“They implement your ideas. You control the big picture.”

“Yes, I mean, but they’re not my employees. We all have equal votes for this.”

“Why is that? What do these people bring to the table when it comes to business?”

I open my mouth to answer him, but he keeps steamrolling, uninterested in my reply.

“Are the share distributions formalized anywhere? Because if not, you have no obligation to divide the business equally.”

I didn’t think it was possible for my headache to get worse. “I don’t really think that would be fair,” I say.

“This is not camp, Braden—not everyone gets a participation trophy.” He pauses. “Is this attitude due to your involvement with that girl? Are you thinking with parts of your body that are not your brain?”

“What? Dad, no.”

“Do not let your woman tell you what to do. At home, maybe, but not in your business.”

“She’s not my—”

“I know, I know,” he says, like I’ve accused him of something. “She’s your partner, and capable herself. I get it. In this day and age, you can’t just have a cute blonde on your arm anymore. You need a cute blonde with a good résumé. Can’t bring a Silicon yoga instructor to a society function, Braden. You need a beautiful woman with a beautiful pedigree.”

I groan softly. I’ve been subjected to this speech before. I don’t know how to tell him that the first time I tried to date a chick who is more than good looks and a huge Instagram following, she stomped on my heart.

He continues, “But that doesn’t mean she gets to be the alpha. She’s still the woman. You are the alpha.”

I know he’s probably right about the business stuff, but have seen enough terrible fights between him and my mom to disregard his messed-up relationship advice. But I don’t say anything. I’m too tired to attempt changing the mind of someone who thinks a phone is a one-way device.

“Do whatever it takes to get control,” he says. “Whatever it takes.”

I exhale and look at the computer on my desk. “I think I might know how to handle it.” One idea keeps coming back to me in my most heated moments, when I’m most pissed at Sara. But I’ve been too uncertain to act on it.

But if I need to do whatever it takes.

“I, um, would need some help from you though, Dad.”

“Just tell my secretary whatever it is,” he says. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I’m pulling up to the restaurant. Nice talking to you, though.”

“Oh, okay,” I say. “Bye.”

But he is already gone.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Roberto