42
VIOLET
“I’m Titas Harden, by the way,” Mr. Harden adds. “It appears my son does not have quite the amount of manners to which I’d initially given him credit. You may call me Mr. Harden.”
Ignoring the jab at my boyfriend, I take a sip of my champagne as the intensity grows around the table. “He probably didn’t think it was necessary,” I reply. “After all, everyone around here knows who you are, Mr. Harden.”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Then, I assume you would be willing to return the favor?”
“Hmm?”
“Tell me about yourself.”
“Oh, uh.” I take another bite of salad, procrastinating like a seasoned pro. I probably should’ve prepared for a question like this, but I assumed he was too self-centered to even care about my attendance, let alone care enough to ask me anything personal.
“Name’s Violet,” Jagger answers for me. “As you already know. She goes to HHU, and is working on her major in public policy.”
“I believe I asked Violet to tell me about herself. Not you,” Mr. Harden warns.
A twitch hits just beneath my right eye as I stare at the man across from me. Okay, so he’s an even bigger asshole than I initially gave him credit for. Awesome.
“Jagger’s right,” I answer. “I go to school with Jagger and the rest of your sons. Like he said, I’m also working on my major in?—”
“And where are you from, Miss Violet?”
With a terribly-veiled scoff, Ford reaches across Cobie and steals his almost empty glass, downing what’s left in one swallow.
“Is there a problem, Ford?” Mr. Harden challenges.
“Not at all,” Ford volleys. “I love a good interrogation, especially when we all know you already have the answers.”
Mr. Harden’s glare turns even more frigid, though I doubt Ford notices. He’s too drunk.
Pulse racing, I snag the linen napkin on the table and smooth it onto my lap. Is all night going to be like this? Walking on eggshells while ignoring thinly veiled insults? No wonder Jagger offered to turn his truck around and take us back to his place. Now that I’ve met his father, I think I chose wrong. What was his question again? Oh. Right. Where am I from. Ford’s totally right. Mr. Harden already knows the answer. He simply wants to hear me say it. “I’m from the south side of Harden Heights,” I tell him.
“You mean, The Drift.” It isn’t a question. It’s a statement.
“Uh, yes?” I force a smile while seriously regretting the decision to bring the spotlight back to me. Desperate to be rid of it as quickly as possible, I add, “By the way, the banquet is beautiful. I’m not sure if you had a personal hand in organizing this event or if you have a knack for hiring the right people, but I’m very impressed.”
“Tell me about your family.”
Welp. So much for getting rid of his attention.
“I’m an only child, or at least as far as I know,” I add dryly but realize I’m the only one in on the inside joke. Clearing my throat, I explain, “My dad liked to step in and out of my mom’s life, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he, you know?—”
“Fucked anything that walked?” Mr. Harden finishes for me.
My lips press into a thin line, and Jagger’s body hardens beside me. I grab his knee beneath the table, silently begging him to let it go as I answer Mr. Harden. “You’ll have to ask my father that question.”
“Do you take after him?” Mr. Harden challenges. “Do you fuck?—”
The clatter of Jagger’s fork hitting his plate cuts his father off. “I think that’s enough interrogating for one night.”
Mr. Harden’s attention flicks to his oldest. “Is it?”
“Yes.” Like steel, Jagger’s body hardens even more. “It is.”
With a low, humorless chuckle, Jagger’s father counters, “You cannot expect me to sit idly by when you request a plus-one to an exclusive event such as this. Fuck whoever you want, son, but bring her to a Harden event, and there will be expectations.”
