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"Charles," he says, extending his hand for a firm shake before sitting down.

"Bill," I reply, forcing a smile. "How are you?"

"Fine, fine." He waves away the question, signaling to the waiter. "The usual for me. Charles?"

I order the salmon without looking at the menu. We've had this same lunch a dozen times.

"So," he says once the waiter disappears, leaning back in his chair. "How's the paper supplier situation?"

Of course. Straight to business, straight to the problem he called me out on last week. I feel my shoulders tense beneath my sports coat.

"Resolved," I reply, keeping my voice even. "They backed down on the price increase after I threatened to switch suppliers. We're getting a two-year guarantee at the old rate plus a ten percent discount on the first six months."

My father's eyebrows lift slightly—the closest thing to approval I'm likely to get. "Good. And Chicago?"

"On schedule. The location's secured, renovations start next month, and the management team is nearly in place." I take a sip of water. "We're actually below budget on pre-opening expenses."

He nods, his eyes assessing me. "Minneapolis?"

"Still finalizing the location. We have three options, all with pros and cons. I can email you the analysis if you'd like to weigh in."

The waiter returns with bread, and we fall silent while he places it between us. My father takes a slice and begins buttering it methodically, his movements precise.

"I hope you're delegating properly," he says after a bite. "You can't micromanage everything, especially now."

Something in his tone catches my attention. "What do you mean?"

"With a baby on the way." He says it casually, like he's commenting on the weather.

My water glass freezes halfway to my mouth. I glance around to see if anyone appeared to be listening but no one is looking in our direction. My father watches me, his expression unreadable.

"How did you—" I start, then stop, setting down my glass carefully before I drop it.

"Your mother told me." He dabs at his mouth with his napkin. "Apparently Jane mentioned it to her last week."

Jane. Of course.

"It wasn't supposed to be common knowledge yet," I say, my voice tight. "We were waiting to tell people until after the first trimester."

My father shrugs, unconcerned with what we were "supposed" to do. "Well, your mother wasn't supposed to tell me either, but we've been married for forty years. She can't keep anything from me for more than a day."

I stare at him, trying to process this new reality where my father knows about Tess's pregnancy before we were ready to share it. A pregnancy that's complicated enough already without my father's opinions.

"Are you upset?" he asks, and for once, I can't read his tone.

Am I upset? I'm not sure what I am. Shocked, certainly. Anxious about my parents knowing. But my father asking about my feelings is so unexpected that I don't know how to respond.

"I'm...surprised," I say finally. "We just weren’t ready to announce it yet."

"Announcements." He waves his hand dismissively. "I've never seen the point of making a production out of these things. A baby is coming. Life will change. No need for fancy cards or social media posts."

Typical. My father reducing one of the most significant events of my life to a practical transaction. I should have expected nothing less.

"It's twins, actually," I say, surprised that Jane didn’t include that important piece of information. Or maybe she did but my dad wasn’t listening when my mother told him the news.

His fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "Twins?" For the first time in recent memory, Bill Astor looks genuinely surprised. "Well. That's...efficient."

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, the tension of the moment cracking. "Efficient? That's your take?"