The Proposal

Chapter 2

"Apparently, there was also some paperwork that you didn't fill out on time," Radovid added, his dark grey eyes scanning the folder. Geralt let out a nervous laugh.

"Is this some kind of joke or prank?"

"I'm afraid not," said Radovid quietly, looking up at him with a mournful expression. "I am sorry about this Geralt, but our hands are tied."

Geralt shook his head in disbelief. "No. There must be something that we can do."

"We can reapply but you'll have to leave the country for at least a year," Troyden informed him.

"A year?" Geralt rubbed his tired face and sighed. "Okay, that's not ideal, but we can work around it. I can manage everything from Rivia, through video conferencing and—"

"Geralt," Troyden interrupted. "I'm afraid it isn't that simple. If you're deported, you can't work for a Redanian company."

"Until this is resolved, I'm going to be turning operations over to Emmerich Gottschalk," said Radovid. Geralt gaped at him.

"Emmerich Gottschalk?" he asked flatly. "The guy I just fired?"

"We need an editor-in-chief to run operations here in Tretogor, and he's the only person in the entire building with enough experience to do the job," Radovid explained. "Look, I'm really sorry about this. We are desperate to have you stay, and if there was any way, any way at all, of making this work, we would be doing it."

Radovid kept speaking but Geralt was no longer listening. He was too busy wracking his brain trying to figure out how the hell to get himself out of this mess. The first thing that sprang to mind was to sack his immigration lawyer, but that wouldn't do anything to help his current predicament. The next equally useless and insane thought that crossed his mind was if he were to have a child, he could apply for the right to remain. Ethics and insanity aside, logistically that plan was impossible to execute.

There was a polite knock at the door and Radovid's assistant popped her head through the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt you sir, but you have an important call waiting..."

"Not now, Milva, we're in the middle of an important meeting," Radovid chastised.

"I know that, sir, I told Mr La Voisier that you were otherwise engaged but he insists that he speaks to you right away."

Geralt's ears pricked up then. Suddenly, he had an idea. A terrible, desperate and diabolical idea.

"I don't know how many times I have to say it before you believe me, but I'm really sorry," Jaskier implored. "It's not my fault, it's Geralt! He's the one making me work over my annual leave."

"I don't want to hear it," his mother's voice hissed over the phone. "It's always one excuse after another with you. If you don't want to come home, I'd rather you just told us than getting your poor grandmother's hopes up just to let her down again."

"Please, don't use granny to guilt-trip me," he groaned, thudding his head against his desk. "I feel bad enough as it is."

"And so you should," his mother replied testily. "So, when are you planning on visiting us?"

"I don't know," he sighed. "I'll try and visit in time for Christmas."

There was a long pause before his mother spoke again, more softly this time. "I do miss you, you know."

Jaskier clenched his eyes shut. "I miss you too."

Jaskier ended the phone call and let out a weary sigh. Breaking the bad news to his mother that his trip home was cancelled had gone over as well as he had thought it would. She was furious, his grandmother was heartbroken, and his father...well, he'd rather not think about him right now. Jaskier pocketed his phone just as Geralt returned to the office, looking angrier and more ashen-faced than usual. He watched with mounting curiosity and concern as Geralt strode past his desk without bothering to summon him, closed the door to his office and drew the curtains, blocking the rest of the office floor from view. Evidently, the meeting with the head honchos had not gone well.