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I hesitated and turned to find him already staring at me, the familiar intensity darkening his eyes. A long silence stretched, but I could neither confirm nor deny.

On Cam’s side of the car, a joint popped as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. “If I’d known he was planning to speak with you at all, I would have stopped him.”

I ran my finger up and down the leather armrest of the door. “Why?”

“He has no business meddling⁠—”

“He’s the president of the company. The owner.”

“Part owner.”

I looked at him. “Who owns the other part?”

He took one slow breath, and his mouth turned down. “My trust.”

“Ah.” I smiled somberly toward the horizon. “The trust he won’t give you access to?”

He turned sharply to meet my eyes, then went right back to the road. “Who told you that?”

I declined to answer.

He grumbled under his breath, but I caught the word Bennett before he cleared his throat. “That’s of no consequence. Shep’s still on his way out, and I’m the one moving us forward. Hiring you was my decision, and he shouldn’t have spoken to you without me present.”

With no idea how to respond, I merely hummed to acknowledge I’d heard him.

“You do great work. Your job isn’t temporary. It’s there as long as you want it.”

My voice shrank. “I don’t want it anymore.”

It wasn’t like I was special. He’d find someone else to do my job, probably better than I could. I had bigger dreams anyway. Marketing was nothing but manipulation and brainwashing. It helped nobody. I wanted to help people.

Of course, none of my dreams involved destitution, but that was a problem for another day.

Right?

A prickle of doubt woke. I’d quit my job without a backup plan. Again.

Who was I becoming?

His frustrated sigh split the quiet between us. “I want to fix this.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m fairly certain you fixing this is exactly the opposite of what your father wants, and according to you, your father has final say on everything.”

A spark of white-hot rage burned in his eyes, then disappeared just as quickly. He sculpted his features into a polite smile. “Never mind that. How does brunch sound?”

He took me to a bistro in the city called Sam and Ella’s, a kitschy name I thought signified a modest dining establishment.

Nope.

The place was fancy and smelled of burning wood and maple syrup. Wide-plank wooden floors complemented stacked stone walls and strung Edison lights. Real ivy grew up one wall, and the tables, already half full of patrons, boasted some fancy natural stone that glittered where the light touched it.

The hostess, a red-haired woman with faint fans of smile lines around her eyes, greeted him warmly. “Cam! It’s been a long time.”

“Hello, Nadia.” He kissed her cheek. “What are you doing, hostessing?”

She waved a hand. “Just helping today.”

“Nadia’s an old family friend,” he said to me. “Her parents own the place.”