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flippancy, guaranteed to drive his father nuts, to mask his annoyance.
    Without knowing the first thing about it, Dwight had decided Garrett didn’t deserve the promotion. Garrett was tempted to prove him wrong. To stick around, win the partnership. Then quit, which would give Tony and the other partners a lesson in how not to run a partnership selection.
    Not worth the hassle, he decided. There were other agencies he could go to right away. Lots of them.
    Dwight was inhaling noisily, his face turning slightly purple. If Garrett had been one of his father’s “men,” he’d have feared imminent court-martial.
    “If you want to learn leadership, Garrett, you should get a real job,” Dwight said. “You could make something of yourself.”
    Here we go. Garrett drained his glass, glad he hadn’t been naive enough to think they could survive a whole meal. He stood. “See you around, Dad,” he said, confident it was highly unlikely. Madison Avenue might not be far from USUN, the United States Mission to the United Nations, where his father was an adviser, but their paths never intersected.
    “Sit down,” Dwight ordered.
    Yeah, right. Garrett wasn’t about to start obeying his father’s commands at this late stage. He left the role of the “good son” to his brother, Lucas.
    “Please,” Dwight said.
    Garrett stared. Dad learned a new word.
    When his father pointed at the chair, he sat down again.
    Dwight closed his eyes for a moment before he spoke. “I know this is a. Difficult day for you.”
    “But not for you?” Garrett asked.
    Irony was wasted on his father. “That’s why I wanted to see you.”
    His birthday, the anniversary of his mother’s death—not everything he’d told Rachel had been a lie—had been a difficult day every year for the past fifteen years. This was the first time Dwight had acknowledged it. “Are you sick?” Garrett asked.
    It would surely be divine retribution for the lies that had Rachel so riled, if his father suddenly confessed to a terminal illness. Not that Garrett felt the least bit guilty about Rachel. He’d done her a favor, telling her a plain truth last night. This morning, she’d got up his nose with her superiority and her dismissal of his abilities. She’d reminded him, in fact, of his father.
    Only she’d been far easier to topple than Admiral Dwight Calder. She didn’t have the backing of the U.S. Navy to make her feel infallible.
    “I’m not sick,” Dwight said.
    Relief rushed through Garrett. He tilted his chair back. “Then why are you here?”
    Over on the far side of the room, the band was running a sound check. In another five minutes, there’d be no possibility of conversation.
    “It’s time you and I made more of an effort with each other,” his father said.
    Garrett’s chair thumped back on to all four legs. “Are you going to tell me this was your idea?” he asked calmly.
    “Stephanie suggested it,” Dwight admitted.
    “Tell your wife to butt out.” Garrett kept his voice even, masking the upsurge of anger. He didn’t know why Stephanie should pick now, after all this time, to take an interest in his relationship with his father. He didn’t want to know.
    A whine of feedback came through the amplifier on the tiny stage, hurting his ears.
    “She’s your stepmother,” Dwight said with icy control.
    But they both knew that in this area, Dwight had never been able to control his son.
    Garrett stood again, and this time, nothing would induce him to sit back down. “Goodbye, Dad.”
    * * *
    R ACHEL WAS DECIDEDLY on edge early Saturday morning as she mooched around her Washington Heights condo—not a great area, but the best she could afford when she’d bought the place two years ago.
    She’d been convinced Garrett would quit rather than give KBC a chance to fire him.
    Yet when he left the office last night with Clive— worrying in itself—The Shark didn’t appear to have cleared out his desk.
    Maybe he didn’t want to quit on