On Sunday morning at 11am sharp, I find myself in the private room of Brasserie 8 1/2. My eyes sweep around the room and land on the reason I’m here. “Father, what was so important that you had to drag me down here?”

He laughs. “Good to see you too, son.”

“Archie!” I hear before my mother envelopes me in a hug. She rocks back and cups my face in her soft hands. “Thanks for joining us, dear. It means so much to have you here.”

“But why am I here?” I ask, facing my dad. “I was already heading into the office when—”

“Let’s wait for Dalton and Faith,” my father interrupts.

“Dalton is coming?” I ask, growing nervous. This seems rather formal compared to our regular family gatherings. I managed to dodge the last few, but my father demanded that I attend today.

“Bonjour, bonjour,” my mother cries as Dalton and Faith waltz through the door. She plants kisses on both their cheeks. “Faith, you shouldn’t be on your feet!”

“Bonjour, maman. Oh, I’m fine,” Faith says, smiling as my mother takes lead her to a chair.

“Father, Mother,” Dalton says, nodding at them both. His eyes land on me and his face breaks into a smile. “Archer?” He walks over to me, pushing away my outstretched hand, and crushes me in a bear hug.

I catch my breath when we break away. “Been working out?” I ask, rubbing my sore arms.

“Ha, I wish! Been too busy getting a case ready for court. Then there’s Faith, and in her condition…well, there’s so much to do before January.” The smile he gives her makes me want to throw up.

I don’t have much in common with my brother—last name excluded. He’s outgoing and gregarious, whereas I prefer to keep to myself. While I’m the spitting image of my dad, Dalton gets his ebony hair and chocolate brown eyes from my mother. And although I’m two inches taller than him at 6’2”, his hefty frame tends to eclipse my more toned build.

“Anyway, what about you?” my brother asks.

“I’m fine.”

He hits my arm. “Come on, I haven’t seen you in months! Where’ve ya been—hiding under a rock?”

“Hardly,” I say, taking a seat. “I’ve been working.”

I’m saved from answering more pesky questions by the arrival of our food. My mother seems to have ordered every French breakfast food imaginable, and the table is soon littered with dishes. We all tuck-in with gusto.

A few minutes later, and after the requisite poking and prying into Dalton and Faith’s life, baby plans, and work, my mother puts down her fork and signals for our attention.

“Thank you for making time for this last minute brunch, my loves. I know you three have important things to get back to, but your father has an important announcement.” She smiles at my father.

“I’ve decided to run for mayor,” he declares.

Dalton cheers and claps my father on the back. “Congratulations, Dad!”

“How wonderful!” Faith says, beaming around the table. “You’ll be a fantastic mayor, Heath.”

“Oh, well…we’ll see about that. I have to win first.”

“And you will, love,” my mother says. “You have all our support—isn’t that right, Archie?” She nudges my arm.

I jerk my head up. “Are you serious?”

Four pairs of eyes focus on my face.

“Do you think this is a good idea? At your age—” I stop, seeing the scowl gathering on my father’s face. “I mean that you have other commitments, Father. Remember your heart scare a few years ago? A political campaign won’t do you any favors.”

My mother lays her hand on mine. “You’re sweet for thinking of your father’s health, love. But we’ve talked to his doctors, and he’s well enough.”

I shrug. “I suppose if this is what you want—”

“It is,” my father says. “It really is. I’ve worked hard for this moment, and although the road ahead will be long, I want you by my side, Archie.”

I consider his words, grudgingly admiring his determination and ambition for such a tough job. He seems to know the road ahead will be difficult at best, and grueling at worst.

I sit back and cross my arms over my chest. “Then I wish you luck.”

“Thanks, son, I’ll need it,” my father says with a wink and a smile.

“A toast!” my mother announces, raising her mimosa. “To Heath Stratton, the future mayor of New York City!”

We all pick up our cocktails and clink our glasses, Faith giggling as she uses grapefruit juice instead of the requisite champagne.

“Now, my dears,” my mother says, leaning forward, “I think we should go over what the next five months will look like. The campaign will be demanding, and our lives may be in the public eye more than usual.”

“Yes, be prepared to attend functions, dinner parties, rallies, and speeches,” my father adds.

I clear my throat. “I can’t take time away from work to attend a slew of events, Father.”

“Hogwash. You did a fine job at The Met. We saw yesterday’s paper; you smiled for the photo this time,” my father says, grinning at me.

I don’t tell him that it was the look of abject mortification on that haughty fundraiser’s face that produced the rare smile.

“I abhor that crap,” I argue. “I only went Friday because you guilt-tripped me.”

“Heath, please tell me you asked Archie like I told you to?” my mother admonishes.

My father squirms under her stare. “I did…at first. Anyway, you’re getting better at these things, son. A few more won’t be a problem.”

I push my plate away. “A few more? Sounds like five months of schmoozing and boozing to win you a constituency.”

“Whoa, Archer,” Dalton begins, but I cut him off.

