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That finally swayed her, and thank God, because he needed her by his side. Alex had been skeptical about the idea of love at first sight, but experiencing how quickly and completely he’d fallen for Simone had made him a believer. She was so different from other girls he’d dated—grounded, serious, with an independent streak he found hot, if sometimes frustrating. They set off for Barcelona, and Alex didn’t look back. He shut his grandfather’s dismissive scowl and his threat out of his mind. All the cava helped too.

Eight months later, Simone came to him and gently laid a positive pregnancy test on the desk where he was writing a paper on the impact of nineteenth-century philosophy on postmodern literature. This wasn’t supposed to be in the cards, at least at that moment. Sure, Alex had a vague notion he was going to be a father one day (to a son, of course), but when Simone stood with a tentative, scared smile, his first thought wasn’t what it should have been—joy. Instead, it was more along the lines of oh shit. That reaction will always be one of his greatest secret shames, even though he’d managed to hide it from Simone by pulling her into his arms so his face didn’t give him away.

Alex had little choice then but to withdraw from his grad school program. It was hard enough to give up on that dream, but worse than that: he had to grovel to get back into Poppy’s good graces. His trust had kept them afloat, but he’d run through an awful lot of it already on the airy flat overlooking the Ramblas that he’d insisted they needed, the tickets to travel all over Europe, the luxe hotels, and the engagement ring he’d secretly bought Simone to spring on her at the right time. For them to build a life together, the life of wanting-for-nothing that he wanted to give Simone. But with a kid or two, Alex would need a steady job, benefits, and a house, stat. The idea of putting himself in a position to inherit a company one day was also suddenly considerably more appealing, at least on a practical level. So it turned out Poppy was right when he’d told Alex he’d be “crawling back” one day.

Alex was just grateful that the “I told you so” remained unspoken, and Poppy did, in the end, take mercy on him. Although by offering him a shit job in marketing and a salary well below what anyone Alex knew was making. Alex accepted the punishment—what choice did he have?—and persuaded Simone to move back to his hometown so he could accept the destiny he’d tried so futilely to outrun.

He’d been transported so far in the past—Spain feels like a distant fever dream—that he’s startled by the knock on the door and tips over the picture frame he’d just unpacked.

“You got a minute?”

“For you, Chuck? All day, come on in.”

Chuck, or rather Charles Wentworth III, is a former Tate classmate of Poppy’s and has done the finances at Hartwell since Nixon was president. All roads really did lead back to that place for both of them.

“But I thought our meeting was later?”

Alex wanted to have a chance to get a few more things buttoned up before he met with Chuck. He’d been working on his presentation for his first board meeting and wanted to run some numbers with Chuck when it was ready. He knows all too well that Kurt Bard, the president of the board of directors, will be gunning to poke holes in it. The man never fails to look at Alex like he’s smelled something bad. Probably because Kurt is one of those “self-made” men who have a chip on their shoulder about things being handed to others. Like, say, a company on a silver platter before the age of forty. If Alex didn’t know better, he would say Kurt was actively working against the possibility of him succeeding. At Poppy’s retirement party, Kurt had leaned over to him with sour breath and said, “You ready for this?” The condescension in his voice was as thick as Kurt’s meaty neck. It wasn’t exactly a rousing vote of confidence. Alex wanted to wish Kurt luck getting it up for his third wife, who was aggressively grinding an imaginary dance partner on the dance floor. But he restrained himself.

Chuck rolls in in the wheelchair he’s taken to using since the crippling arthritis in his knees got the better of him. “Um, we do, but I just wanted to talk to you now, first thing.”

“Sounds serious.”

“I’m sorry to say, it is. But first, you getting settled in okay? A little strange to see you here. But I’m proud of you. You really hung in there.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks.” Alex sits up straighter as if his erect posture will prove that he’s deserving and ready.

“So whatcha got for me?” Alex nods at the stack of folders and papers teetering precariously on Chuck’s lap. Chuck hefts them onto the desk, where they land in an ominous thud.

“Well, Alex. There are some things we need to discuss.”

A chill runs down his spine and it’s not because of the weak heating in the office. Chuck never calls him Alex, always “my boy” or “champ” or “sport.” Sometimes he wonders if Chuck even remembers his name. “Things?”

“Things.”

Chuck takes a lengthy inhale before he explains.

“Now, Larry promised me he would tell you all this, but I’ve got a hunch he hasn’t.”

“Tell me all of what?”

“About MedLine.”

Alex forces himself to keep a poker face. He can’t let Chuck know he has been kept in the dark.

“Of course. MedLine.”

But there’s no fooling Chuck, who carries on as if Alex hadn’t pretended to know what he’s talking about.

“Last year your grandfather decided he should diversify.” Chuck raises his stubby fingers up to form air quotes to signal a certain level of skepticism. “And not diversity in the way all you kids talk about it these days.” Chuck laughs at his own bad joke. “He was worried about Amazon Fresh and Walmart and other cheaper competitors edging in on the business. He became adamant about trying to find some other ways to use our assets, and you know we already own so much warehouse space. He heard from an old friend about MedLine, a medical supplies company looking for the right buyer who could maintain their distribution in the Midwest. Larry thought the price was too good to pass up. I told him we didn’t know jack shit about medical supplies, but you of all people know how he is—always so sure of himself, sometimes a little too sure.”

“So he bought it.” Alex makes sure to end the sentence in a period instead of a question mark, in a continued but doomed effort to make Chuck believe he is very much in the know.

“Yeah, he bought it and it’s been a burr in our ass ever since. There’s diversifying and then there’s a farmer waking up in the morning and deciding that now he’s an astronaut. We’re not set up to sell to hospitals and senior care centers. We don’t have the people for it.”

Alex’s throat tightens as invisible hands wrap around his neck and grip hard.

Despite their philosophical disagreements about how a company should be run and how its people should be treated and compensated, Alex had assumed that his grandfather was a truly excellent businessman and that the company he was inheriting was solid as hell because Poppy was solid as hell. He didn’t entirely expect to be consulted or clued in on big deals, even though that’s what any competent CEO would do for the person they chose as their successor. But it wasn’t his grandfather’s style.