“Dad, please, just five minutes before your appointment. It’s very important.” I asked, my head poking through the door to his office. He frowned and waved me in.
“Michael. I’m getting pissed off about the sales data from last month and…” Dad started, but I held my hand up to stop him.
“I’m not kidding Dad, this is urgent.” I perched on the edge of the wine colored leather couch in front of his desk. Our offices were totally different. His looked like the library at the country club, dark and oppressive. Dad rarely drew back the heavy damask curtains and sat behind a huge oak desk. Mine was filled with contemporary furniture and artwork I’d brought from home, and the curtains were always open. I always felt like I was twelve years old and asking for an advance on my allowance when I was
