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"She seemed pretty influential," Tess counters, her voice small. “A lot of people were listening in on our conversation.”

"Barbara Carlton throws money at arts organizations to feel important, but the musicians and directors know she couldn't tell Bach from Beyoncé." I smile when I hear Tess's quiet laugh. "Everything Barbara has is because her parents handed it to her on a silver platter. She married into even more money, divorced, kept half, and now thinks that gives her the power to say whatever she feels like."

"You know a lot about her," Tess observes.

"Our families have moved in the same circles for years. My mother can't stand her." I lean forward, elbows on my desk. "She's not the one making hiring decisions, Tess. Cortez is. And from what you said, he was clearly impressed."

"He did seem to be," she admits. "And he defended me when she made that snarky comment."

"See? That's what matters." I swivel my chair to face the window, watching a ferry crawl across Elliott Bay. "Cortez knows talent when he hears it. They'd be absolute idiots not to hire you."

"I just hate that now, if I do get the position, I'll always wonder if it was because of you." Her voice sounds stronger now, but tinged with frustration.

"You won't have to wonder. When they call with an offer, it'll be because you played circles around every other cellist who auditioned."

"I really needed to hear that," she says, her voice sounding lighter. "Thank you."

"I mean every word." I hesitate, then add, "And just so you know, if Barbara Carlton ever says anything like that to you again, you should absolutely tell her exactly where she can stick her opinion."

Tess snorts. "I'll keep that in mind."

"How are you feeling otherwise?" I ask, shifting topics. "Did you take your iron supplement this morning?"

"Yes, Dr. Astor," she teases. "And I had spinach with lunch. The twins and I are well-nourished."

The casual mention of the twins sends a now-familiar mix of terror and amazement through me. "Good. Are we still on for dinner tonight?"

"Please. I need something to take my mind off today."

"I'll pick up Thai on my way over. And I’ll make sure it’s cashew free, obviously."

"Perfect." I can hear the enthusiasm in her voice now. "I should go practice. I have a student coming at four."

"I'll see you tonight, then." I pause, then add, "And Tess? You're fucking incredible. Don't let anyone ever make you doubt that."

After we hang up, I sit motionless for a moment, anger still simmering beneath my calm exterior. Barbara Carlton. I make a mental note to mention this incident to my mother, who serves on several of the same boards as Barbara. Bev Astor doesn't put up with those kinds of people, especially ones who attack people she cares about. And if Bev Astor isn’t happy with you, you’re going to know it.

I turn back to my computer screen, but I still can’t focus. My mind keeps circling back to Tess's voice—how small it sounded when she repeated Barbara's words, how the hurt vibrated in her voice.

My protective instincts are in overdrive. I want to fix this for her, make it right. But I know that's not what she needs. Sheneeds to win this position on her own terms, with her own talent. And she will. I have absolute faith in that.

Hours later, I toss my pen onto the desk and rub my eyes, fatigue settling in my shoulders after a long day of work. The office has emptied out, my employees escaping into the evening while I remain, tying up loose ends before heading to Tess's place. My phone lights up with "Dad" on the screen, and I consider—just for a second—not answering. But Bill Astor isn't a man you ignore, not if you want peace at the next family dinner.

"Bill," I answer, keeping my voice neutral. "What's up?"

"Charles, we need to discuss this paper supplier situation."

I stiffen, already defensive. "The price increase? I was going to call you tomorrow about it."

"I shouldn't have had to hear about it from Jess in accounting," he says, his tone clipped. "A fifteen percent increase in sleeve costs is significant, Charles. That's thousands of dollars quarterly across all locations."

"I'm aware of that." I lean back in my chair, bracing for the lecture. "I've already scheduled another meeting with them for next?—"

"You should have shut it down immediately," he interrupts. "This kind of thing happens when suppliers think they can take advantage of you. You give them an inch, they take a mile."

I take a deep breath. "I wasn't giving them anything. I was gathering data on alternative suppliers before our next negotiation."

"That's not how business works." His voice holds that familiar edge, the one that implies I've failed yet again. "You don't wait, you don't research while they're gouging you. You tell them to back off or you walk. Period."