Emery swallows, hesitant to shake hands with a man who covered up vehicular manslaughter. She extends her hand politely nonetheless. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Marquis.”
My father gives her a firm handshake, but his expression remains unreadable. "Likewise." He nods to two empty placemats. “Please. Sit down.”
Before our arses hit our seats, my father’s inquisition launches. “So, Emery,” he says, draping a cloth napkin over his knee as a server pours him a glass of merlot. “What do you do for a living?”
“I work in finance,” Emery replies meekly. She shakes her head, covering the top of her wine glass as the server passes. “No, thank you.”
“Finance?” My father perks a brow, unimpressed. “Is that a colorful term forcashier?” He glances at me. “People often tend to embellish, don’t they?”
“Fath—” I don’t get a chance to vocalize my distaste for his tone and insinuation before Emery speaks up again. This time her tone is steady, almost clipped with confidence.
“Private equity,” she clarifies with a defiant head tilt. “I was an associate at CJ Piers. I’m sure you’ve heard of them before.”
Father’s lips curl up. “Investment banking? Interesting,” he hums, searching for a hole in her story. A small smile. He found one. “You said ‘was’. What happened?”
Emery’s jaw tightens. “I left for Piers for a…better opportunity.”
“Being?” Father probes rather rudely.
“She’s the new CFO at Cavanaugh Industries,” Sophie pipes up, beaming with smugness. “You know, Damon’s company.”
My father blinks. “You’rethe new chief financial officer?” He snorts. “That explains the stock prices.”
I’m going to kill him.
“Yes, it does,” Emery states. “It explains why we’re up thirty-three points in the last two months. Thank God they brought me on, right? Otherwise, it’d still be plummeting.” She holds out her glass to the server. “Water, please?”
To his credit, my father seems slightly taken aback by Emery's bravado. The dining lounge falls silent as the server quickly brings Emery a glass of water, and she takes a sip, her eyes never leaving my father's. He clears his throat and takes a sip of his wine, composing himself.
"Impressive," he says with a nod. "But…”He glances at me. Christ. What now? “Given Quinton’s previous taste in women, I can’t be blamed for my assumption, now can I?” His disapproving gaze meets mine, and I know if Mum were still here, she’d smack him upside the fucking head. “What was she again? A dancer, right?” My blood boils. He’s bringing up Alison? Now? In front of everyone? He has no shame. “Oh, my bad. Anexoticdancer.” He offers Emery a phony smile. “At least my son has the ability to learn from his mistakes.”
Emery’s face blanches. Perhaps she was unaware of Alison’s profession. Or how Damon and I both met her.Wherewe met her. Together.
My fists clench under the table. I know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to provoke me. He's trying to test Emery's reaction, to see if she'll flinch. It's one thing formeto deal with my father's criticism, but I won't stand by and let him talk down to Emery.
Before I can say anything, Emery takes a deep breath, her voice calm with resolve as she responds. "Quinton and I are just friends, Mr. Marquis.”
My gut twists, and a moment later, Emery excuses herself from the table to use the restroom. As soon as she’s out of ear shot, I seize the opportunity to have a private word with my father.
"She’s my guest. Treat her with respect or else we’ll leave. Is that clear?”
My father's face remains stern, but there's a flicker of remorse behind the stoic mask he often wears. "I'm just tryingto protect you, Quinton. Remember what happened last time? I don't want you to get hurt again."
"I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself," I say firmly. "You will behave, is that clear?”
My father reluctantly nods, but the damage from the evening has been done.
Emery finishes her dinner in silence, her mind undoubtedly churning with scenarios and theories. She barely looks at me before retiring to her room.
I spend the rest of the night staring at the double doors that separate our two rooms, willing her to knock. To come inside. But she doesn’t. Not a word. Not a sound.
Not until the morning. When I wake up to a charming alarm.
A furious Emery.
“Wake the fuck up!” Emery shoves me awake. “Quin!”
THE LITTLE BIRDS
