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Be hard on the issue but soft on people, son.My father’s words sneak up on me.I’ve been hard on the issue all right, Dad. But I can’t be soft on you. I can’t forgive you.

The now very familiar taste of his duplicity triggers my impulse to drown it, and I pull a flask from my jacket’s inner pocket to medicate the feeling that has been eating me up.

I’ve been so fucking angry, I almost lost my company after I got arrested a few months back. Merged isn’t my only venture, but it is the most important one.

It used to be.

And now… Fuck if I know.

Dad suggested the concept to me. Even though I already had a very healthy income from my silent partnerships in several nightclubs, a gold mine, a pleasure resort, and a healthy stock portfolio to grow my trust fund, my father felt I needed something to hone my talent for business.

He shared his vision, one that his disease stopped him from bringing to fruition, and like a good boy, I lapped it up and slaved to make it happen. For him.

And now? I wish I could drop it. Just sell it to someone he hated and laugh. But the old man knew me. He got me involved, and hooked.

And now I’m stuck between hating my firm because it was his idea, and loving it because it’s my baby.

Merged might be my only legacy. The only company with my name attached to it.

The helicopter touches the ground, and I take another swig, regretting the late night.

“You’re late,” Donovan Hale huffs, patting his round stomach when I enter the club’s restaurant.

“Don, nice to see you.” I smile and shake his hand. “My apologies. The wind in Manhattan delayed my take off.”

I pull the chair to sit, but the president of Atlas Ventures, a global investment firm and our biggest client, stands up and moves toward the exit.

My stomach churns at the sight of the breakfast spread. I could use some solids along with my liquid reinforcement. Salivating, I sigh and grab a bottle of water before I follow my client.

The longest fucking day of my life keeps stretching on. My mouth is dry, my stomach is protesting my poor lifestyle choices, and my head is throbbing.

The sun beats with unforgiving enthusiasm, especially for early April.

I curse whoever picked today for a game to appease the man whose current business interest would elevate Merged in the financial world. We would become the go-to firm for future high-profile deals in the technology sector.

It takes an inhuman amount of effort to maintain a smile as I use the last remnants of my charm to appease the douche who makes the decisions. It’s good form to let him win, but the man is so bad at golf.

Even in my current state, swinging my club without aiming, we’re at the last hole with the same handicap.

“You look like shit, and if I’m to be honest, the recent media coverage of your behavior…” Donovan glares at me, stroking his silver goatee.

My shoes sink into the soft, trimmed grass of the green. The end to this ordeal of the day is only one hole away.

Donovan closes one eye, measuring the angle of the possible trajectory of his ball.It’s ten inches away—just fucking sink it in.

He turns this way and that way, like the task at hand requires real preparation. A blind person could get this hole. This is his best position yet.

“My personal life has nothing to do with my business.”

Unfortunately, he straightens as if abandoning the task. He swings his club like a pendulum beside his leg. “Doesn’t it? Look, we were all patient after your father passed, but it’s been months… My board doesn’t want to be associated with scandals.”

The mere mention of my father’s death in connection with my recent PR nightmare boils my blood. As if his death triggered my behavior. But, of course, everyone assumes that.

I don’t know if that makes me a good son or an emotional loser in everyone’s eyes. And frankly, I’m too tired to revisit that angle.

Ignoring the anger cruising through my veins, I smile at Donovan. “Your board will be kissing your ass once we help you sign the AetherTech merger.”

“There, there, Corm…” Fuck, I hate his condescending tone.