Grant

I walked into my father’s office. He didn’t look up, just cleared his throat, and wore that same permanently disappointed expression. I sat without asking.

“I heard you told some of our partners you’re keeping your company,” he said, voice gravelly and unimpressed.

“Yes,” I answered. “I’ll find a way to manage both.”

“You won’t have the time.” He leaned back in his chair. “Hunter’s already botching things at Pembroke Fashion. That subsidiary report’s ...