Dad takes me by the arm, and his fingers dig into my forearm as he leads me a few steps away to a quiet part of the garden. He’s smiling at people and saying hello as we walk past, but as soon as we’re in the shadows, he drops my arm and the smile fades.
“What the hell are you doing, Cassie?”
I take a sip of my drink and feign innocence. “Enjoying the party.”
“You know what I mean. Why did you bring a patched member of a motorcycle club to our party?”
His disapproval is like a pang to the heart. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? I wanted to get my parents’ attention. But now that I have it, it feels all wrong.
I wanted them to be shocked that I brought Specs along. But now that they are shocked, I’m angry. I’m angry that they can only see a biker. They don’t see the man that he is.
“He’s my date,” I say, sticking my chin out.
“Since when are you dating?” Dad runs a hand through his hair. “This is Isabella’s influence, isn’t it? Ever since she married that biker, you’ve been running with a bad crowd.”
I scoff. “If you mean a group of veterans who served this country, then yeah, I’ve been hanging out with them.”
“He’s a patched member of a motorcycle club, Cassie. He’s wearing the jacket, and these are all our most important business partners. Don’t you know how much this means to your mother and me?”
And there it is. The only thing my parents care about: their business.
Dad isn’t concerned I might be hanging out with a bad crowd; he’s concerned about how it reflects on his business.
“I’m sorry if your business associates are snobs, Dad, but if you want Paul to leave, you’ll have to chuck him out.”
Dad will never cause such a scene, and we both know it.
He glares at me, and I casually take a sip of my drink. He glares at my tumbler, no doubt willing it to turn into an elegant champagne flute.
I swirl the ice around in the bottom of the glass and knock the drink back. It burns my throat, and I school my features so he doesn’t notice.
He glances over to Specs, and I follow his gaze. Specs is leaning on the bar, deep in conversation with a man in a paleblue suit. He’s also drinking a Wild Taste beer straight from the bottle.
It seems not everyone here is a snob like my parents.
Dad frowns and starts back toward the bar.
The man looks over as we approach and raises his beer bottle to dad. “I didn’t know your daughter was so well connected.”
Dad’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Paul’s the financial director for the Wild Taste Brewery.” The man stares at his beer bottle thoughtfully. “His MC runs the place.”
There’s irritation behind Dad’s eyes, but he hides it well.
“Is that so?” he says coolly.
The man sips his beer and smacks his lips. “We’re looking to add craft beer to our offering. One of our big distributors in France is asking for it.”
Specs nods sagely. I’ve never seen this side of him, the businessman. Whenever I’ve been at the club, he’s either got his head in a spreadsheet, his bike engine, or a book.
“Here’s my card.” The man pulls a card out of his breast pocket and hands it to Specs. “Let’s arrange a meeting.”
“I’ll have Quentin give you a call.” Specs pockets the card. “He’s the man to speak to.”
The man offers his hand, and they shake.
I turn to my dad, whose smile is plastered on. My smile is genuine. Specs was meant to shock my parents, and he has, but I’m pleased not everyone is as judgy as my dad.
