Unlike my girlish shrill, his voice remains calm. “I’m not going to risk losing him for the sake of your ego, Piper. Calloway Group is not a one-man show. You need guys like him and David in your corner, whether you like them or not.”

I take a deep, calming breath and try to match his tone, all while inside I’m screaming. “I’m waiting on a call from Tripp to update me on the meeting with the city planners, and I expect things to move forward smoothly after today—”

“Nothing ever moves smoothly in this industry.”

“If I have to get more involved, I will.”

The responding sigh is one that breeds tension in my shoulders. It means I’m about to get a lecture. Wandering back to my desk, he perches himself on the edge. “You lead them. You guide them. You motivate them. And you rely on them. You don’t do their jobs for them, Piper.”

“You can’t motivate someone who doesn’t respect you.”

“Then earn Tripp’s respect.”

“How? The guy calls me a spoiled tart to anyone who will listen!”

He squeezes the bridge of his nose with his index finger, as if pained from a headache. “I’ll talk to him.”

“No, you will not, Dad!” I tack on a sigh and a calmer “Please don’t,” because my voice is bordering on hysterical.

He pauses, as if searching for another angle in this conversation. “Well, are you a spoiled tart?”

“What? No!”

“Good. I’m glad you know your worth. And I know that you are a brilliant young woman with the passion and the potential to continue leading the Calloway legacy like no one else. That’s why I promoted you.” He offers me a rare, encouraging smile before it falls off. “Now prove it to the rest of them.” There’s an edge creeping into his brusque voice. “I have no plans on going anywhere anytime soon, but as we learned two years ago, nothing is guaranteed. I want you at the head of the Calloway table now, with your feet in the fire, so everyone can start getting used to the idea of you running CG one day. But you still have a lot to learn, from me and from this executive team. That includes Tripp.”

“Yes, sir,” I manage to get out through gritted teeth. “I just don’t understand what value you see in him.”

“I will admit that Tripp has let his false aspirations cloud his judgment lately. But he has been by my side for almost thirty years. That kind of loyalty counts for something in this business.” Dad’s gaze wanders toward the skyline once again. “How is everything with the Waterway project?”

I push aside my dour mood as I pat the stack of papers next to me. “Final design approvals have come in. Seagrum and Whilcroft have signed the loan papers.”

“How short are we on financing?”

“We need another three hundred million to close the construction loan.”

“How are talks with Deutsche Bank coming along?”

“Long and excruciating, but I think we’re making headway. Jim is getting more numbers to them.” Jim, our director of investments, is a tall, slender man with a perpetual five o’clock shadow and a keen financial sense, especially when it comes to negotiations involving that kind of money.

“And the unveiling ceremony?”

“At the art gallery on Fifth. Everything’s underway for that.”

“Keep me informed,” Dad murmurs, reaching for the gift that arrived from my brother last week—made from recycled silver spoons, which I don’t think was a coincidence given he always jokes that we came out of my mother’s womb suckling on them—to study it with an incredulous look. “That’s what this thing is for? To hold my phone?”

I let out a soft sigh, relieved at the sudden switch in topic, even if it’s to a more personal one. “I take it Rhett sent you one, too.”

“Yes, and I told Greta to toss it, but the damn woman never listens to me.”

I smirk. Greta’s been my father’s executive assistant for almost twenty-five years. She’s set to retire next year and he’s already talking about doubling her salary to get her to stay. The truth is, I’m not sure my father can survive without “that damn woman.”

“I have no use for tchotchkes,” he mutters, fiddling with my iPhone perched within the cradle, shifting it this way and that.

“Works pretty well. And it’s clever.” In a kitschy sort of way.

Dad lets out a sound that might be approval—if he could approve of anything my brother does—before standing with a stretch. His hard gaze drifts to the office across the way. “You know . . . David really loves you.”

I roll my eyes. “David really loves David.” And I’ll never be stupid enough to divulge anything to him ever again.

“Confidence is important in a man—”

“Dad.”

His hands go up in the air. “You’re going to be running a multibillion-dollar company one day. You need to be with a man like David. Not like that last waste of space.”

“Who?” I frown, confused for a moment. “Wait, are you talking about Ryan?” My ex from four years ago?

Dad grunts at the name.

Waste of space . . . “He was a published author!”

“Who couldn’t pay his own rent, if I recall correctly,” he throws back.

“He could have been a lot worse.”

“Yes, you’re right. He could have been a criminal.”

I sigh heavily. In my father’s eyes, a man’s worth is set by his family name, his bank account, and his shoes.

And I want to be done with this conversation. “Say hi to Rita for me.”

He pauses, seemingly caught off guard. “Actually, we decided to take some time apart. She moved out.”

I feel my eyebrows spike in surprise. “Since when?”

“It’s been at least a month now,” he says dismissively.

“A month!” They were together for almost a year! I thought this was the one he was going to marry. “You should have told me.”

He shrugs. “I didn’t think you particularly liked her.”

Like would be too strong a word for my feelings toward Rita, but at least she’s a full decade older than me, unlike the thirty-two-year-old interior designer before her. Thankfully that one was short-lived.

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone at night,” I say instead. He was alone at home when he had his heart attack. It was sheer luck that he managed to dial 9-1-1.

“And I don’t like you being alone, period,” he smoothly pivots.

“I’m not. I have Christa, and Ashley moved in, too.”

“At your age, you should be—”

“Enjoying my life.” I smile as I firmly cut him off. “Marrying David would have been a huge mistake. And have you forgotten that he suggested I quit CG so he could take over?”

Dad waves it off with, “he wasn’t serious.”

I stifle my groan. “I would have been miserable, married to him. Is that what you want, Dad? For me to be miserable?”

Whatever rebuttal was formulating on his lips dies with a resigned sigh. “Tell the girls I say hello.” Dad reaches for the door handle.

“You know who else is happy?” I tap the spoon sculpture. “Rhett is happy.” My brother moved back from Thailand a year ago with his Thai wife, Lawan. They started an up-cycling shop in a charming town an hour outside of Lennox. I’ve only been out to see it once, but it seems to fit the composting, rainwater-preserving, recycling guru he has become.