Page 84 of Campus Crush
Her smile was fixed on her face, but didn’t reach her eyes. “Thanks,” she said.
He laughed, but only he was in on the joke. “Oh, no need to be so short. We can forget that little thing with Holt.”
My hackles raised. That “little thing” was him refusing to learn her name and then insulting her intelligence. Myjaw tightened as I remembered how dismissive he’d been of her at Parker’s office.
“It’s no wonder my boy stood up for you. I should have known things were getting serious.”
I frowned. “I didn’t defend her because she’s my girlfriend. I defended her because you couldn’t even get her name right.”
He brushed his hand across the space between us like he was sweeping the past under the rug. “Oh, that’s old news. Let’s move forward now. Take a seat.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“She had a headache, so she decided to stay in tonight,” he shared, not an ounce of concern for his wife’s well-being in his tone. His behavior wasn’t necessarily better with her present, but it made me even more nervous that he’d say something out of line with just the three of us here.
The restaurant buzzed with quiet conversation around us, the clink of silverware against fine china creating a background melody to my growing anxiety. I glanced at Abby, hoping maybe she’d indicate that she wanted to bail as badly as I did, but she just moved toward her chair. I held it out for her as she sat down and then, with a sigh, I took my own seat next to her, already regretting this dinner.
A waiter immediately appeared with water and wine menus. My dad ordered a bottle of red without consulting either of us, something pretentious and expensive that he probably knew the vintage of.
He made polite conversation and actually deigned to take interest in Abby, asking her about her major and her plans for the future. He nodded appreciatively when she spoke about her internship at Holt & Associates, and even seemed genuinely impressed when she mentioned her academic scholarships.
It wasn’t an interrogation like I expected. In fact, the dinner was almost pleasant. My father even asked about our classes, and showed genuine interest in my hockey season.
By the time dessert arrived—a chocolate soufflé that my father insisted we try—I had almost relaxed. Maybe I’d misjudged him. Maybe he really was just trying to get to know the woman I was dating.
I should have known it was all a ploy so I would let my guard down.
FORTY-ONE
After our not-so-stellar first meeting at Holt & Associates, I’d been nervous that Foster’s dad wouldn’t be supportive seeing as he hadn’t seemed to like me much at that meeting. But throughout dinner at Missoula’s most expensive restaurant—Summit Hills—Mr. Kane had been surprisingly pleasant, asking questions about my engineering studies and even complimenting my academic achievements.
Foster had seemed tense at first, his hand repeatedly finding mine under the table as if seeking reassurance. But as dinner progressed and his father continued to be cordial, he’d relaxed, even laughing at one point when his dad recounted an embarrassing childhood story.
“Remember when you tried to make pancakes for Mother’s Day and nearly burned down the kitchen?” Dennis chuckled.
Foster rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I was eight, Dad.”
It was the most normal interaction I’d witnessed from them, given what Foster had shared about their strained relationship.
That was, until the evening came to an end.
As we were walking out, Dennis patted his pockets. “Oh, shoot! Foster, I forgot my valet ticket on the table. Would you run in and grab it for me?”
Foster hesitated and looked down at me, checking to make sure I’d be okay. His protective instinct made warmth spread through my chest.
I nodded at the silent question in his gaze. “Go.”
I watched him walk away, his pace quick, and I fought back a smile. Even in dress pants and a button-down shirt, his athletic grace was evident. The way he’d held my hand throughout dinner, thumb occasionally stroking my skin, had left me feeling cherished in a way I’d never experienced before.
But when I turned around, his father had stepped closer to me. The pleasant mask he’d worn all evening had vanished, replaced by cold calculation that made my skin prickle with unease.
“Listen, we don’t have a lot of time, so I’m just going to cut to the chase. You’re not good enough for my son.”
The words hit like a blow to my stomach, and I could barely breathe as he continued.
“I have plans for him, and he needs to marry into a certain caliber of family of which you do not have.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, as if discussing a business transaction rather than his son’s happiness. “I’ll tell you what. I will pay off your tuition and pay for your future grad school expenses if you agree to break up with Foster. Immediately,” he added.
My ears were ringing, and for a moment I wondered if I’d misheard him.
