Ali laughed in Sam's ear. He didn't share her jubilation at the situation. Clearing his throat, he answered his assistant. "Gotcha Ashley. I'll be right there."

Taking one last gulp of Eau d'Ali, Sam reluctantly let her go, creating space between them. Ali didn't seem to want to sever the contact, finding ways to keep her hands on him, pulling his tie straight, brushing the wrinkles out of his suit jacket and fiddling with his hair. "That's not helping."

Jumping off his desk, Ali giggled again. "Sorry." Sam watched with a tinge of envy as Ali rearranged the neckline of her dress. "Were you expecting him?"

Her words brought Sam back to reality. "No." His father was not the drop in for a chat kind. Sam had to admit he was curious. Grabbing Ali's hand, Sam started for the door.

Ali resisted him. "Whoa. He came to see you, not me. Maybe I should stay here?" She looked hopefully around her makeshift office.

"My love. Where's this coming from?" Ali and his parents got along famously. Ever since Ali had stood up to his father at their very first meeting, Christopher Harrington had treated her with respect and even a kind of adoration.

"Well," she looked anxiously at the door as if the man in question might burst through it at any moment. "Does he know I'm ..um...helping with the Foundation?"

Sam frowned. "No, but only because I haven't had a chance to tell him yet. Why?"

Swinging their adjoining hands together slightly, Ali softly answered. "I don't want him thinking I'm ... putting my nose into things." She avoided his gaze.

Sam drew her closer and placed a quick peck on her forehead. "He is not," he emphasized the last word, "not going to think that. Trust me, he'll be happy you've stepped in and have things under control. It was his idea to get some help."

"It was?" Sam found he like the hope in her voice. He nodded.

"But surely he didn't mean me."

"Didn't he?" Sam winked. "My father is the master manipulator. He doesn't suggest anything lightly. Everything has a purpose. I'm not so sure he didn't plant the seed with exactly you in mind."

"Really?" The corners of Ali's mouth twitched, resisting a smile.

"Why don't we go find out?"

This time Ali didn't resist his request, following him down the hall.

"Dad."

Christopher Harrington spun away from the window he was standing at to face his son. Dressed in a blue pinstripe suit the man looked every bit the tycoon he so often tried to deny he was. Wavy golden hair similar to his son's but streaked with artic highlights glistened in the sunlight.

"Sam." He held out his hand to shake Sam's. Then as if reconsidering the action, he pulled Sam into a quick embrace.

Spotting Ali in tow behind him, Christopher focused his attention on her. "Ali, what a pleasant surprise to see you here." Echoing the action with his son, Christopher hugged her as well. Standing back to regard her, he took her in. "And aren't you looking lovely today. You're practically glowing."

Ali tried to hide her blush by studying the floor. Sam bit his tongue, trying to stifle a chuckle. In an attempt to distract his father and give Ali some space to recover Sam explained the reason she was at the office.

"Wonderful news," replied Christopher. "I was just telling Sam here he needed to bring in a professional. I'm confident you're the person for the job." There was a twinkle in his father's eye. It was a look Sam only saw when a plan of his had come to fruition.

"Dad. What brings you downtown?"

"Do I need a reason to see my son?"

"No," Sam hedged. "But it's ... unexpected."

His father shifted on his feet. Sam didn't know how to interpret the move. Was he here to deliver bad news? If so, Christopher was in an awfully good mood. "Well, I'd like you to meet with someone for me."

"Oh. A potential partner for the Foundation?"

"No..." It was unusual for his father to be evasive; he was always very direct with his likes and dislikes. "Actually, this is more of a potential political ally."

A chill went through Sam. "Sorry?" Behind him, Sam sensed Ali stepping closer.

All semblance of casualness leached from Christopher's face as he slipped into business mode. "Maxwell Beake is retiring, leaving his position as councilmember open. It's my opinion that Leif Steward would be a good fit. I'd be interested in your thoughts."

Sam heard the words coming out of his father's mouth, but he could not comprehend them. He knew where this led. Taking this meeting would be opening the door to an area of the family business Sam didn't want to have any part in.

They had been down this road before. It was the same old conversation, over and over. His father's expectations that he would take his brother's place in the family business – become a politician. It had failed the first time, causing the riff ending in Sam running away to the other side of the country to break free.

Sam had told his father, upon agreeing to return, he didn't want such a life. He wanted to be part of the family again, but represent the Harrington name in other ways. Sam thought his father understood. Now the man stood in front of him, blatantly crossing that line. Sam felt his stomach turn.

Slipping her hand into his, Sam felt Ali's support before she voiced it. "Christopher," her tone was soft but clear. "You promised Sam wouldn't be involved in such activities."

"Yes, yes. And I'm not asking him to run for office." But Christopher wouldn't meet Ali or Sam's eye. "I simply want you to talk to the man, get to know him."

"No."

Christopher pulled his shoulders back, his lips pressed together. Sam sensed what was coming.

"You won't do this for me?"

Sam knew it. He had been present too many times, watching his father maneuver people towards the place Christopher wanted them to be, do the things he deemed needed to be done. Sam had hated this side of his father then. It felt worse when it was happening to him now.

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Gone was the consultative tone, replaced by an authoritative one. "You need to do this."

"I don't need to...to" Sam sputtered. He couldn't get the words out. His body locked up with anger, his head hurting from the freight train roaring through it.

Sam felt Ali place pressure on his arm. Realizing he was squeezing her other hand, he relaxed his grip. He looked down at her. Ali's sapphire eyes were wide with concern. It hit Sam then. It wasn't just him this time. He had Ali.

"We're leaving." It wasn't really a question, but Ali nodded in agreement.

His father yelled at Sam's retreating figure. "We're not finished here."

Without looking back, Sam spat. "I am."

Ali matched Sam's quick pace past his assistant and through the office. Addressing Ali alone, he asked, "Wanna get out of here?"