“You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?”

“Please, by all means, Garrett, have a seat. And perhaps a drink as well, judging by your disgruntled appearance.”

“What makes you think I want to sit down with you? What makes you think I want to drink with you? You really are the cockiest man alive, aren’t you? I guess I always knew that, but damn! You really do know how to piss a guy off!”

Garrett’s father, never the type to get rattled by somebody else’s displeasure, only watched as Garrett fumed. It was enough to make Garrett want to haul off and hit him, except that he wasn’t the kind of guy to hit people, certainly not his old man. Also, if Garrett knew anything about his old man, there was a very good chance that there was security stationed around the restaurant to step in at a moment’s notice should anything with the one-and-only Jack Wallace go awry. It was laughable that he would need something like that, but need it was something he almost certainly did.

Jack Wallace wasn’t a man who tended to make friends when he traveled; he wasn’t the type to make friends even in his own backyard, for that matter. Knowing his father as he did, or rather knowing his reputation as he did, Garrett understood that there were almost certainly people around to make sure Jack Wallace stayed safe. If Garrett were to actually punch his dad in the face, the way he was tempted to do, he would only get his own ass kicked. That, and maybe get thrown into jail for the night as well. Because neither of these were things he was interested in doing, Garrett sat down across from his father, a rancid sense of deja vu washing over him as he did so. Just as it had been at the breakfast meeting the two of them had shared back in Denver, there was a glass of some amber-colored liquid waiting for him. The difference was that this time there was a whole bottle sitting on the table as well. There was also a plate of bread and a few meager looking plates of appetizers, but it didn’t take a genius to see that the main goal of this get together was the drinking. That was how his father had always been. Bottles of booze and hostile takeovers were his forte, and they came above all else.

Garrett sighed and collapsed into his waiting chair heavily, his body aching tiredly as he did so. He wasn’t sure what the amazing Mr. Wallace had done after the conference room get together he’d called earlier that morning, but for his part, Garrett had spent a long, fruitless day answering the nervous questions of employees he didn’t know from Adam while simultaneously hiding the fact that he didn’t yet have a fucking clue what they were supposed to be doing. He was completely worn out, utterly exhausted, and wanted only to return to his hotel room and pass out until he had to get up in the morning and do it all over again. What he didn’t want to do, what he honestly had not a single iota of desire to do, was sit across from his dad and engage in another bought of verbal sparring. He didn’t want any part of it, but of course, that didn’t matter because Jack Wallace had summoned him to a “dinner” (or for him just another excuse to drink) and what Jack Wallace wanted, Jack Wallace got.

“Good,” Garrett’s father said in a low, smooth voice, nodding his approval as he watched his son sit down. “That’s a good start. Now, stop it with the tantrum, will you? You’re drawing attention to us, and it’s not the kind of attention I’m interested in us having.”

“Is that so?” Garrett scoffed, pushing his whiskey aside and raising one finger in the air to summon whoever it was that was waiting on them so that he could get the drink he wanted instead of the one his dad had decided he should drink. “I’m surprised, Pops. I always thought you were one of those people who thought any kind of attention was good attention. Vodka martini, okay? Lots of olives.”

Garrett’s focus had been momentarily diverted to the nervous-looking waiter cursed with the task of taking care of them, and when he looked back at his dad, he could see a hardening of the eyes, one of the older man’s sure signs of anger. His hand shot across the table, and for a minute, Garrett was right back to being a child again. He was sure that his dad was going to grab him around the wrist the way he’d done when Garrett was small and pull, or yank him up and around the side of the table or even worse, take him outside so that he could receive his “punishment.” When all he did was take the drink Garrett had discarded and then let out a contemptuous little laugh, Garrett felt both humiliated and relieved. He wasn’t a child anymore and that meant his dad couldn’t just behave however he wanted with him. He could still do a lot, a lot of things that Garrett didn’t like and didn’t agree with, but he couldn’t dole out punishments to his only son the way he had when the difference in their heights had been more pronounced and Garrett had been less equipped to defend himself.    

“There, you got your martini. Feel better?”

“Nope, not yet. Maybe after I finish it and get another one we’ll talk.”

“Honestly, Garrett, I don’t see what your tantrum is over in the first place. I can tell you came in here wanting to make me angry. Your use of ‘pops’ was enough to clue me into that if nothing else was, but I don’t have any idea why. Did something happen today that you weren’t expecting? Were you somehow unaware of what you were coming to New York to do?”

