He exhales sharply. “Business.”
I smile slightly and sip my drink. “Not a bad place for business.”
He chuckles, and it’s humorless. “I have no idea. It’s my first time here.”
We order another round. Then food. I order the steak sliders andtruffle fries. He orders the same. I forgot how good the food was here, and I made a mental note to bring Silvie here for a date.
Conversation comes easily after that between us, as I figured it would. I have experience talking to people at a bar and getting them to open up. We talk about the stock market and finances that run at the bottom of the screen. He even laughs and jokes with me.
Charles eats his food and checks his phone every so often. Probably hoping Silvie will text him. And maybe she will.
“You with a firm back in New York City?” he asks as he looks over at me. I realize I finally earned his respect. He still has no idea who I am. And this couldn’t be going more to plan.
“Nah. I’m a local. Born and raised in Coconut Beach,” I say as I take a sip of my bourbon. I ask the bartender for a glass of water and keep eating.
“Really?” he glances over in surprise. “I would’ve pegged you for a trader or an analyst back in New York.”
I don’t answer. Just take a few bites and drink my water.
He takes a slow sip of his bourbon, jaw tight. “My wife hates it here. But my daughter has visited here often. She has a ...friend here.”
I nod and take a sip of my bourbon. Still waiting for Charles to catch up. But I wanted him to meet me first before he judged me. And it worked. He still hasn’t the faintest idea who he’s sitting next to.
We finish eating and set our plates aside. I order two more bourbons neat for us.
Charles looks over and nods with thanks.
Then he clears his throat and says, “I’ve come here to meet with my daughter.”
I nod and take a sip of my bourbon. “I know.”
He frowns and turns to face me. “You know?”
He looks confused, as if he’s trying to figure out who I am. His eyes narrow, and he’s processing this.
I set my glass down and meet his eyes. “Yeah.”
The silence is loud between us, and Charles goes still as he studies my face like he’s reconciling this. The bartender clears our dishes, and the TV crowd cheers at something on the screen.
“I’m her husband,” I say calmly.
Charles glares at me with narrowed eyes and says, “You.”
“Me.” I nod.
He leans back in his stool, lips pressed together, gaze sharp. “I want to hate you for marrying her like this.”
I nod in agreement. “I don’t think I’d be pleased either if I were a father and my daughter did that.”
His eyes narrow in suspicion. “Then why did you do it? What’s in it for you?”
I let out a deep sigh. “That is for you and Silvie to discuss. I’m here for other matters.”
He huffs. “Figures.”
“Figures what?” I challenge.
“You have an angle here. Nobody gets married to a billionaire heiress they just met. And a bartender, at that.”