“No. There’s no fucking way—”

“Watch your tongue!” my mother snaps. The temperature at the table drops a few degrees.

I take a deep breath and try again. “I’m not getting sucked into a summer of servitude. Do you want to see your company fail, Father?”

“Of course not!”

“Well it will if I’m forced to go to stupid parties with vain, superficial people.”

My father narrows his eyes. “You don’t have to be there one hundred precent of the time.”

“Wanna bet?” I sneer.

“Your mother and I have wanted you to bring on a partner for months—”

“I’m not bringing on a fucking partner!” I yell, slamming my fist on the table and sending a shockwave through the glasses and silverware. A chilly silence follows my outburst. I glare at the half-eaten crepe on my plate, fully aware that I just lost my temper in front of my entire family.

A chair screeches as my mother pushes back from the table. “Heath, why don’t you show Archie the results of…our research?” she suggests. She turns to Faith. “Did you know, darling, that the owner of Brasserie collects Matisses? Let me show you my favorites.”

Faith gives my mother a relieved smile. “I didn’t, and I’d love to. Dalton?”

Dalton glances at his wife before giving me a concerned look. “Um, okay, but only if you’re alright, Archer.”

“I’m fine,” I snarl. I feel a tinge of regret when his face turns to granite.

“Alright,” Dalton mutters, moving to join his wife and my mother gathered by the door. “I’ll just get out of your hair, then.”

I sigh. “Dalton, look, I’m—”

The door slams shut behind them.

“Archie,” my father says after a moment, “do you know how you’re perceived by the public?”

“Come again, sir?” I ask. Shit, I was breaking out the “sir.”

“Your image. How people see you.”

“I’ve never cared for that sort of thing.”

My father sighs. “Well, when I got serious about running for office, I hired an image consultant.”

My eyebrows shoot up.

“You can never be too careful,” he explains. “I needed to know how I was perceived, what I was up against.”

I shrug. “I doubt you’ll have a problem, sir. You should’ve heard the compliments in your name on Friday night.”

“Good to hear, and that’s what the consultant found. Philanthropist, activist, businessman, father. I check off more than a few boxes. However…” He shifts in his chair. “I failed in one of those categories.”

“Which one?”

“The public doesn’t think I’m a good father; they think that our family is ‘unrelatable’.”

“That’s impossible,” I say. “People love Mother. She’s not some bimbo socialite half your age. And Dalton and I are ambitious men at the top of our industries. Hell, you’re about to be a grandfather. What’s more relatable than that?”

My father looks me straight in the eyes. “It’s you, Archie. The public can’t relate to you.”

I laugh. “You’re joking.”

“They believe I’m a bad father, unable to control or soften my cold son—”

“Hey!” I cut in.

“—and that our family is another rich, aloof monarchy.”

“But…we are rich,” I say. I’m not sure why that’s the first thing out of my mouth after hearing what an entire city thinks of me.

“We’re so much more than that, Archie,” my father scolds.

“I know. I’m just in shock,” I mutter.

Am I, though? This is exactly what that fundraiser told me, and based on how our conversation deteriorated the longer we talked, I bet she now shares the public’s opinion.

“I hate telling you this,” my father says, “but now you can work to fix it.”

“Hold on,” I say. “Who says I’m going to change?”

“I do.”

“I don’t see why,” I argue back. “I’m dedicated to our company, I don’t get into drunken brawls at 3am or sleep with strippers. I don’t see the problem here.”

My father reaches down and flips open a briefcase at his feet. He pulls out a stack of newspaper clippings and web page printouts. “I figured you’d say that. Your mother—bless her—thought reason would appeal to you, but I know my secondborn. You need proof.”

He shoves the pile at me.

“And this is…?”

“Your problem,” he answers. “Which is now my problem.”

He grabs the first newspaper clipping. “Remember the opera premier two years ago? See how Dalton, Faith, your mother and I are smiling and posing for the picture?” He jabs a finger at someone in the background. “That’s you at the bar, sucking down whiskey and chatting up the well-endowed bartender.”

He picks up another sheet. “The political rally for Senator Sanchez. We were there to lend our name to her campaign. While your family was working the crowd, you were caught backstage, pants around your ankles, working over some girl.”

I point my finger at him. “I said I didn’t sleep with strippers. I never professed to be chaste.”

“Dammit, Archie, the girl was the opposing candidate’s campaign manager! You almost cost the senator the nomination because it looked like you were screwing for votes!”

He slams down the paper and leans back. “I could go through them all, but I’d only be repeating myself. The bottomline is: you have a bad image, and it’s going to cost me this campaign if you can’t get it together.”

My breath explodes from my lungs. “You’re being incredibly unfair. I don’t believe that a few pictures of me enjoying myself at an event will sink your campaign.”

“If it were two or three missteps, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But there are dozens more like this, and you come off as arrogant and condescending in each one.”

