Page 25 of Anti-Hero

But working with my dad? I have yet to decide how to feel about that.

We’ve always been close. Always been similar. Dad was the one stifling laughter when Mom was disciplining me after my latest escapade. And despite all the trouble I’ve participated in—or caused—over the years, he’s never expressed anything except total confidence in my ability to work here. He’s always encouraged Lili’s chosen career as a landscape architect, and I know he would have supported me if I’d pursued chemistry beyond earning a degree in the discipline.

Everyone would have paid attention to my arrival at the company regardless. But me starting and Crew Kensington returning? It’s made the usual comparisons to my father endless.

I stare at him for a few more seconds, then rap my knuckles on the door to announce my arrival.

Dad startles, glancing over his shoulder and smiling once he sees me. “Morning, Kit.”

“Hey, Dad,” I reply, heading for my desk.

“I was just …” He chuckles, running a hand through hair that’s starting to gray at the temples. “Just looking around. Reminiscing a little.”

This was my father’s office before he left the company. Something I’ve been reminded of often and repeatedly since inhabiting it.

“You can have it back,” I offer, setting my coffee down in its usual spot on my desk and gesturing around the room.

Despite its prime location, this corner office has sat empty ever since my dad swapped boardrooms for movie sets. Out of respect orregret or some ruling, it was reserved for a future Kensington. A shrine to the speculation concerning my father’s departure—sensitive history I’ve never been told in its entirety.

My dad’s new office is at the opposite end of this floor, right by my uncle Oliver’s.

“No, it’s yours now.” Dad nods toward the piece of art he gifted me for my eighteenth birthday. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks.” I lean back against my desk, tucking my hands into my pockets.

Since I started work, I’ve only seen my dad in the office twice. He stopped by on my first day with Oliver, and then he attended the presentation for a newspaper in Phoenix we’re considering acquiring. I’m assuming this visit has a purpose beyond a simple social call.

“Good weekend?” he inquires.

“You mean, aside from helping Bash schlep his boxes?”

Predictably, my brother didnotpack after the party he threw in my penthouse.

I woke up on Saturday morning to a stranger fast asleep under the piano and my favorite scotch atop it, the bottle almost empty. It took me ten minutes to drag Bash out of bed, then another twenty to toss everything he’d stored at my place over the summer into cardboard boxes left over from my move before our parents showed up to accompany him back to New Hampshire.

Dad smiles. “Aside from that.”

“Are you asking as my dad or as my boss?”

I’m mostly kidding. I slept, went for a run in Central Park, and got dinner with a few college buddies who also ended up with jobs in the city. All legal activities.

“I’m still figuring out how to be both,” Dad admits.

Nice to know I’m not the only one struggling to redefine our relationship forty—actually, more like sixty—hours a week.

“I answered emails, then,” I state.

Dad shakes his head. I catch the flash of a grin that appears before he schools his expression to seriousness.

Everyone who knows my parents says Lili’s exactly like my mom while I’m a copy of my dad. And they’re rarelyonlyreferring to appearance.

My dad tosses the manila folder he’s holding onto my desk. “I really came to give you this. Take a look when you have a minute. Possible acquisition.”

I pick the folder up and scan the first page. “A makeup company?”

“Beauty is a billion-dollar business, Kit. Take a look at their earning potential. They’re small now, but there’s a lot of growth in the market. The founders are coming in this afternoon for a meeting. I’d like you to take point on it.”

I glance up attake point. A big endorsement for my second week. “This afternoon?”

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