“Exhausting. Glad to be home. Got my five-mile run in as the sun was coming up and then eighteen holes with my favorite guy.” Dad has a gruff, steely voice, the kind that commands attention when he speaks and intimidates people. He also can’t hold a smile for long, which only ups the intimidation factor. “And how’s my daughter? Holding down the Calloway fort?”

“Someone has to.” I smile wryly up at him. “You got some color.”

“Did I?” He frowns as he checks his sinewy forearms, already golden and toned and coated with darker hair than the full, thick mane of silvery gray on his head. He wasn’t always so focused on his health, having spent years carrying around an extra twenty pounds thanks to frequent steak dinners and daily cocktail hours. But a mild heart attack two years ago changed things. He’ll still have the occasional scotch, but now his diet consists mainly of white fish and salads, and he has all but cut out caffeine.

He wanders over to the windows to gaze down over the city, his arms resting across his chest. No doubt admiring his life’s work so far and what is yet to come. By the time he retires, Kieran Calloway will have made his mark on a city that half a million people call home, with everything from luxury high-rises to affordable condominiums, to retail and entertainment locations and even an architecturally world-renowned library.

Talk about a legacy.

“I heard about your problems with Tripp over the Marquee project.”

Straight to business.

I spear a glare through two glass walls. It’s wasted effort, though, as David’s back is to me, his phone pressed to his ear as he bounces a tennis ball against his window.

I hope it pins him in the eye.

“I’m handling it.”

“Are you?” he asks lightly, but I hear the dicey undercurrent beneath it. “I’ve known Tripp a long time. There’s a certain nuance to motivating him.”

“Does it involve a bottle of Hendrick’s?” I mutter under my breath.

“I’ve left him a message this morning, emphasizing how important his role is in—”

“You didn’t!” I burst, tossing the pen in my hand across my desk in frustration. “Don’t you see how bad this looks for me?” It looks like I’ve run to my daddy with my problems because I can’t handle them on my own. It’s exactly what Tripp expects.

Unlike my girlish shrill, his voice remains calm. “I’m not going to risk losing him for the sake of your ego, Piper. Calloway Group is not a one-man show. You need guys like him and David in your corner, whether you like them or not.”

I take a deep, calming breath and try to match his tone, all while inside I’m screaming. “I’m waiting on a call from Tripp to update me on the meeting with the city planners, and I expect things to move forward smoothly after today—”

“Nothing ever moves smoothly in this industry.”

“If I have to get more involved, I will.”

The responding sigh is one that breeds tension in my shoulders. It means I’m about to get a lecture. Wandering back to my desk, he perches himself on the edge. “You lead them. You guide them. You motivate them. And you rely on them. You don’t do their jobs for them, Piper.”

“You can’t motivate someone who doesn’t respect you.”

“Then earn Tripp’s respect.”

“How? The guy calls me a spoiled tart to anyone who will listen!”

He squeezes the bridge of his nose with his index finger, as if pained from a headache. “I’ll talk to him.”

“No, you will not, Dad!” I tack on a sigh and a calmer “Please don’t,” because my voice is bordering on hysterical.

He pauses, as if searching for another angle in this conversation. “Well, are you a spoiled tart?”

“What? No!”

“Good. I’m glad you know your worth. And I know that you are a brilliant young woman with the passion and the potential to continue leading the Calloway legacy like no one else. That’s why I promoted you.” He offers me a rare, encouraging smile before it falls off. “Now prove it to the rest of them.” There’s an edge creeping into his brusque voice. “I have no plans on going anywhere anytime soon, but as we learned two years ago, nothing is guaranteed. I want you at the head of the Calloway table now, with your feet in the fire, so everyone can start getting used to the idea of you running CG one day. But you still have a lot to learn, from me and from this executive team. That includes Tripp.”

“Yes, sir,” I manage to get out through gritted teeth. “I just don’t understand what value you see in him.”

“I will admit that Tripp has let his false aspirations cloud his judgment lately. But he has been by my side for almost thirty years. That kind of loyalty counts for something in this business.” Dad’s gaze wanders toward the skyline once again. “How is everything with the Waterway project?”

I push aside my dour mood as I pat the stack of papers next to me. “Final design approvals have come in. Seagrum and Whilcroft have signed the loan papers.”

“How short are we on financing?”

“We need another three hundred million to close the construction loan.”

“How are talks with Deutsche Bank coming along?”

“Long and excruciating, but I think we’re making headway. Jim is getting more numbers to them.” Jim, our director of investments, is a tall, slender man with a perpetual five o’clock shadow and a keen financial sense, especially when it comes to negotiations involving that kind of money.

“And the unveiling ceremony?”

“At the art gallery on Fifth. Everything’s underway for that.”

“Keep me informed,” Dad murmurs, reaching for the gift that arrived from my brother last week—made from recycled silver spoons, which I don’t think was a coincidence given he always jokes that we came out of my mother’s womb suckling on them—to study it with an incredulous look. “That’s what this thing is for? To hold my phone?”

I let out a soft sigh, relieved at the sudden switch in topic, even if it’s to a more personal one. “I take it Rhett sent you one, too.”

“Yes, and I told Greta to toss it, but the damn woman never listens to me.”

I smirk. Greta’s been my father’s executive assistant for almost twenty-five years. She’s set to retire next year and he’s already talking about doubling her salary to get her to stay. The truth is, I’m not sure my father can survive without “that damn woman.”