Page 57 of Conrad

“I don’t know,” she finally said to Tia.

“Mm-hmm. I’m checking on the sandwiches.” Tia left her there, in the room, listening.

“Nice boat.” Conrad’s voice. He was probably looking at a picture of her father’s pride and joy, moored in their boathouse—a Melges 24 sailboat.

“She’s a beauty. Been sailing since I was kid.” Her father, his voice deep, warm. He had a way of making everyone in the room feel like they might be the only one.

“This is a good picture.” Again, Conrad.

“That’s one of the boards I sit on. Quantex Dynamics. Had our meeting in Barbados a few years ago.”

“I invested in crypto stock about three years ago. Totally tanked. I lost about a hundred K.” Conrad’s voice.

“That’s rough, Conrad. You’ve got to learn how to find the right stock.” The sound of a bottle opening. Except Conrad didn’t drink.

Or at least, she thought not.

“Thanks,” Conrad said.

“That’s a glass of Macallan Dalmore 62. Try it.”

“Actually, sir?—”

See?

But silence, and then her father laughed.

Her throat tightened.

“Son. You need to learn how to enjoy the finer things in life if you want to be with my daughter.”

Wait—what?

“The fact is, investing is always a gamble. You can make an educated guess, but you never know how it’s going to pan out. But you can’t get scared when things look like they’re going to take a turn. Stay in the game. Have a little faith.”

“I’m working on something, sir, that I hope pans out. We’ll see.”

Right.His contract with the Blue Ox.

The one her father could influence.

So, they were back in the game.

And she had an answer for her sister.We’re nothing.

She took a breath, then walked into the office. Opulent, with a bookshelf floor to ceiling behind the massive mahogany desk. Another fireplace, the photographs assembled in gold frames along the mantel.

Her father stood with a highball, holding court at the fireplace.

Conrad’s hands were in his pockets. He looked over at her. Smiled.

She took a breath. “The gas is out in the stove. No dinner tonight, Dad. C’mon, Conrad, I’ll drive you home.”

Conrad frowned, then reached out to shake her father’s hand. Turned and walked over to her. “Did I do?—”

“Date’s over, Conrad.”

He stiffened, swallowed, his mouth tightening. Then, quietly, “What date?” He shook his head and walked out the door.

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