For the last two weeks, all I’ve done is work the business. I spend time in every department and at all major meetings, shadowing Pops and every senior VP throughout the firm. It’s been intense. I’ve learned more than my entire business degree, although much of it comes more naturally than I thought. Probably from all those years Pop dragged my ass with him to work as a kid. There were countless times he had made me sit in his office sofa after school and sometimes on weekends. He had to keep a close eye on me back then, on account of all the trouble that followed me.

So far, he hasn’t been all over my ass about my personal life, so that’s something.

Except that today, he summoned me to his house—my parents’ home—for a check-in meeting. I have nothing to worry about if our conversation is limited to Steele Industries. But if he plans to give me more bad news about his health, or to delve into setting me up with some random female socialite he approves of, I can’t see either scenario going well for me.

At this point, I can’t bring myself to object too strongly or give him any hassle. The man is not well. The more I see him, the clearer it is. He just thinks he’s doing a damn good job of masking his failing health. Sure, most of his executives, colleagues and acquaintances are unaware of his situation, but he can’t fool me. No fucking way. I see the way he strains to sit upright in his corner office, and how he struggles with getting through the day when all along, he was a workaholic, spending ten to fifteen hours a day on the job.

I don’t want to face his mortality, but all this time around the office isn’t giving me much choice. And every evening when I walk through the door of my condo apartment, I’m gutted all over again.

He may not be here next year. Or this Christmas. He won’t see me turn thirty, or walk down the aisle, or gaze into the eyes of his great grandchildren, if there are any in the cards. I start to regret taking him for granted for every fucking milestone I hit before now. He was there for all of them. My first shave, high school graduation, going away to college, coming back with a degree.

And he’s been there for the fuckups too. That time I had to call him collect to bail me out of jail for breaking a guy’s nose at a bar, and the other times I got those drunk and disorderly charges after binging with Foster in my early twenties. The few lawsuits that came my way as a result of bad behavior, once the offending party realized my family’s net worth. He handled them all. He had our lawyers throw whatever money at those problems so that they’d go away. I can’t think of even once when he left me to handle my shit alone. I just kept on believing he’d always be there for me, which in hindsight, was awfully naïve of me, given the way I lost my parents.

I feel dampness in my eyes and force down the somber thoughts. When I walk in the door today, there’ll be none of this. As he can hold his own and be strong, then fuck, I can too.

After the long drive through rush hour traffic, I park at the end of the driveway and head inside.

“Pops,” I shout from the front door, and he hollers back from his smoking room. As I spot him sitting in his chair next to the fireplace, I smile. This man is a creature of habit, that’s for sure. He’s in that chair with a Cuban cigar in his fingers and a fire going whether it’s the middle of winter or as hot as an August lunch hour.

“Good to see you, son,” he answers, and puffs a few times on his Cohiba cigar. “How were the roads?”

“The usual,” I reply and take a seat in the leather sofa opposite him.

“You should stay for a while, if you’re free. It’ll save you from sitting in another hour’s worth of gridlock for the drive home.”

“Sure, why not.”

He nods over at his wet bar. “Whiskey?”

I shake my head. “Maybe later,” I answer. My remaining sober is essential, as I have no idea why he asked me here. “So, where were you? I missed you at that financial risk meeting this afternoon.”

“You’ve been so good at showing up that I figured you could handle it on your own.” He walked over to the bar and pours himself a drink. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve surprised me, stepping up the way you have this past couple of weeks. Keep it up and you’ll be well on your way to impressing the board of directors.”

“Do I detect a hint of pride somewhere in there?” I tease.

“I wouldn’t get too carried away. You’ve got a ways to go. But sure, you’ve restored my faith that there’s still hope for you, young man.”

Even though I turned down his offer for a drink, Pops walks over to the sofa with two glasses filled with amber liquid. He takes a seat beside me and hands me a glass.

