Page 89 of Boiling Point
His face filled the screen—those familiar lines and angles sharpened by distance and disapproval. Crisp shirt. Immaculate tie. Silver hair. Eyes like twin blades.
“Father,” I said, clipped and cool.
“Callum.”
The use of my full name grated like a dull saw. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
His eyes flicked over me, thoughts no doubt forming, crisp and predictable as a ledger. “You look…comfortable,” he said, dry as a bone.
I glanced down, noting the loosened tie, the rolled-up sleeves, the too-casual state of everything. “Yes, well,” I said evenly, meeting his gaze. “I find it rather liberating.”
He sniffed, displeasure crackling across the Atlantic. “You’re still arriving Monday?”
“We are,” I said, tight and measured.
He pressed his lips into a line. “And you’re still bringing your…guest?”
The pause stung like a nettle, but I schooled my features, refusing him the satisfaction of a reaction. “I am.”
The leather of his chair creaked like an old joint as he shifted. “And she…knows what to expect?”
“What should she expect, Father? Other than thewarmreception of my family?”
“Come now, Callum.”
I raised an eyebrow. “We’re being candid, then?”
His expression barely shifted, eyes sharp and narrow. “Only as much as the situation requires.” He folded his hands, cuffs perfectly aligned. “You’ll be bringing…Miss Clark, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“There’s not much we know about her.”
I paused, just long enough to let the implication settle. “Don’t insult us both by pretending you haven’t already looked up everything there is to know.”
A flicker passed over his face—disapproval, perhaps, or irritation. Likely both. Hard to tell with him.
“She’s considerably younger.”
“So was Mother, if I recall.”
He ignored that. “Is she aware of what’s expected?”
“She knows she’s meeting my family. That’s all she needs to know.”
Father gave a slow, precise nod. “Well. I hope she knows how to conduct herself.”
“She does,” I said. “And she doesn’t rattle easily.”
We stared at each other for a long, unblinking beat—his face impassive, mine immovable—until he gave a single nod. “Monday, then.”
“Monday.”
The screen went black.
I exhaled, slow and controlled, and let the silence close in around me like armor. Then I reached for the stone-cold coffee again—and drank it down like penance.
Chapter 32
