes his head immediately. “No way I’m f@ck@ng off to Japan to wipe Waystar’s ass on TV.” “I tried to get you out of it,” she says. “Go with my team, maybe take Frank. But he wants your face over there and he’s right. Waystar needs your particular brand of charm right now.” “I don’t care,” he replies, his voice rising now.  “The answer is no.” “Then this is probably your last week as COO,” she breathes out. Doesn’t sound threatening or angry, only resigned. “Is that what you want?” Yeah, he probably should have seen that coming. “Give me the night to think about it,” he says, one hand rubbing at his throbbing forehead. “I can’t decide anything right now, not after this piece of shit day.” “I think this is Kendall asking for help,” Gerri says, a kind expression on her face he rarely sees because it actually looks sincere. “Maybe the only way he knows how to ask for help.” Roman thinks she’s wrong, this is just Ken sending the two people he now trusts the least far away, out of range, but he’s not going to argue about that now. None of it matters anyway. It’s all pointless b@llsh@t. “Can Gerri stay?” Isla asks when he walks Gerri out. “Gerri needs her rest,” he says. “She’s been babysitting everyone all day.” Gerri makes an amused noise at that, doesn’t deny it. “Where’s Japan?” Isla asks her, Gerri freezing and Roman sucking in a long, painful breath. “It’s in Asia,” Gerri says after a beat. “Do you know where Asia is?” “I’ve been to Hong Kong two times!” Isla says, holding up two fingers here. “Hong Kong’s in Asia.” “Not so different then,” Gerri says, glancing at Roman here, Roman shaking his head in warning because she’s rapidly approaching the line. “Well, goodnight then. See you both tomorrow at brunch.” Isla sleeps in his bed, worms her way in after he puts her down, and Roman doesn’t bother to send her back to her own bed, no matter what her therapist says about bedtime and consistency. They’re not at home, this isn’t even his real bed and they might be f@ck@ng off to Japan next week, so if Isla wants to sleep next to him, curled up against his side, that’s fine with him. “Is Mommy in Japan?” Isla asks when she’s almost asleep, and this happens sometimes. Sometimes, when she’s exhausted or upset, she just forgets. Like the last eight months never happened, all those bedtimes when he had to explain that no, Mommy can’t come out to read her just one more story.  Like Grace was hiding in a f@ck@ng closet somewhere, just dodging them both. “No,” he forces himself to breathe out, his hand in her hair. “Mommy’s not in Japan, rabbit. She’s gone, remember?” “Oh yeah,” she sighs, a tiny little sound. Rolls over after that,  immediately falling asleep against him, Roman staring up at the ceiling now, feeling like he can’t breathe. . . .  
  
  

    
      
        
        
          IF you don't know this song, and IF you decide to look it up, and IF you have any affection in your chest for me... you will listen to the live version from Union Chapel first because it's the anthem of my heart. P.S. Sorry not sorry, Grace. You were gone anyway. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯'
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
User: Summarize the chapter based on the content provided, ensuring to follow the set format and emphasize key aspects within the specified length.
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