“Apologize?” Mr. Dorset boomed. “The child should watch where he’s going. Do they not teach your kind manners any longer?”
“Father? What’s going on?” Luke asked, casting me a weary gaze.
“This young man interrupted his betters about some apology he requires.”
“Betters? Who the fuck talks like that?” I interjected. All hope was lost with Luke anyway, but even had it not, no one was going to insult me or my friends over some perceived social standing.
“Father—”
“You think because your ancestors got lucky and passed down their wealth, you’ve got a right to snub those around you? Those who work every bit as hard, if not harder, than you do?”
Luke blinked, lifting his brows as his daddy huffed and mumbled, but I wasn’t done.
“And you’re the one making donations to help small businesses, people struggling to support their communities? Their families? Do you even care about this cause, or do you just show up to sign a check for the tax break?”
I paused for an answer, but Mr. Dorset didn’t have one.
“Pfft. And you say ‘my kind’ has no manners? What kind is that, exactly?” We’d gathered a small crowd, and I glanced at each person. “I’m sure we’d all like to hear it.”
In suits, I couldn’t say who was donating or benefiting at this thing, but they waited, all eyes on Mr. Dorset.
The man had gone red in the face while Luke’s had gone white. Even still, one corner of Luke’s mouth twitched.
I lowered my voice. “Yeah, backed yourself in a corner, huh? Go on. Tell me and all those watching your every move who my kind are.”
The standoff probably wasn’t long, but I’d swear it was long enough for the beads of sweat to take the scenic route down my back.
Mr. Dorset nodded once with a tight grin. “I’m sorry,” he said to a frozen Percy.
Those around remained silent, and then he clapped Percy on the shoulder. “Be sure to get another plate. Those tiny bundtcakes are very tasty.” Mr. Dorset cleared his throat and glanced around his social circle. “The young man is nearly invisible.” They laughed at his faked good humor. “My mistake.”
The group of older men chuckled softly and turned with Mr. Dorset to resume their conversation. All was forgiven in their eyes. Mr. Dorset was the hero or some shit. At least he’d apologized. Too bad I couldn’t make him be sincere about it.
As others resumed their own socializing, I was left standing with Percy beside me and Luke across from us. He wasn’t close enough to be seen as “with” us, but he stared at me longer than necessary before turning away.
“If that wasn’t him, then it should be.” Percy grabbed my wrist. “Tell me that was him. Lie to me, if needs be.”
I snorted and turned us to head toward the food. “Why does that have to be him?”
“Are you serious? That man practically fell to his knees for you.”
“Your imagination …” I snickered.
“Not this time.” We stopped at the pastry display, and Percy propped a hip against the table while I filled another plate for him. “While you were glarin’ down Papa Bear, I checked out the man who came flying in, more concerned with you than anything else.”
“Liar.”
“I would never. He looked at you—no, he drank you in, Asher.”
I glanced over my shoulder and locked eyes with Luke across the room. As if I’d known where he’d be when I couldn’t have possibly. His expression gave away nothing, and after a long few seconds, he blinked and turned.
“Yeah, that was him,” I said.
“Called it.” Percy took the plate I offered him. “And I’m callin’ it now: that man is not done with you. I’ve got a sixth sense about these things.”
“You do not.”
“I so do. I’ll have you know I’d figured out Tate and Wren the first day I laid eyes on the two of them together.”
