Chapter Fifteen

JENSEN

I pull up to Enclave Steak House and park in front of the valet’s stand. For a moment, I hesitate about getting out. I briefly consider just driving off and ignoring my father’s summons.

When the valet knocks on my window, I’m snapped back to reality, and I know there’s no option to leave. Dad will just hound me until I give in and meet with him anyway. And as much as I hate to admit it, there’s a part of me deep, deep down that still wants his approval and attention. I hate that fact so much, but I know it’s there. Sighing, I open my car’s door and step out before handing my keys to the valet and heading into the restaurant.

Enclave Steak House is as extravagant as always. Low golden lights illuminate the polished cherry wood that makes up the bar and tastefully decorated tables adorned with crisp, white cloths. Piano music flows quietly through the space, softening the muffled chatter of well-dressed diners. The hostess, a young woman in a simple black dress, is already looking my way. "Mr. Reece," she greets me. "Your father is expecting you. This way."

I follow her through the restaurant, weaving around tables until we reach a more private area towards the back where my father likes to hold court. As we approach our destination, I spot him.

My father sits at a round table near the corner, scotch in hand and eyes focused on another figure sitting across from him. It’s a woman with long blonde hair. I frown, confused, and instantly suspicious. The hostess gives me an apologetic smile before retreating, leaving me to navigate this conversation alone.

"Hi, Dad," I greet him cautiously as I take the vacant seat opposite him and directly next to the blonde. She turns to me and smiles, her green eyes flashing with a familiarity that baffles me.

My dad slowly turns his eyes to me. His gaze is sharp and calculating. Cold. It feels like he’s already frustrated with me and I just got here.

"You're late," he comments simply.

"Sorry, Dad. I had a brand meeting that ran long."

"I don't care," he retorts, his gaze never wavering. "You're late, and that's disrespectful."

I clench my jaw, struggling not to voice my indignation. If there's one thing I've learned from dealing with my father, it's that arguing doesn’t get me anywhere. Instead, I turn my attention toward the blonde.

"Camille," she introduces herself as if reading my thoughts. Something flickers in her eyes, an emotion I can’t quite decipher.

“Jensen,” I reply, holding out my hand to her. She takes it and we shake. When she lets me go, though, she draws her fingers slowly down mine. The gesture is unexpected and too intimate. I pull my hand away and clench it into a fist before resting it on the table.

“Camille is the daughter of one of my colleagues,” my dad says, as if that explains why she’s here tonight.

"And who might that be?" I question, my eyes narrowing slightly as I glance between my father and Camille.

"Edward Chamberlain," she responds, her tone casual as she sips her wine. "Do you know him?"

Of course I do. He's a major player in the business world. Like my father, Chamberlain is known for his ruthless tactics.

"And why are you here?" I inquire further, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

"I invited her," my father replies matter-of-factly before Camille can answer. He swishes the drink in his glass, the ice clinking against the crystal, and gazes up at me with a cool but expectant expression. His mouth is a thin line and his eyes glint like steel. It’s like he’s been carved from a hunk of ice and there’s no warmth in him whatsoever. "I thought you should meet."

"Why?" I blurt out. The question hangs in the air and even the pianist seems to hit a wrong note.

My father finally looks at me directly, his cool gaze boring into mine. "Because it's important that you know her. She can connect you with the right people to secure your future once you’re done with this… hockey nonsense."

Hockey nonsense? I grit my teeth and try to push down my spike of anger. I can’t help the wave of disappointment that crashes through me, though. Nothing has changed.

“Dad, I’ve already told you, I’m not?—”

The waiter suddenly appears to take our orders, oblivious to the rising tension at our table. My dad smiles at the waiter and is a proper gentleman, a sharp contrast to the asshole he was being to me moments ago. We order our meals and once the waiter leaves, I turn my attention back to my dad.

“I don’t need to make connections in your business,” I insist. “I plan on having as long of a career in hockey as I can if I don’t end up injured. After that, I’m going to stay connected to the game. I want to be a coach.”

