“We’re doing a study on businesses that operate in the gray.” I follow my well-rehearsed script. “The ones that have to rely on some pretty shady or creative ways to survive.”
He arches a brow.
“There are some secret and blacklisted companies that’ll loan to people in extreme debt, and a network of businesses these people can run to to stay afloat. I’m watching a certain customerright now and waiting to see how much longer she can possibly survive…”
“Hmmm.” He smiles. “It sounds like this project might be of use to us years from now, so keep notes so I can see the specifics later.”
“Will do.” I pick up my glass and take a huge gulp.
“Onto personal things…” He waits until the waiter walks away from setting down our first course. “Do you have a new boyfriend, Scarlett?”
“Huh?” I almost choke.
“Are you seeing anyone?” His eyes meet mine. “Someone I should know about?”
“No, no.” I shake my head. “I’m way too busy for that.”
And I would never tell you anything about my personal life.
“Well, good. But maybe that’s something I can help you out with before you’ll have to settle down and focus on business.”
The confusion has to be etched across my face because he lets out a laugh.
“You should be dating a lawyer,” he says. “That’d be a good type for you.”
I blink, certain I’ve misheard him.
“Mr. Tate has a staff full of highly eligible lawyers,” he says. “I can ask him for a list of the best ones.”
“No.” I can feel my cheeks heating. “That’s okay, Dad.”
“I trust his judgment,” he says. “You should too.”
“No, I don’t think so.” I try not to push my luck, try not to think about his latest words to me. “I overheard his staff whispering about him yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, apparently he’s an asshole.”
“That might be true.” He laughs. “But it’s only to the people who deserve it, I’m sure.”
I don’t deserve it…
“Tell me about your other non-project classes. How are those going?”
I rattle off the other lines I’ve memorized, grateful that they come off so smooth and natural that I almost believe them myself.
By the time the final salad is served, our conversation has run its course, and he’s stepping away from the table to take a call.
I devour the arugula as fast as I can and wave to him before escaping.
“Will you be needing a ride back to Boston?” Francis steps in front of me before I can make it to the elevator.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
He doesn’t move.
He just stares.
