I forget the call, refocusing on my father. Recalling my college classes. Squaring this real-life discussion of profit and loss with what I learned in the classroom. It’s the same stuff, applied to actual business. The business I’ll inherit and run someday, as my legacy.

The fact that I’m in the meeting at all is a coup. Our going out to lunch together — just Dad and me — is an even bigger one. The idea is for us to just hang out as father and daughter, but I know that what’s being discussed here will linger in our minds. Neither of us is particularly left-brained; Dad and I are both creative first, analytical second, but we love the creation aspect of running a business because it’s just another form of art. A little-known company fact: Before he started Life of Riley, my father used to draw quite a bit. You’d never know it today, but it’s true. I was never into stuff like that. But I like music, and am damn good on a guitar.

Like Brandon’s friend, Gavin Adams, that night at the closed Overlook club.

Like Gavin, who sang such a sad song.

The memory, even in the middle of this dry meeting, warms me. I want to know more about that song. I want to hear more of that music. I want to see more of how that soft melody is able to crack the armor of a man like Brandon Grant.

Whom I shouldn’t be thinking of.

Because that can’t happen. Not that it would happen, so why am I even considering that it might? I don’t need to remind myself not to do something that was never going to happen because it’s so obvious. It isn’t worthy of mention. I was ridiculous to allow thoughts of Brandon to enter my mind when we were together earlier. He’s one of Life of Riley’s project leads, and soon he’ll probably be our vice president of Land Acquisition. Good. He’ll be an asset to the company.

I imagine we’ll have lunches and meetings.

Maybe we see more live music.

And that feels nice: the idea of being able to attend events as legitimate business functions. Life could be worse. I got my father to treat me like an adult for once, and this is a great company to rise within. I love my father, my boss. I like Margo. I like the other people in the office. And I share many interests with the new VP. The probable new VP.

What I told Brandon was true. He does deserve the job. That’s just fact. That’s just sensible. What happened between us was a moment of weakness, but I’m level-headed enough to let it go. Phoebe is wrong. Phoebe has to be wrong. Because how would that work if she was right? It wouldn’t. Dad wouldn’t allow it. He’d see it as mixing business with pleasure.

Pleasure. All it takes is the disconnected thought of the word, and for a second I’m back under Brandon, his mouth on my neck.

It was a mistake. Just as doing anything more would be a mistake. And no matter what Phoebe says, it couldn’t be more than a single physical incident — a moment of indiscretion and weakness. He and I are a poor fit. Believing otherwise, even if it were possible, would be tantamount to dipping pens in company ink. You don’t cross certain lines. Not if you expect to keep harmony and do what’s best for everyone.

I listen to my father giving his goals to counter the projections. I try to focus. I try to ignore what Phoebe said. I try to ignore the clear matchmaking from Bridget’s end. I don’t even know her, other than dinner and a car ride. Why should I believe and trust her? No matter. I do, and want to.

The meeting wraps after another forty-five minutes. The other men and women leave, and soon it’s Dad and I in the office while he finishes up, making a few final notes before lunch.

There’s a knock at the door. It’s Dad’s assistant. She tells him he has a visitor: Mr. Grant.

“Oh, good. Send him in.”

Dad turns to me, grinning, maybe even proud of me for all that’s happened. “He’s due to pick some stuff up on his way out to the site. I figured we’d go ahead and let him know now about the promotion. You still think he’s the right man for the job?”

Of course I do. Brandon loves this company. He’d take good care of it. He’d always look out for Life of Riley and serve its best interests. He’s loyal. He works hard. He’d put the company first. Sometimes, I get mad at him, but the more I think about it, the more certain I am that he’s right for the job, and it’s right for him.

I nod. A second later, Brandon enters. My heart flutters. I tell myself it’s because I’m excited for him. And for the company, which is gaining a strong advocate. A terrific partner. Someone who looks at Life of Riley and sees how it’s special, and will always love it, always take care of it. Even if he sometimes acts like a jerk, Phoebe seems to think he’s good deep down.

Brandon and my father shake hands. There’s a split-second hesitation as he glances at me, as if he didn’t know I’d be here. His eyes move to my face, and it’s like he’s trying to read something from me. I can almost sense him asking a question, and in that same split second his strong face falls from sure to uncertain. Then he seems to remember Dad and extends his hand for me to shake. I do. The simple, platonic touch prickles my skin. I remember the feel of that hand on my upper arm as he pulled me toward him, as his lips met mine.

I blink the thought away — and Brandon, curiously, seems to do the same. His gaze flicks to my face, and again I see his unasked question. Then it’s gone as my father speaks.

“Brandon, thanks for stopping in. Riley and I are on our way out to lunch, but I figured I could dispense with one piece of business beforehand.” He grins. My father can be hard, and he can be scary if he’s angry, but he’s wonderfully warm when in the right mood. I see that warmth now. He wants this. It’s the right decision. Welcoming Brandon into the family. Taking him on as a surrogate son. We’ll all be happy together, I think.

“Sure, Mr. James.”

“Please. Call me Mason.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He smiles. The smile lifts his beard, which hides his scar. It’s the most genuine smile I’ve seen on him since that night, after dinner.

“You applied for the VP of Land Acquisition job.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A lot of people applied. It’s a great job. Lots of responsibility. Very important position. A spot in which I can only have the best.” He glances at me and smiles. “It had to be someone who came highly recommended.”

“Of course, Mr. … Mason.”

“I’ve given the decision a lot of thought. And I … hang on a second.” He reaches for his computer, which is blipping at him. I think it might be a Skype sound, and it’s insistent.

“Riley,” he says, “did you hear from Fourth Federal? They’re asking about moving forward. We just need a yes or a no.”

“I haven’t heard,” I say. Then: “Wait. I got a call during the meeting.”

My purse is on the desk, where I set it as Dad was cleaning up. I move to grab it, but Dad is closer. My phone is poking out the top so he snags it and looks at the screen. He turns it toward me, but I can’t read it. I step closer, but my dad moves like a mantis and in a flick he’s tapping at the screen. “An hour ago. Okay if I listen?”

I nod. But as my father raises the phone to his ear and begins to listen, I catch movement from the corner of my eye. I look over to see Brandon’s face, which looks panicked.

A number I didn’t have in my phone. Maybe because I’d deleted the contact, proving to myself that certain things were over or had never even begun.

 And I understand.

“Dad!” I say. “I don’t think that’s from … !”

I stop when I see the way his jaw firms. He stares. At me, and Brandon.