My father pauses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “The Strattons need to look like the solid, supportive family that we are. I can’t let you skirt events anymore now that I’m running for mayor. You have to show up and behave—like Dalton.”

“Like Dalton?” I repeat. “Is this because I haven’t settled down and started a family?”

My father shrugs. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

“I’m not about to wife-up for your political career,” I growl.

“Fine. But a girlfriend, perhaps; a serious relationship to show you’re abandoning your bachelor ways.”

I scowl. “You seem to have my whole life planned out, so I’m sure you already have someone in mind. Care to enlighten me?”

My father studies me for a moment. “Tessa Clifton.”

“You’re joking,” I sneer. He doesn’t correct me. “You’re not? We broke up five years ago!”

“But you were engaged, so she must’ve meant something to you once,” he counters. “I heard you saw her at the wing reveal.”

“Wait, how did you know that?” I demand.

“Maybe you could rekindle what you once had, move passed your issues.”

Screw that. “I doubt it.”

“She comes from a highly regarded family, Archie. Very respectable.”

“So glad her pedigree meets your approval,” I say through gritted teeth.

“I’m simply asking you to reconsider such a life-altering decision. It was five years ago. Perhaps you acted rashly? Love makes us do crazy things.”

I want to break something. I push up from the table and stalk toward the door. “I’m not doing it. I’m not doing any of this.”

“Then you leave me no choice,” my father says, letting out a heavy sigh. “Archer Léon Stratton…you’re fired.”

I grind to a halt.

“As of today, you no longer work at Stratton Financial. I’ll have your personal things brought to your condo later this evening.”

I whirl around. My father looks like he’s aged ten years as I meet his eyes. “You’re firing me?”

“You’re so damn intractable, Archie. I’ve tried to reason, but you won’t listen.”

“I-I’ve made our company into a billion-dollar powerhouse! I’ve worked nights and weekends. My life is that job, sir.”

“I know, and my life is our family. We will win the mayor seat.”

“So you’re sacking me because I won’t get back with Tessa?” I shake my head. “You’re insane.”

My father launches himself out of his chair. “No, I’m firing you because you’ve put yourself and ambition before this family for years. Until you start putting others before yourself, you don’t deserve to be the face of Stratton Financial.”

“This is crazy!” I shout.

“Archer…” My father takes a step toward me. “I called you in here today to ask for your blessing to run for mayor, not to tell you. I had hoped you’d want to support me, because without you and your mother, Dalton and Faith, I won’t get through this alive.”

I drop my gaze to the floor, my conscience smarting from my father’s speech. His words are genuine, heartfelt, and kind—basically everything I’m accused of lacking.

But what does he expect me to do? I either have to wife-up or kiss my job goodbye. He’s put me in an impossible situation and met all of my arguments with an artfully phrased and well-reasoned response.

Damn. He would make a good politician.

“I…” I can’t believe I’m about to do this “… accept your offer.”

“Thank you,” my father sighs.

“But under one condition,” I add. “I decide who to date.”

“No Tessa, then?”

I frown at him. “No.”

My father mulls it over. “How about this: you have two weeks, and your mother and I get to weigh in on your choice.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off. “I’m not trying to control you, but your choice can’t damage the campaign in any way.”

I scoff. “What, am I only allowed to date blue bloods?”

“No, nothing like that. I mean no more campaign managers or bartenders. And I swear, Archie, if you hire an escort and try to pass her off as your—”

“Okay!” I say, throwing up my hands.

“Good. And if two weeks go by, and you haven’t found someone, then you’ll give Tessa a chance—a serious chance.”

“And if I don’t?”

He studies me for a moment. “Then your mother and I will choose someone for you.”

I glare at him.

“Do we have a deal?” he asks.

I think about it. Finding someone presentable shouldn’t be too hard, and as long as it’s not “Princess Clifton,” I’ll deal with it. Didn’t Kelsey have a running list of the women I’ve gone out with lately?

“Fine. Deal. Now can I go back to work?” I ask. There’s nothing like a brush with death to make you appreciate a good thing.

He nods, and I spin on my heel. I can’t wait to get out of here.

“Actually, son, there is one more thing…”

I slowly turn to face him.

“The image consultant also suggested we raise your public profile a bit,” he says, “so I’ve decided you’ll be in charge of the family’s philanthropic giving during my campaign. You’ll allocate funds and attend any dinners or events in my place.”

Yep. Just kick me while I’m down.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Is that a problem, Archie?”

If I say “screw this” and leave, I’ll be fired from the job I love and probably ruin my father’s campaign. Tempting.

If I agree, I’ll be shackled to a woman that my parents approve of for the next five months. That’s bound to be a nightmare if their number one choice is Tessa Clifton. Not tempting.

But a small part of me knows that my father would made a damn good mayor and that he’s dreamed of holding office for decades. Who am I to stand in his way?

Oh, and I really don’t want to lose my job.

I meet my father’s eyes. “Your wish is my command.”