I shift my body toward him and set the glass down on the coffee table in front of us. “Should I be bracing for more bad news, or are you gonna drop another ultimatum?”

He flashes a one-sides smile. “Are those the only two options you can come up with? Is it so hard for you to believe that I might want you here to spend time with my grandson?”

I’d feel bad if the creases at the sides of his eyes didn’t reveal so much levity. “You’re yanking my chain, Pops.”

He laughs and that deep rumble fills the room. “That’s how I know we’ve spent way too much time together. You have no business reading me so well, kid.”

“That’s how it goes.” I shrug. “So, give it to me straight. What did you want to talk about?”

He swirls the drink around in his glass, seeming to search for the right words. Then he looks me in the eye. “You’re joining me in the Hamptons this weekend,” he says, but it’s not a question. It’s a statement.

I nod, because well, I know how limited our time is. “I’ll be there.”

“Good. The Harrisons and my old friend, Earl and his wife, Jean are all coming. And the McCutcheons will be next door as usual, with their whole clan.”

“I’m used to it being a full weekend,” I say.

“Did I mention that Isabelle will be there too?” he asks, and seems to pause, waiting for a reaction or objection from me that I don’t provide.

“Nice.”

“Yes, it is. She’s a lovely girl.”

I can see where he’s going with this, but I’m not taking the bait. What’s ironic is I’ll enjoy having Isabelle around for an entire weekend. Although we haven’t seen each other since dinner that night, we’ve exchanged a couple of text messages. But I’m not about to hand over any hints to Pops about Isabelle’s and my friendship. That’s poking the bear. No doubt, if he ever finds out that we had a drunken sex session and messed around a little during that dinner, he’s bound to put the whole marriage plan back on the table. And I’m not ready to fight him on it, but if I have to, I will.

“You’ll take the time to get to know her…better.” His statement is laced with so much suggestiveness that I wonder if he’s listening to himself.

“Careful, Pops. You’re starting to sound like a pimp.”

“I’m just saying—”

“I heard you loud and clear. You want me to make a move on that girl…while we’re in the Hamptons.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“That’s not creepy at all…Jesus H. Christ.”

“Well, would it?”

“Do you want to chaperone while we’re at it?” I ask with sarcasm. “Look, I get it, all right? You don’t want me to be alone. But at the rate you’re going, if you keep laying it on so strong…All I’m saying is if you push this hard with Isabelle or any woman at all, they’ll run. Far.”

“All right, I’ll tone it down with the whole pimping you out.” Pops laughs at his own statement. “Just give it a chance. Give her a chance.”

“Are you saying that if I spend the weekend getting to know Isabelle Harrison, you’ll drop the whole marriage idea?”

“Yes.”

“Just like that?” I ask, skeptical. “One minute you want me to settle down and find some woman to spend the rest of my life with, the next minute one weekend with some girl from my childhood is enough? That seems like a big change of heart.”

“Well, like I said.” He shrugs, not bothered by my questions at all. “You’re doing well at the company, and that was one of my biggest concerns. But I also don’t want you to be lonely. My choice is for you to have something more than friendship with Isabelle, but if you at least have that, I’ll be all right.”

“I do have friends, you know. I’ve got Foster and the guys.

Pops scoffs. “That kid has done you no favors through the years. He’s from good stock, but he couldn’t survive one day in the real world.” I can’t disagree with that. “Are you hungry?”

I empty my whiskey glass and get to my feet. “Sure. I’ll eat.”

As I follow him into the dining room I have to admit to myself that we’re on much better footing than we were a few weeks or months ago. He’s gotten it out of his mind that he needs to see me drag some unsuspecting socialite down the aisle just so he can feel more at ease about my future.

He wants me to hook up with Isabelle but will be satisfied if we’re back to being friends. I guess it could be worse. Of course, our house in the Hamptons is a big, big place. She can end up spending the entire weekend avoiding me, but that won’t be on me.