When I found my seat at this table with seven strangers, I’ll admit, I was disappointed. I’d been hoping to spend the evening with people I actually knew. Preferably the Blade and Arrow guys—Indy, Rafe, Webb, Tyler, and Ace—all men I served with back when I was based at Fort Campbell and consider good friends.
But the tables only seat eight, and with Bea, Rafe’s wife, Eden, and Webb’s girlfriend, Noelle, also in attendance, that left me as the odd one out. Literally.
Bea sent me an apologetic message as soon as we found our seats.
I’m so sorry! I thought Callum said the tables would seat ten. Come sit with us. Ace said he’d swap with you. Tyler volunteered, too.
But I didn’t want to break up their close-knit group. And it certainly wouldn’t be the first time I found myself surrounded by strangers. So I politely refused her offer.
No worries! I’ll stay here. It’s just dinner, after all. As soon as it’s over, we can check out the music and magic show, like you talked about. It’s totally fine.
And it wouldhave been fine if not for getting stuck next to Camden Winthrop, who I’ve secretly renamed as The Most Obnoxious Man on the Planet.
Even that wouldn’t be too bad if he spent any time talking to my tablemates. But for the last forty-two—no, forty-three, now—minutes, his attention has been completely on me. Not askingmequestions, oh, no. He only wants to talk about himself.
I now know that MOMP got his business degree at UCLA, but he decided on the six-year plan so he could hang out with his frat buddies longer. I know that he lives in a condo with a view of Mount Rainier, but he thinks the view is overrated.
“It’s not like it’s Everest or something,” he explained dismissively. “I like beaches better than mountains, myself. But my dad wouldn’t spring for a house on Sunset Beach.”
That was the first time I wanted to punch him.
“Mount Rainier isn’t a mountain,” I told him politely, because one thing my parents always told me was honey works better than vinegar. “It’s a stratovolcano. And many people consider it to be one of the most beautiful sights in the world.”
“Pssh.” He rolled his eyes. “Give me a beach any day. And anyway, I’d think you’d like the beach better, too.”
“Why?” I asked. I didn’t really care about his answer, but it was like watching a car crash in real-time. I just couldn’t help myself.
Camden gave a pointed look at my breasts. “Because you have a great body. And I’m sure you look amazing in a swimsuit.”
That was the second time I wanted to punch him.
Forty-three minutes in, I’ve heard about his hobbies—golfing and collecting expensive cigars—the last trip he took to Ibiza, his new Mercedes,andhis current topic, his perspective on traditional gender roles.
And I bet I’m in for a treat with that one.
“It’s not that I expect women to be barefoot and pregnant,” he explains. Pausing, he waits until our server clears away our dinner plates before continuing. “But the whole household equality thing doesn’t make sense. If the woman is working, who’s home to raise the kids? Cook the meals? Clean?”
“Well,” I reply tightly. “There are daycares. Schools. Housekeepers. Both partners could share in the responsibilities. Or… themancould stay home.”
Camden stares at me for a long second before laughing. “Oh, Yara. You’re so funny.”
As irritation builds, my ears go hot. Beneath the table, my fingers dig into the silky fabric of my dress. “What’s funny about a woman working?”
He cocks his head at me. A lock of gelled hair falls over his forehead. For the first time since we sat down, he actually asksmea question. “What is it that you do, Yara? You can’t tell me you’d rather toil away at some boring job than have your husband take care of you?”
I haven’t mentioned a word about my donation for the event, or my profession—past or present. And I have no intention of giving this jerk any more information about myself than absolutely necessary. So I stick with a more generic answer.
“I work in robotics,” I reply. “For a company in Seattle. And I find my work veryrewarding.”
Camden gives me another long look. “But if you had the choice of not working, wouldn’t you prefer it?”
“Not really. I like working.”
“But, Yara.” His fleshy lips curve into a smile. “You’re not like those women who have to work because they can’t find a man. You’re gorgeous.” He touches my hair, twining a tendril around his fingers. “Honestly, I’m shocked you’re still single. There must be men lined up around the block waiting to claim you.”
My ears feel like they’re steaming.
Pulling my hair behind my shoulder, I plaster on a tight smile as I remind myself,It’s an event. For charity. There are close to two hundred people here. I can’t haul off and smack this guy in the middle of the banquet hall. Or break his fingers as punishment for touching me without permission.
