AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But I was deliberate in my choice, as with my outfit: a pressed pair of navy chinos and a button-down. Formal enough to be taken seriously, but not so much that I come off as some conman. What a shame, really, having taken all this into consideration, only to end up seated beside an empty barstool instead of a perky sidepiece.
"Would you like your usual, Mr. Kingston?" asks the bartender, dressed in a sharp, all-white blazer.
I stifle a sigh, nearly tasting the Sakura martini, if it weren't for the unpleasant grassy flavor already offending my tongue. "That's alright, Kenji. Just matcha today." Don't get me wrong. I'm positive Kenji whips up the perfect matcha latte, but it's far from my usual choice. Look at me, sacrificing my palette for a man who doesn't even bother to—
My back straightens.
Like a sixth sense, I know Warren Kingston has entered the room. Maybe it's the drop in temperature. The flutter in my chest. Or the smog of disappointment radiating from his every pore.
"...a partnership with them would be advantageous, yes, but not the maximum ROI we're looking for..." His voice floats through the air, growing louder and louder. "...leave the option open, until we evaluate other prospects..." I sip on my grassy concoction, as if it contains alcohol that'll soften the anticipation coiling through my blood.
"Talk soon," my father's voice booms behind me. "Goodbye." When his three-piece suit claims the empty seat, I waste no time, clearing my throat, ready to—
He holds up a finger.
My mouth clamps shut. Taking all my effort, I restrain my splintering annoyance, as I stare at the top half of his gray hair and that long digit—a finger I've received since adolescence. With his face buried in his phone, contacts zoom past his screen, until he stops and calls some name I can't read upside down.
And there I sit, thrumming my knuckles against the bar top, picking the sides of my nails, waiting like some forgotten labrador poodle for ten whole minutes. Without so much as a glance in my direction, he spouts off detailed instructions, sprinkling in boring business lingo here and there, effectively shriveling up my ear canals.
Maybe that martini isn't such a bad idea...
"Call me when the bid is finalized. Goodbye."
Finally.
I refocus my attention, finding him pre-occupied yet again. His thumbs tap dance across his screen in a flurry, sending off several texts, before it goes dark. Sinking the phone into his pants pocket, he meets my stare for the first time since arriving.
And says nothing.
My jaw ticks as I search his crystal-blue eyes, which resemble that of a mirror, except the irises in the reflection possess a cold hardness. I let the silence drag on for a few more heartbeats than necessary, while questioning what it is I'm even expecting. An apology? Sorry isn't a part of my father's vocabulary—or my brother's, for that matter.
How am I possibly related to this man?
"Hi, Dad," I mumble into my drink.
"Hayden," he says, reaching for his menu. Apparently, a hello is too much of an inconvenience for him, too.
"Another round of dumplings is on its way." Because I ate the first while I was waiting for you, I don't add.
"Mmm," is all he can muster.
More unbearable silence.
"So, uh... how's work been?"
He flips his menu, eyes roaming down the list of sake rice wines. "You can skip the small talk, Hayden."
"Huh?"
"I presume you didn't ask me to lunch to listen about my work. What is it? Did you overspend your monthly stipend again?"
That was three years ago. Am I never going to hear the end of it?
I loosen some tension, my knuckles leaving behind imprints on my palms. "I just want to catch up with my old pops." His gaze drags onto me, his eyelids heavy. I swallow down a smirk. He hates that nickname.
"Did you, now? Well, if you really must know, Kingston Entertainment received its second quarterly tax return last week. I've outsourced some industry-specialized accountants to move several accounts overseas and expand on our deductions. They've been pouring over federal tax code compliances, looking for loopholes—some even on the state level..."
Oh, GOD. I really shouldn't have asked.
