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“I wouldn’t know,” Blake said, and before he could get the rest out, Mr. Garwood interrupted.
“Blake’s parents were supposedly addicts. Left him at the police station. He’s lived in foster homes his whole life. He opened a business, and now, it seems, he’s clawing his way up the social ladder.”
Blake’s head whipped around to Mr. Garwood. His jaw locked, mouth pressed into a firm line as he stared at the man who he hoped to become his father-in-law one day, a man he disliked, yet still entertained because he had little choice. A man who knew how to throw silent barbs. His words were innocent, but Blake was no dummy. Just now, Mr. Garwood had oh-so-subtly implied Blake’s interest in Jen was because of their wealth and social status.
Even now, in front of all these people, nothing fazed the stone-faced Mr. Garwood. He took a sip of his soup, meeting Blake’s gaze in challenge as if he hadn’t just dug under his skin. Beside him, Blake felt Jen go rigid, but she remained quiet. She stared down at her soup, swirling it with her spoon as if a witch hunt weren’t happening right beside her.
“So, you’re a real self-made man,” Frietz said as he ate his soup. Either he was completely oblivious to the tension at the table, or he was entirely aware and enjoyed it.
“Blake’s actually moonlighting right now,” Mr. Garwood added with the barest hint of a grin.
Blake ground his teeth until he thought they might pop. Here we go...
“Really?” the man’s eyes lit up. “Doing what?”
“He’s a manny,” Mr. Garwood said with humor in his voice.
Across the table, Mrs. Garwood let out a soft chuckle and admonished him. “Oh, Tim. Stop teasing.”
Sure, teasing. Is that what she called it?
A soft round of snickers floated across the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the way Jen shifted in her seat, and he didn’t dare glance over to see if she looked embarrassed.
“So the bike business is doing good, huh?” Frietz smiled.
Blake set his spoon down, letting it rattle in the dish. “Actually, it’s funny Mr. Garwood brought all of this up, seeing as how my reason for watching someone else’s children is on account of him. I’m spending my days as a nanny to a set of triplets because, as it turns out, the Garwoods have some reservations about me being a good husband and father since I was orphaned. They thought I needed to prove myself since I don’t have a recognizable name like Bloomberg, Vanderbilt, Gates, Frietz, or Garwood to back me up.”
The older woman at the end of the table, once again, piped up. “Well, for the record, any man willing to go to such lengths for my daughter’s hand would surely get it. It’s very honorable of you.”
Blake offered her a genuine smile. She had probably been the only cordial one to him all night. “Or maybe they just wanted a laugh.” Blake turned toward Mr. Garwood, his smile tight. “I don’t know. Which is it Tim?” he asked, forgoing his last name for the first time he could remember.
The corners of Mr. Garwood’s lips curled as Blake met his gaze dead-on. His round face turned to stone, and out of the corner of Blake’s eye, he noted the faces around him. Most were frozen in shocked silence, save for the woman who had spoken up for him twice, who continued eating her soup.
Anger boiled Blake’s blood as the air around them snapped like a whip. Mr. Garwood said nothing as they stared each other down.
Blake hated that he let Jen’s father get to him. He should’ve just smiled like he always did and placated him. After all, this is just who he was. He thought he was better than everyone else, and he always would. A leopard never changed his spots. It didn’t matter how much Blake proved his love for Jen or bent over backwards to impress him. Mr. Garwood was most certainly a leopard.
Blake’s phone bleeped in his pocket—a major faux pas to even have it turned on in the first place, but at the moment, he couldn’t care less. He was relieved for the interruption, so he did the unthinkable. Jaw locked, he plucked it out of the inner pocket of his suit coat and glanced at the screen, with Mr. Garwood’s gaze hot on the side of his face.
He registered the name on the screen with a jolt of surprise. It was Mel.
Clicking on the text, he quickly read:
Mel: I hate to bother you. You’re probably busy. If you are, that is totally fine. But if you’re not, I’m desperate. Our toilet broke, and my landlord isn’t sending someone until Monday. I tried to fix it and couldn’t. Then Brady clogged it with Spider-Man. You wouldn’t believe how much three four-year-olds go to the bathroom! Our little shoebox is going to need to be fumigated! I can run the kids to the convenience store every time they have to go tomorrow if need be. It’s no big deal, but if I don’t have to...
Blake grinned, perfectly able to imagine the wily Brady shoving Spider-Man into the bowels of the toilet “just to see what would happen.”
“What are you smiling at?” Jen snapped beside him.
Her tone brought him back to the present, and when he glanced over at her, he noted a flicker of irritation cross her face.
“I’m sorry, but I need to go,” he said, scanning the faces at the table. “It’s an emergency.” Blake pushed back from the table, leaving his full bowl of pale green soup untouched.
Jen spluttered next to him, and he almost felt bad until he remembered she was annoyed with him when she should’ve been defending him to her father, who apparently planned on using Blake for the evening entertainment.
Blake hurried from the room, not caring whether people were appalled at his behavior or not. He might regret it tomorrow, but he was done caring for the moment. Besides, what did it matter anyway? The Garwoods hate him. They probably always would, and after tonight, it was clear he was the butt of the joke. They’ve probably been laughing these last few weeks, all at Blake’s expense. How thrilled they must’ve been when Blake actually took them up on their proposal and got a job working as a manny, as if that’s something to be ashamed of anyway. It was hard work. And worth something—shaping kids’ lives. If anyone knew how important role models were to children (or the lack thereof), it was him.
The sound of clicking heels followed him over the marble slab floor. He knew that sound, the cadence of her stride, and he turned to face Jen in the foyer, only a couple yards from the door—from a breath of fresh air and freedom.
