“Wow.” I sit down. “Looks delicious.”
Hayden sits down beside me and takes my hand in hers and smiles over at me.
It’s fine. This is for her.
We dish out our plates in silence. “What do you do for a living, boy?” Harvey asks.
“Christopher,” I correct him. “Don’t call me boy.”
Hayden steps on my foot under the table.
Behave.
His eyes hold mine, and I take a mouthful of food off my fork.
Oh shit, I forgot to check . . . is this offal? I study my plate as I chew. I can’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“I asked you a question.”
“I’m in advertising,” I reply curtly.
Hayden reaches over and puts her hand on my thigh to remind me to shut up.
I need to change the subject. “Where’s that jaguar?” I ask.
“Oh, Bryan?” Valerie smiles. “He’ll be home for dinner soon.”
“Where does he go throughout the day?”
“Who knows,” Harvey replies. “Mousing, probably.”
Right, just keep the conversation off me. “How long have you owned the farm?” I ask.
“We’re third generation on this land,” Harvey says. “Soon to be fourth.” He winks at Hayden.
Hayden smiles over at her father, and my stomach twists.
Fuck.
It’s like a cult.
“Where do you live, Christopher?” Harvey asks.
He called me Christopher. I chalk up a small victory. “I live . . .” I pause. Oh shit, how do I answer this? “I live between New York and London.”
Harvey frowns. His eyes flick to meet Valerie’s.
“Christopher’s family is very successful,” Hayden says.
“Like how?” Harvey replies dryly.
“You know the big company Miles Media?” she replies.
“Nope.”
“The one that makes the newspapers?”
“What about it?” he replies.
“That’s Christopher’s family business.”
His eyes meet mine. “So . . . you’re a pen pusher?”
I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears.
Don’t piss me off, old man.
“I work in advertising for a successful company, and I don’t appreciate your lack of respect, Mr. Whitmore.”
A trace of a smile crosses his face as his eyes hold mine.
“I use a computer, not a pen. Wrong decade,” I mutter as I take a bite of food off my fork.
Harvey chuckles, clearly amused with himself at my expense.
Fucker.
Hayden taps my thigh under the table in a subtle calm down signal.
“So . . . how do you think this”—he gestures to the air between us—“will last with you two living in different countries?”
I stay silent and glance over to Hayden. I raise my eyebrow.
Tell him. Tell him now.
“Well . . . I have some news.” Hayden pauses. “I’m moving to London to live with Christopher.”