“I can’t have someone untrustworthy in my company. Not in such an important position.” He sighs. “I thought this was going to work out.”

“It was just one meeting, Daddy.”

“It’s not the meeting. It’s why he missed it.”

Again, I try to steady my gaze. He’s looking right at me, and I wonder what he knows.

“What do you mean?”

“You know Room With a Cue?”

I nod. We passed it last night. “The pool hall.”

“There was a big fight there last night. I’m sure you read about it in the paper.”

He glances at the newspaper, which he brought in from the stoop himself and is still in its plastic bag. I don’t read the paper and never have, but Dad does it so religiously that he assumes everyone knows everything, including me.

“I called Chief Wood this morning,” he says, apparently deciding the point of my reading is moot. “They’re still sorting it out, but the problem was a guy with a beard.”

“And you think it was Brandon?” 

“He had a few drinks while we were at dinner. He doesn’t live far from there. He looked tired as hell, Princess. And he had a big welt on his neck.”

A welt, I think. Or maybe a bite.

“It wasn’t him.”

“Honey … ”

“It wasn’t him, Dad.”

“How could you know?”

“I was with him.”

“It happened at 2 a.m., after you were gone.”

I’m considering my reply when he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. You know how I am with these weekend meetings. I’d never expect my people to be as devoted as I am, but I do expect them to be devoted when it matters. And this, today, mattered. I even reminded him last night. I don’t normally do that, Ri. If someone is going to be my VP, he should be responsible enough to know on his own.”

I watch my father. His 7 a.m. weekend meetings are his gauntlets. Fail one, and you fail across the board — especially if you’re a drunk who gets into bar fights.

I could tell my father the truth.

But something tells me that being the kind of guy who sleeps with the boss’s daughter isn’t much better.

“Forget it,” he says, trying on an ill-fitting smile. “I’ll deal with it Monday. How was your morning?”

“Are you going to fire him?” I ask, ignoring the question.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you still considering him for the vice presidency?” In my head, I hear two conflicting voices. The first is Bridget, telling me all I now know. The second is my dignity, insisting that if Brandon is kicked to the curb, it’s what he deserves.

I thought I liked him. He seemed smart and funny. I was drawn to him like ocean to shore. But looking back, I can’t decide if it was all a lie — if that’s his standard playbook for charming his way into women’s panties. Because although Bridget only meant to speak well of her brother, she did confirm much of what Dad said just now: he has a rough past, he’s prone to benders, and he’s been known to get into fights.

“I don’t know,” Dad says. “But I doubt it.”

“You were so sure he was your guy.”

“Not if he’s like this. Not if I can’t trust him.”

And there’s no way to rebut that. Not any way that works, and doesn’t anger him further.

He sighs yet again, this time leaning back in the chair. “He did have some nice things to say about you, though.”

I was looking down at my PJ pants. My head flicks up.

“What about me?”

“He said you two talked about the business after I left. Said you knew more about our operations than he’d ever even heard of.” Dad’s head turns to look at me, and for the first time in my life it’s not my father staring back. He’s looking at me as if I were a peer. “He told me you knew the rough acreage of all of our properties and about the solution Brent came up with to solve the drainage issue at Rycroft Estates. How did you know about that?”

I shrug. He knows how I know because I’ve told him the answer in various forms many, many times. I know because I study. I know because I want this to be my company some day, and in order for that to happen, I can’t see it as rows of pretty houses. I know because I’m interested, because I’m smart, and because I spent the last four years, as I earned my degree, thinking of how any acquired knowledge might apply to Life of Riley.

I know, but Dad has never believed it.

But now, it almost looks as if he’s willing to.

“I pay attention, Dad.”

“He said he’s never met someone who understands long-game strategy so well. He even said that if missing the meeting cost him the promotion … ” He pauses, as if unsure whether to proceed, and I can tell that he’s meant to say this since he came in — once his anger passed, if he could find the guts. “ … that I should give you the vice presidency.”

I don’t know how to respond. Dad watches me, then the serious moment passes, and he smiles a proud father’s smile.

“I’d settle for a seat at your next finance meeting,” I say, turning to the request he’s always, always denied.

“Okay,” he says. “Deal.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Brandon

BECAUSE I HAVE NO BETTER idea of what to do, I show up for work on Monday. There’s no word from Mason one way or the other, but in my imagination I picture a river of ice running through the airspace between his phone and mine.

We left on an indecisive point. I barely remember the conversation. I was just trying to run my mouth in any direction I could imagine, but the encounter felt like a cross between being drunk and being punched. Mason’s marvelous at yelling, especially at those who disappoint him. I’d heard it, and I’d imagined it. I just never figured I’d be one of those people.

Once it was over, I stumbled back to my truck and drove home, growing increasingly annoyed.

I was so weak, there in his office.

In a negotiation, you’re not supposed to make your needs obvious. I hadn’t realized it was a negotiation, after I’d waited for his return, but it was. I was negotiating to keep my job; he was arguing that I should be fired.

And so I basically got down on my knees to lick his shoes.

I talked about how much I respect this company. I even talked about Riley, though maybe that might have been my self-sabotage streak (the same one that makes me drink hard when things get particularly bad) at work. I barely remember what I said. I only remember the tone, and the taste in my mouth that slowly dawned as I drove home, still exhausted, now coming down from adrenaline and shame.

Why should I have to work so hard to keep my job? I had to keep reminding myself: Mason didn’t know what happened between me and Riley, as much as I think I talked about her in that meeting for some reason. So he wouldn’t fire me, would he? I only blew my promotion.

But thinking that mitigating thought just worked me up even more.

I gripped the steering wheel.

I gritted my teeth beneath my lips.

I drove faster than I should have.

How dare he berate me. How dare he make me feel like a slacker, like the other asshole slackers we’ve all heard rumors of the great Mason James taking to school? When we heard about those reprimands, they always made sense. Some guy who never showed up for work. Someone who stole. Someone who harassed coworkers or yelled racist epithets from job sites. Someone with sticky fingers, skimming off the top and thinking the company wouldn’t notice.

And now I’m in with them?