"Did it work?"
"She laughed," Father says, shivering slightly. "She looked at the steak, looked at me, and said, 'Mr. York, if that meat isn't medium-rare, I will personally feed it to you via a nasogastric tube.' Then she stepped aside."
Father takes a large sip of scotch.
"I haven't been that frightened since I accidentally sat in the Queen's chair at a polo match. I respect her immensely. I think I’m going to buy her a new MRI machine as a tribute. Just to stay on her good side."
He clears his throat, regaining his composure.
"Anyway, once I got past the gatekeeper, I taught him how to count cards. We played Blackjack on the tray table for two hours. He picked up the probability count in five minutes. Five minutes! The man has a mind like a steel trap. If he wasn't saving lives, I’d hire him to run the hedge fund."
Father leans back, looking satisfied.
"I won fifty dollars off him, of course. Never let the new guy win. It builds character."
"You took fifty dollars from a man with four broken ribs?"
"He insisted," Father says. "He said he didn't want charity. I like that about him."
Father swirls his glass.
"Your brother is bringing him to the Gala tonight," Father says. "Publicly. As his partner. He said if his mother tried to seat Jax at the children's table, he would burn the whole seating chart."
"Maxwell said that?"
"He did. I was so proud I nearly cried."
"Mother is going to stroke out."
"Let her," Father says, popping a leftover Froot Loop heapparently smuggled from the kitchen into his mouth. "It will be the most interesting party we’ve thrown since 1998 when your aunt fell into the chocolate fountain."
He stands up, brushing crumbs off his silk robe.
"Go get dressed, Preston. Wear something rebellious. It annoys your mother, and I find that very entertaining lately. It keeps her blood pressure up, which is good for her circulation."
"I bought a leather jacket," I venture. "A real one. Not the vegan pleather stuff Mother tries to buy me."
Father winks. "Wear it. Maybe wear itoverthe tuxedo. That should really sell the 'disaffected youth' vibe."
"You want me to look like a delinquent?"
"I want you to look like a York who doesn't care what people think," Father says seriously. "It’s the ultimate power move, son. Maxwell is finally learning it. It’s time you did too."
I hop off the desk.
I look at my father. For years, I thought he was just another suit. Another part of the machine. But looking at him now—eating Froot Loops, drinking scotch at noon, and plotting chaos with his spare heir—I realize Alistair York is actually kind of a badass.
"You got it, Dad," I say.
"And Preston?"
"Yeah?"
"If you see the ice man," Father says, deadpan. "Tell him to run. Your mother has found the blowtorch."
I grin.
Maxwell thinks he’s fighting this war alone. He thinks he’s the only one trying to escape the York gravity well.
