Inwardly, I groaned. I knew exactly what was out there, and it sure as hell wasn’t flattering for my father’s campaign. Since 2013, the media loved referring to me as Bare Callahan after I was recognized in some of the pictures from Prince Harry’s infamous Vegas trip. At the time, it seemed totally legit to play a game of strip pool with a bevy of beauties and the guy who was fifth in line to the British throne. Of course, the copious amounts of alcohol that induced the shenanigans had clouded our judgment and made us oblivious to the possibility that some asshole would snap pics with their phone and expose us to the world.

Of course, the prince had the presence of mind to cup his royal jewels in the pictures while my junk was blowing in the wind. That led to the press’s second nickname at my expense. I became Bear Callahan, or the Bare Bear, because I was apparently hung like a bear. Truthfully, I really got off on the Bear Callahan one.

When it came to Dad’s kids, Thorn was a war hero, Caroline was a former deb with a squeaky-clean image, and I was the partying man-whore with no soul. Although I hated to admit it, I knew politics, and therefore knew I was a liability to the campaign. I sure as hell didn’t like being the albatross around Dad’s neck. I had this weird thing about always wanting people to like me, which was one of the reasons I was always up for going out and getting crazy. People tended to like carefree, inebriated Barrett—well, I guess only the people in my circle did, certainly not the ones in Dad’s or the American people as a whole.

Grunting in frustration, I plopped back down in my chair. “Fine. Whatever I have to do to improve my image, I’ll do it.”

Dad’s expression lit up. “You will?”

“I promised you when you first told us you were running that I would do whatever it takes to see you elected. It might not count for much, but I am a man of my word.”

“I’m so glad to hear you say that, son, because what I’m about to ask of you is pretty extreme.”

“Let me guess, you want me to do volunteer hours at a leper colony?” I jokingly asked.

“I want you to get engaged.”

I snorted. “Good one, Dad. Now what do you really want me to do?”

Slowing down his speech, Dad carefully enunciated, “I want you to get engaged.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

“Then why did you question me?”

“Excuse me for stating the obvious, but the idea that you want me to get engaged to help your campaign is a little too absurd to believe.”

“No, Barrett, I’m probably as serious as I’ll ever be.”

“Jesus,” I muttered as I dragged my hand over my face.

“I know it might seem a little extreme—”

A maniacal laugh poured from my lips. “A little extreme? I’d say that’s the fucking understatement of the year.”

“I never said what I was going to ask of you would be easy.”

“Can’t I try some intense volunteering to better my image? Maybe start a foundation or something?”

“Only commitment is going to alter the public’s perception of you.” My father gave me a tight smile. “It’s time for you to grow up in their eyes. The one way to do that is to show that you have matured and abandoned your frivolous past. Marriage is a natural progression.”

“But you know as well as I do that I’m not the marriage type.”

“Yes, I know that better than anyone, but people can and do change. I swore after I lost Celia that I would never give my heart to another woman. For many years, I held to that promise, and then your mother came along.” A loving look came over his face, one that would have disgusted me as a teenager, but now that I was older, mystified me more than anything. I couldn’t imagine ever having that look on my face—ever, couldn’t imagine that there could actually be just one woman who would ever be enough. Cue all the soul mate/other half bullshit. I couldn’t imagine a woman looking at me the way my mom looked at Dad, either. What they had was rare, and I couldn’t see myself in their shoes. Ever.

Across the table from me, Bernie cleared his throat. “Barrett, I think it’s important to remember that your father isn’t asking you to actually get married. It’s all just a façade. After the election, you can go right back to the life you had before, even sooner if he doesn’t secure the nomination.”

“Either way, it’s a long fucking time to be tied down to someone I don’t even know,” I countered.

Leaning forward in his chair, Dad squeezed my arm. “Search your conscience, Barrett. If things go south and I don’t win the nomination or the election, do you really want to think there might’ve been something you could have done?”

I whistled. “Nice guilt trip, Dad.”

He smiled. “I’m a business man. I’m just pulling out all the stops.”

“Yeah, well, what if I ignored my conscience saying this is the right thing to do and refused to go along with the charade?”

“Then you leave me no choice except to play hardball.”

“Am I to assume your hardball would be worse than your guilt trip?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Okay, I give. What would you do?”

“Fire you from Callahan Corporation.”

A horrified breath wheezed out of me. Fuck me. He wasn’t joking about playing hardball. While I’d only been working full-time for the company for two years, I’d spent every summer since I was fifteen working there. Dad had started me in the mailroom, and I’d had to work my way up so I could understand the inner workings. Callahan Corporation was my life.