I should just stand up and leave, because in the space of five minutes, the man has insulted me a dozen times, and I have no interest in sitting here being berated by a stranger. But if I do that, I’ll never hear the end of it.
When I spoke to my grandfather earlier, I made it clear that I was not doing this more than once. I agreed to one dinner, with one person he thought might be a suitable match, and after that,I was done. If I don’t look to make a genuine effort, he’ll demand I have another dinner, and another after that, and it will be a never-ending cycle.
Trent doesn’t bother apologizing for ordering me a meal I can’t eat, instead jumping straight into his own.
I push my plate to the side and pick at the side salad while thinking about what I have at home that I can make quickly because I’m going to be starving by the time this ends.
“So tell me about yourself, Hannah,” Trent says, his attention split between the plate in front of him and the waitress in the tight dress that keeps passing us.
Did I mention he doesn’t believe in monogamy when I did my roundup of what makes this guy a jerk?
“I graduated Yale last year with my master’s in economics, and since then have been working for myself, managing clients’ stock portfolios and business opportunities. I’ve been at capacity for clients for the last six months and have at minimum tripled their investments in that time,” I tell him proudly and revel in the way his brows rise in surprise.
“That seems like a lot of work.”
“It is,” I agree. “But I love it. It keeps my mind busy, and I love a challenge.”
“What about when you have children?”
“I don’t know if I want kids,” I admit. “But I’m only twenty-three. I have a long time before I have to make any hard decisions.”
Once again, Trent stares at me like I’ve grown a second head, and I press my lips together to stop myself from laughing.
“Of course you want kids. You’re a woman. It’s literally what you were made to do.”
I carefully arrange my fork on the plate in front of me, giving up any farce of eating the rabbit food. “That’s an incredibly outdated and harmful stereotype you have there.”
“No, it’s fact.”
“But it’s not.” I push myself to my feet. “I think it’s best if we call it here. It’s very clear we aren’t compatible, and I don’t want to waste either of our time.”
Rage flares to life in his dark eyes, the switch flipping from polite to angry so quickly I’d have whiplash if I hadn’t been expecting it. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Yes, I am.” I turn to leave, ready for this entire evening to be over, but I barely get a step away before rough fingers wrap around my wrist, tugging me back so roughly my shoulder jars.
A gasp of pain falls from my lips as Trent settles me against his front, his hold on my wrist only getting tighter.
He’s trying to hurt me because he’s proving a point. Get with the program or get hurt. That’s how it is with men like him, and what I should have expected the second I stood up.
“Get your hands off me,” I snap.
“No, you will sit your ass down and finish your meal, and then at the end of the evening, you’ll be coming home with me.”
I’m about to tell him where he can shove his demand when a much larger body towers over us, sending my heart into my throat at the sight of him.
It’s been almost five years since I last saw Rowan Cane, but as I stare up into his furious eyes, it doesn’t even look like a single day has passed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ROWAN
Ishouldn’t be here.
I promised Asher I wouldn’t come, and I fully intended on following through on that promise.
But then I made the mistake of asking Wyatt to look into the guy. The co-owner of the Scarlet Lounge has a way around computers, and while I was able to get some surface-level shit from my own search and my contact at the police department, I want more.
I want to know why Jeffrey chose Trent as the first potential suitor for Hannah.
