At His Discretion Novels & Stories

I didn't know why but I didn't want to go to him and for the first time I didn't trust my mother and the reason wasn't clear. I moved to him and he held me by my arm giving me a long stare as though he was examining a new bride. I didn't know what to think but the only question ringing in my head was " why the attitude". He examined me for few more seconds before letting out a sigh of relief and satisfaction. "My father didn't make a mistake when he made this agreement with your father, he said, smiling and directing his words to my dad. She's perfect and will fit for a queen. We the royal house will make preparations and get back to you."

“Unavailable.” “I don’t intend to be unavailable.” I nearly snapped. A beat passed. Then he nodded. “Very well. We’ll limit it to written authorisation only. No implied consent. No emergency discretion, unless explicitly designated.” He struck a clean line through the sentence and began rewriting. We continued like that, working through the document together. And then, suddenly, he said, “You’re doing exactly what your father would have done in your position.” I stiffened but didn't respond.

I slap the table in front of me hard for emphasis. "Christ." Coach Henderson blinks at me a few times and I retract my hand from the table. "Ok, so.it doesn't work that way. They can offer as many or as few as they choose, but it's specific to those individuals, if he chooses not to go, it doesn't then get passed to the next student. Mr Matthews has not been offered one, so regardless of Mr Alworthy's decision, it won't change that."

I said, refusing to let my awareness of him distract me. “Focus is good,” he murmured, his breath brushing my ear as he spoke. “But sometimes understanding requires more than focus. It requires judgment. Discretion. Patience.” “I have judgment,” I replied. “And I’m learning patience. But discretion… that’s something you’ll have to guide me through.” He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he let me work, standing close enough that I could feel his presence pressing against me, a constant reminder of the line I was crossing not just in his world, but with him.

That didn’t sound quite right to me, so I quickly explained, "Father, I really believe this place suits me. I’m not suffering at all here, and my coworkers take great care of me.” My father was silent for a moment before replying, “You’re only saying everything is great because you’re throwing a tantrum over George. I know you. You can’t handle the weather or the environment over there long-term.” "Father, I’m not throwing a tantrum over George. George has a girlfriend now. Why can’t I choose to start a new life of my own? Besides, I feel like coming here and stepping out from under the family’s protection is exactly the kind of challenge and growth I need.”

Just trust and the choice to stay or to walk away. I looked up, stunned. “I would have to let you do… all these things to me?” “Yes. Every single word. I’ll be your teacher. You’ll be my good little student… if you sign it.” He’d written “Owner’s discretion” in bold ink like it was the main dish. I blinked. “What the hell does ‘owner’s discretion’ even mean?” I muttered, half to myself. Corian leaned in. “It means… I decide how far we go. And you trust me not to take it too far.”

“Do you believe that’s appropriate?” “Yes,” I replied. “Why?” “Because I meet expectations,” I said. “And exceed them.” “Your proximity to Mr Blackwood,” the other added. “Does it influence your decisions?” “No,” I said firmly. “Does it influence his?” Silence. This was it. The thin line. I chose. “I don’t make decisions for Mr Blackwood,” I said. “He makes them himself. If you’re questioning that, then the issue isn’t me.” Their expressions hardened.

--- His gaze sharpened slightly. --- “Are you sure?” --- --- She nodded slowly. --- “Yes.” --- And for the first time— --- There was no hesitation in her answer. --- --- Because this wasn’t impulse. --- It wasn’t emotion taking over. --- --- It was a decision. --- --- A conscious one. --- --- Adrian exhaled slowly. --- And something in his posture shifted. --- Not tension. --- Release. --- --- His hand moved slightly at her waist. Drawing her just a little closer.

Because I saw it. Not the details. The direction. And that’s what matters. Adrian exhales slowly, his control shifting into something more rigid. “You’re overstepping,” he says. There it is. I expected that. “Am I?” I ask quietly. “Yes.” “How?” “By inserting yourself into decisions you don’t fully understand.” The words are calm. Measured. But they land hard. Because they’re meant to. I hold his gaze. “Then explain it to me,” I say.

he said. "Because it is the closest thing we have to a test of discretion, and the outcome was reasonable. We accepted the reported delay, we tracked the catch-up schedule, and we continued without penalty. A territory might argue we should have been more rigorous. We can document our reasoning for why we were not." He paused. "More importantly, it shows that we keep honest records of how the discretion was applied, including cases where someone could argue the other direction." "He asked for cases where it was inadequate," I said.