I lean back in my swivel chair a few days after my underground fight, looking at Foster across my office desk. He’s been here for twenty minutes. He’s just sitting there, distracting my attempts to catch up with work after an extended long weekend.

“Don’t the guys over at that hedge fund company give you real work to do?” I ask as he walks over to the small bar area in one corner of the office.

He opens the built-in minibar and bends forward, checking out what’s inside. “A six-pack of beer, dude? That’s all you put in this deep, big-ass fridge? You can fit a whole case in here.” As he stands he reveals the two beers in his hand with the lids off, and brings one over to me. “I bring in business over there. Investor relations and shit. You know what that means?”

“No.” I take a swig of beer and swallow the perfectly cold liquid, then set the bottle on a coaster at the edge of my desk. “But I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”

“It means that right this second, I’m working.”

“Doing what? Depleting my alcohol stash?”

He shakes his head. “No. But that reminds me. Do you remember that summer Pops cut off your allowance and made you take on a paper route as punishment for disrespecting him?”

I roll my eyes and return my gaze to the emails all waiting for my response. “I remember. I don’t have time to walk down memory lane with your lazy ass.”

“I seem to recall you were the lazy one. You got in so much crap with the neighbors. Throwing those newspapers from your bike into CCTV cameras, breaking automatic gate consoles…shit, and remember those two Rottweilers that Mr. Patinski owned? They ate the paper,” he says and bursts out laughing. “He complained that he didn’t get his paper, and you told him the dogs ate it. Mr. Patinski got your ass fired…from a paper route, dude.”

I cross my arms and wait for him to get his laughter under control. “What are you really doing here, man? I got shit to do.”

“You do realize that you and your grandfather have invested close to thirty mil with us, right? That makes you an investor. And right now, we’re talking and sipping cold ones. We’re relating. See? Investor relations.”

“Fucking slacker.”

“Whatever.” He takes a quick look at his phone, and tucks it back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “On that, you should really think about throwing in another twenty mil. We’re about to look at an international commercial project that’ll have a footprint in seventy major cities. It’s right up your alley.”

“Sounds okay. Email me the details and I’ll get the risk management guys to look it over.”

“Will do.”

My phone buzzes while I check through the numerous corporate emails that I missed since I left the office last Thursday night. As usual, I ignore the phone and keep focused on the computer monitor, replying to the simpler ones, sending others along for review, and approving others where it makes sense to do so. I look up and notice Foster scrolling through my fucking phone.

“Put that shit down,” I tell him, but I see him empty his beer, then places both of his hands on my phone and begins to tap away on it. “What the fuck, man? Leave that alone.”

“I’m fixing something,” he says, and continues to key in a long-ass string of God knows what.

“I don’t need you to fix shit for me.”

His eyes alone move as he looks up from the screen, only glancing at me for a split second. “You fucking do, if you haven’t replied to even one of your girlfriend’s texts.”

“If you want to fix my woman problems so fucking bad, why don’t you just use your own damn phone and talk to her yourself. She’s your friend too.”

“Maybe she was, but not anymore. I tried to cover for your ass after you went off to college. She didn’t like it all that much. Blocked my number and shit.”

“What? What the hell did you tell her to make her block you? And how do you know for sure that she blocked your number?”

“I know because she told me. In a text. It went something like, ‘Foster, this is a courtesy text. I don’t want to hear from you anymore. Trying to cheer me up by showing me dick pics is not just inappropriate. It’s gross. I’m blocking you in my phone the second after this text goes through. Bye.’ But you’re missing the point.”

“You fucking idiot!” I shout. “You sent her dick pics?”

“It wasn’t my dick. It was online stuff from those triple-X rated websites. And for the record, I was simply explaining to her that you’re at college, that at least you didn’t run off to some porn movie set to start starring in X-rated movies like the ones at the link in that text. It was one fucking time, and she blocked me after that.”

“You’re really an idiot, son of a bitch.” I stretch my body over my desk and try to take the phone from him, but he swivels back and continues to type in a message. “Leave it alone, Foster. I’ll beat the shit out of you if you don’t stop what you’re doing and put the phone down now.”

He doesn’t stop. “You’re overdue to get your ass kicked, so sure,” he mutters. “Bring it.”

This idiot is going to make me break half the furniture in here if he keeps this shit up. “Fine. Take the fucking phone. Reply to Isabelle for all I care. Just get the fuck out so I can at least get some work done.”

He gets to his feet, but sets down the phone before turning to leave. “All right, bruh. I’m out. Took care of that drama for you too.”

Snatching up the phone, I unlock the screen to check my texts. I want to know what kind of damage this idiot has done. Except, my secretary’s voice comes over my desk phone intercom at the same time.

“Mr. Steele?” she calls out, her voice frantic.

“What’s up?” I answer.

“A call just came in from Mount Sinai. I’m sorry, sir. It’s your grandfather.”

My body tenses at the mention of Pops. “What happened?” I ask.

“They need you to go in. They said it’s urgent.”

I scoop up my phone and keys, and tell my secretary I’ll be there as soon as I can on my way down the hall to the elevators.

This can’t be the call.

I refuse to believe it.

It’s too fucking soon.