I might have the right to take responsibility for what had happened then, but as I read through company ethos, objectives, and mission statements, I could see that I had taken the wrong responsibility. I hadn’t nurtured those under me. I’d let them do their job, but I hadn’t stopped in and asked how they were doing. What they needed from me. What they liked or disliked about their job. Part of me—most of me—had sensed I was part of what they’d disliked. I’d gotten a top corporate gig straight out of college because of my last name. They didn’t know what I’d sacrificed to stay on the fast track through college. I’d given up wrestling and a social life as I’d diligently chiseled away at the mountain of schoolwork to prove I deserved to be King Oil’s CFO.

I had been glowering at the pile of floor planks several minutes before the burn of Xander’s stare made it through to my consciousness.

I lifted a brow.

Xander shrugged. “I mean, we could glare it into place.” He tossed a wrinkled sheet of paper onto the planks. “Or you could look at my sketch.”

Fatigue weighed on me like I’d been putting down flooring for the last week, twelve hours a day. Though if I had, I’d probably feel better than being parked behind a desk for twelve hours a day. I’d feel like I’d accomplished more.

“Your sketch is fine.”

He narrowed his eyes and propped his hands on his hips. “Or you could tell me what the hell has you spacing out.”

Questions. Doubts. Fears. I had a lot flipping around in my mind like a pinball. I didn’t want to talk about it, but the question escaped anyway. “Did you ever feel like you had to work at the company? Did Grams or DB ever talk to you?”

“No. Never.” He blew out a laugh. “I didn’t think for one moment Dad wanted me there.”

“Because he thought you could do better.”

Xander chuckled. “No. Because he thought the company could do better.”

“Ouch.”

“That was how I felt, but Dad and I have talked a lot more this last year, you know.” It was his turn to be captivated by the flooring. Maybe I needed a stack in my office to stare at. “You know what he told me?”

I shook my head. Dad had told me a lot lately, and he’d done it bluntly. Had my brothers had some eye-opening talks with him as well?

“He said Mama wanted to be a photographer.”

“She was one.” What was I missing?

“Professionally. I guess Grams was pissed Mama didn’t want to follow in her footsteps and work in the oil business. Then she got pregnant, and her and Dad’s fates were decided.”

And Dad got pushed into the company. “Mama loved ranching though.”