My dad’s heard all this before but his eyes still narrow and he looks instantly irritated.

“You’ve indulged your hockey obsession for long enough,” he snaps. “It’s time you start really thinking about your future, Jensen, and Camille will prove a great asset in that regard.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I demand to know. There’s a sinking suspicion in my stomach as I stare at my father. This feels like a setup—like a trap. Why would he introduce me to Camille and not her father if he wanted me to make connections? Unless he wants…but no, that’d be crazy.

"Jensen," he begins, placing his drink on the table. The clink of ice sounds louder than it really is in the quiet restaurant. "Camille and I discussed it with Edward and we think it's a good idea for you two to explore… a relationship."

I nearly choke. Holy shit. He is actually trying to hook me up with this woman. I can’t believe this. "A relationship?" I splutter out incredulously.

"Yes." My father's voice is firm.

"You can’t be serious. Why would I do something like that?" I ask after regaining my composure.

"Business," my father simply states.

I scoff. "You want me to date someone for business? That's absurd."

"Jensen, please be reasonable." His voice is steady and calm. "It's a perfectly acceptable arrangement. Camille is beautiful, intelligent, and will make you an excellent companion. I have no doubt you two will find that you have quite a bit in common."

An arranged relationship. In the 21st century. The absurdity of it makes me laugh out loud, a bitter and harsh sound that makes my dad scowl.

Camille remains undisturbed by my reaction. She smiles serenely, her eyes flicking between my father and me.

"Jensen, you are not seeing the bigger picture here," she says coolly, her smile never fading.

I turn to her, incredulous and more than a little bit resentful. "The bigger picture? You think I'm missing the point here?" I laugh again. This time it's humorless and edged with a genuine anger that surprises even me. "Here's what I see: you, a complete stranger to me, sitting at this table with my father and talking about some sort of business arrangement that involves me dating you. Why should I believe you’re trying to do anything but use me?"

“Jensen!” my father snaps.

"It’s all right, Mr. Reece,” Camille calmly says. “I understand where he’s coming from.” She turns her attention back to me. “Jensen, trust me, I don’t need you or your father’s money. I have plenty of my own. Your father is right, though. I think we could really enjoy each other’s company.” The corner of her lips curl into a flirtatious little grin. “In fact, I think we could have quite a bit of fun together.”

"Fun." I let the word hang in the air for a moment before shaking my head in disbelief. "You can doll it up with any term you want but at the end of the day, this is insane."

"Just give it a chance, Jensen," Camille interjects, reaching over to place her hand on my arm. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

"That’s not the point," I respond, wrenching my arm away from her touch. "This isn't about comfort or feelings or anything normal people consider when they decide to be in a relationship with someone else."

"Enough, Jensen!" My father’s voice cuts through the rising tension like a knife. His face is flushed and his eyes gleam dangerously in the dim restaurant light. "This isn’t a debate. It’s happening whether you like it or not."

“And what if I refuse?”

“That’s not an option.” The finality in his voice is chilling and I have to remind myself that I’m a grown man and not a little boy being scolded.

“We’ll give you some time,” Camille interjects. “Clearly, you need to process this.”

I glance at her. She’s watching me with an unreadable expression adorning her flawless features. There’s nothing comforting about it, nothing genuine.

“Yes,” I concur dryly, “I clearly need to process the fact that my father is trying to sell me off to secure a business deal.”

I can’t believe he’s done this. I can’t believe his audacity. It’s one thing for him to try and interfere in my professional life, but to try to control my personal life as well? To think a part of me has still been seeking his approval. That I’ve still been looking up to him, deep down, despite everything. That’s over now. I’m too disgusted by this ridiculous plot, and there’s no chance in hell I’m going to do anything to put my connection with Grace at risk. I’ve put up with his criticisms of my career more than I should, but I won’t tolerate any attempts to control my personal life.

I don’t bother to wait for my meal. Shoving to my feet, I turn to leave.

“Jensen, come back here,” my father orders, but I ignore him. He’s going to figure out sooner or later that the more he tries to control me, the further away I’m going to run.