“B.C.” Their hands clasped, one older and rougher than the other, both firm. “Just passing through?”

“On my way to Tahiti, going to do some sailing.” B.C. grinned again, appealingly, as he ran a finger along the brim of his cap. “Want to play hookey and crew for me?”

“Can’t. I’m booked solid for the next two weeks.”

“You work too hard, boy.” In an old habit, B.C. walked over to the bar at the west side of the room and poured himself bourbon, neat.

Blake grinned at his father’s back as B.C. tossed down three fingers of liquor. It was still shy of noon. “I came by it honestly.”

With a chuckle, B.C. poured a second drink. When it had been his office, he’d stocked only the best bourbon. He was glad his son carried on the tradition. “Maybe—but I learned to play just as hard.”

“You paid your dues, B.C.”

“Yeah.” Twenty-five years of ten-hour days, he reflected. Of hotel rooms, airports and board meetings. “So did the old man—so’ve you.” He turned back to his son. Like looking into a mirror that’s twenty years past, he thought, and smiled rather than sighed. “I’ve told you before, you can’t wrap your life up in hotels.” He sipped appreciatively at the bourbon this time, then swirled it. “Gives you ulcers.”

“Not so far.” Sitting again, Blake steepled his fingers, watching his father over them. He knew him too well, had apprenticed under him, watched him wheel and deal. Tahiti might be his destination, but he hadn’t stopped off in Philadelphia without a reason. “You came in for the board meeting.”

B.C. nodded before he found some salted almonds under the bar. “Have to put in my two cents worth now and again.” He popped two nuts in his mouth and bit down with relish. He was always grateful that the teeth were still his and his eyesight was keen. If a man had those, and a forty-foot sloop, he needed little else. “If we buy the Hamilton chain, it’s going to mean twenty more hotels, over two thousand more employees. A big step.”

Blake lifted a brow. “Too big?”

With a laugh, B.C. dropped down into a chair across from the desk. “I didn’t say that, don’t think that—and apparently you don’t think so either.”

“No, I don’t.” Blake waved away his father’s offering of almonds. “Hamilton’s an excellent chain, simply mismanaged at this point. The buildings themselves are worth the outlay.” He gave his father a mild, knowledgeable look. “You might check out the Hamilton Tahiti while you’re there.”

Grinning, B.C. leaned back. The boy was sharp, he thought, pleased. But then he came by that honestly, too. “Thought crossed my mind. By the way, your mother sends her love.”

“How is she?”

“Up to her neck in a campaign to save another crumbling ruin.” The grin widened. “Keeps her off the streets. Going to meet me on the island next week. Hell of a first mate, your mother.” He nibbled on another almond, pleased to think of having some time alone with his wife in the tropics. “So, Blake, how’s your sex life?”