“I still don’t understand why you wanted to bring me here in the first place!” Garrett exploded, slamming his fist down on the table so hard it made all of the dishes shake and quake, “What the hell was this about, Dad? Did you just bring me here to prove that you could? Was that it? Because if that’s what you were going for, you’re an asshole. I just hope you know that.”

“Of course, I’m an asshole,” his dad responded breezily, as if that was the best thing in the world to be. “Don’t think you’re telling me anything new. And of course, I didn’t bring you here just to do it. You think I’ve got time to waste on things like that? You think I’ve got time to carve out of my schedule just to mess with you? Because I assure you, I don’t. I asked you to come here—”

“Asked?” Garrett interrupted with a voice that sounded like acid. “I wouldn’t exactly call what you did asking.”

“I asked you to come here,” his dad continued, not even batting an eyelash and making it seem as if he hadn’t heard a word Garrett had spoken, “because I needed you here.”

“But why?” he asked hotly, his hand jerking involuntarily and spilling vodka all over the otherwise pristine tabletop, aware that he was only making himself look childish and beyond the scope of his own contro,l but apparently incapable of stopping himself. “You can tell me you needed me here all you want, but I still don’t understand why! I had a life in Denver, Dad. Did you ever stop to think about that?”

“A life?” His father laughed cruelly, any semblance of fatherly affection long since abandoned. “Please, Garrett. What kind of life could you have possibly had in Denver that was this hard to leave behind? What did you have there that was so irreplaceable?”

Despite wanting to come back with an immediate retort, his dad’s question forced him to stop and think. The thing is, he was kind of right. What had he left behind that was just too heartbreaking to let go? Was it Becky? Christ, there was a disaster he was glad to be rid of. He hadn’t realized with the part of his brain that did the decision making that she was not even close to the right chick for him until the morning he’d met with his dad. He hadn’t realized it up until that point, but once he did, there was no way to unknow the fact that he didn’t want to be with her anymore.

He’d thought that him having to move to New York would have provided him with the perfect kind of excuse to extricate himself from her without having to endure a scene or incur any of her wrath. That was what he’d thought, but it hadn’t quite worked out that way, had it? No, not at all.

What had actually happened was that she’d insisted he bring her with him. Being the stupid, thick-skulled man that he was, it hadn’t crossed his mind that she would suggest anything like that. He had only been able to answer that he didn’t think that was a good idea, and when she had asked him why, he’d told her he didn’t think they were long term. If there was a mistake a man could make with a woman, especially a woman who might or might not have the potential to turn sort of crazy, it was telling her she wasn’t long-term material. That comment had been all it took for her to lose her shit completely, and by the time it was all said and done the security from Garrett’s building had had to come up and escort her out.

It had only been that and their threat that the next step would be to call the cops that had gotten rid of her, but she had still made a point of calling him fifty-two times. She’d called him so many times that night that he’d given up on any hope of actually getting some sleep, and when it was a reasonable enough time of morning to get up, he made changing his phone number his first order of business. The term “dodged a bullet” had come to mind, and although he knew it was probably an unkind thing to think, he also knew that it was probably true. Then there was the job, which in reality had been nothing much to write home about. He ran an advertising company in Denver, one that was very successful, except that the term “ran” was probably a little too serious for what he did. What he actually did was own the company and leave the running of it to people who knew better than he. What he actually did was live off of the millions he’d received from his wealthy family when he turned eighteen and that he’d managed to increase with a serious knack for the stock market. There hadn’t been anything other than his choice, his stubbornness, and a few friends he wasn’t really all that fond of to keep him in Denver, and so there was nothing much to complain about. At the end of the day, he was basically just pissed off that his dad had told him what to do, and that was a grudge he wasn’t yet willing to let go of.

“Besides, son, it didn’t look to me like you were having a miserable time in your new position.”

“Is that right? Well, I don’t see how the hell you would know. You gave your stupid speech, made small talk for about five seconds, and then peaced out. You weren’t there for long enough to see anything at all.”

“Fine, except that I’m not talking about today.”

“Then what the hell are you talking about? It was my first day, for Christ’s sake. You don’t have any other work days to judge me by.”

“That’s true, Garrett, but I’m not talking about a work day. I’m talking about the happy hour you bitched so much about having to attend to. I’m talking about that pretty little piece of ass, Finnley Row. She’s one of the best employees we’re inheriting, you know. She’s one of the reasons I wanted the company, her and her friends. The friends are gone now, much to my chagrin, but Finnley’s still there, and you seemed to make friends with her just fine. It’s good, Garrett. It’s very good. Despite all of your bitching, you’re proving to be useful already. Now, if you’re done with your tantrum, allow me to discuss what I asked you here for. We’re going to start outlining the future of my new company.”