Page 62 of The Marriage Negotiation

As much as I didn't want to let them into our condo, I also didn't want our family issues being spat about in public.

"We can talk upstairs in our condo."

I turned with Zaq and started toward the elevators again, but I stopped when I reached the security desk. "Mr. D'Amato and Mr. Cranston will be stopping by. Please make sure that they get escorted up to our condo when they arrive." And by escorted up, I meant that I hoped they brought their bodyguards.

"Yes, Mr. Scotton."

When we reached the elevator, I kept myself between Zaq and our parents. Jackson stood directly at my side, half blocking me. He didn't know the situation with our parents because we had never explained it to him, but I was sure he could feel the tension between us.

The man's intuition was something else.

Once we reached our floor and the doors slid open, Zaq and I waited while Jackson got off and checked the area. We got strange looks for not immediately getting out of the elevator, but so what?

The same thing happened when we reached our condo door. Zaq and I stood off to one side while Jackson went in and checked the place over for any threats.

"Patrick, what is going on here?" my father asked. "Why aren't we going inside?"

"We will," I replied. "Just as soon as Zaq's bodyguard clears the condo."

My father's eyes widened as they darted to Zaq. "Why does he have a bodyguard?"

"Because he was recently harassed, stalked, and attacked with a knife."

The instant my father's lips thinned I knew why they were here and I almost laughed. They hadn't come to visit me. They had come to plead for their golden child.

Boy, were they in for a surprise.

Once Jackson came back and gave us a nod, I walked into the condo knowing that our parents would follow. I glanced atJackson, who gave me a quick nod, telling me that the video and audio recording was working.

If there was an issue, I wanted evidence.

"Why don't you get everyone settled in the living room while I get us all something to drink?" Zaq asked.

I nodded and reluctantly let him go. After he walked away, I gestured to our parents. "Come on into the living room."

Our living room had a big bay of windows all along one side of the room. The opposite side was lined with a fireplace and rows of built-in bookshelves on either side.

Zaq and I had chosen two navy blue couches sitting facing each other with a mahogany coffee table between them. Two blue and cream plaid print wingback chairs sat in front of the windows facing the fireplace, a small side table between them.

Zaq had brightened the room up with several throw pillows, a rug with blue and yellow tones, and some bright pictures.

"Please, have a seat." I specifically took one of the wingback chairs, leaving the other one for Zaq.

My father looked around the room with wide eyes as he sat down on one of the couches, sitting next to my mother. Zaq's parents took the other couch.

"How do you afford all of this, Patrick? This building is across the street from Central Park. I've heard that places like this can be pretty pricey."

"We were lucky," I replied. "A friend of mine knew the previous owner. When they decided to move, they just wanted to sell it. We offered them a purchase price before it went on the market."

"But how do you afford it on your salary?"

I so wanted to roll my eyes.

"Do you actually know what I do for a living?" I asked.

"Peter said you worked in some office as a janitor," my father stated. "There's nothing wrong with being a janitor, though. An honest day's work deserves an honest day's pay."

"I'm glad you think so, but I am not a janitor. And now, before you ask, I do not work at a convenience store like Peter has been saying for the last ten years."

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