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Yeah, right. I watch him waddle off, likely to suck up to Elijah next. My eyes drift to the bar, and I calculate the steps it would take to get there, down a whisky, and be back before anyone notices.

Too many.

Suddenly, several people come up to me, clap me on the shoulder, and offer their hollow condolences. Allistar leaving me seems to have triggered something.

“Brandon, so sorry for your loss.”

“Your father was a great man.”

“Hang in there, kid.”

I want to tell them all to fuck off, but I just nod and mumble my thanks.

Everyone looks older, more haggard. Or maybe that’s just me, projecting my future version onto them, being a corporate zombie.

Future version?

Who am I kidding? I’m already one.

Where’s Naomi? She’s supposed to be my buffer for this kind of shit.

Just then, Mary Ellison, Dad’s former secretary, corners me. “Your father was one of a kind.” She dabs at her eyes with an overly fancy handkerchief. “They don’t make them like Charles anymore.”

“They sure don’t,” I say through gritted teeth.

“They don’t,” she insists, and I can almost hear the unvoiced judgments in her words.

“Brandon, my boy!” another voice booms from behind me. I turn, and my gut sinks. It’s Irwin Charlesworth, another rich fossil, from Dad’s past who’s somehow managed to survive this long.

Honestly, my money’s on him being an android, his consciousness uploaded to cheat death and keep haunting events like this.

I plaster on a smile as he bears down on me, ignoring my outstretched hand and pulling me into a half-hug that feels more like a chokehold than a greeting. “Terrible business, this. Your father and I go way back, you know. He was like a brother.”

“We’re all counting on you and Elijah now,” he says. “Milton Global needs strong leadership in these trying times.”

“I’m just trying to keep things steady for now.”

His eyes narrow like he’s already written me off. “Steady won’t cut it, son. You need to be in this. Like Charles. Like Elijah.”

I know exactly what he means. The restaurant. The one I wanted to open months ago, saying goodbye to corporate life. The dream…

“Brandon?” Saved by the fucking bell. Naomi joins us, a glass of champagne in hand, looking like a goddess amidst this sea of mediocrity. “Have you introduced me to your friend?”

Charlesworth’s eyes light up with that lecherous glint only aging billionaires can pull off. “And who is this lovely creature?”

“This is Naomi,” I say. “She’s?—”

“His loving girlfriend.” She extends her hand, flashing him a smile that could kill. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” He shakes her hand with a suggestive glance at her legs. “Brandon is a lucky man.”

Hands off, old man. Android or not. I will kick your ass.

“He is,” Naomi says. “And I’m lucky to have him.”

I watch, dumbstruck, as she reels him in, changing the topic. She laughs at all the right moments and says all the right things, wrapping him, and me, around her little finger. It’s like watching a master at play, but it gnaws at me, too.

The perfect girlfriend. It’s all a performance.

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