It wasn’t the first time I’d had dinner with one of my father’s clients. Since he’d never dated—or at least not that I knew of—after my mother died, he said it was helpful sometimes to have a hostess at these events. Someone to steer the conversation to other topics so it wasn’t all work talk. Or someone to converse with the wife of the client so that the two men could talk only shop.
Except this was like none of those times. First, this man had been invited to our house, which my father had never done before. And there was no wife.
Evan Sanderson was born and bred Harborview. Also probably considered the most eligible and attractive bachelor in town.
While his parents had retired to Florida, he remained in the family home, which wasn’t quite as large as my father’s estate, but only because the Sandersons considered anything big and flashy to be tacky.
Growing up in the family tradition, he’d become a financial broker and had eventually taken over the management of his father’s hedge fund. Although I’d heard talk he was thinking about a future in politics.
I knew he was in his thirties. He was polite, well-mannered, dressed impeccably, and I knew the watch he was wearing cost six figures.
I was also pretty sure Marc would hate him.
One thing was certain: he wasn’t someone my father was courting to invest his money with him. Which is what these client dinners were usually about. Evan did his own investing. Quite well, if the watch was any indication.
So why was he here? And why were both my father and he looking at me as if I were the investment? Surely that had to be in my head.
“You are a senior in high school, correct?” Evan asked me.
“Yes. This year.”
“Do you have plans to go to college?”
“Princeton,” I answered immediately. “It’s where my father went, of course.”
Nothing to do with Marc.
“We’ll see, Ashleigh,” my father said, pointing his fork in my direction. “You know there is no need to rush off to college. A lot of children of privilege take a gap year. Travel. Broaden their minds.”
Broaden their minds? My father was promoting broadening my mind when he’d done everything in his power to contain me here at the estate? Since when did he believe it was it okay to not go to college?
My father and I had been drifting apart, or rather I’d cared less about pleasing him in recent years, but this was like talking to someone I didn’t know. He was also drinking more than he normally did. His face was red, and his hand shook when he reached for the Manhattan George had prepared for him.
I’d never seen him so not in control. Especially in front of a potential…whatever Evan was supposed to be.
My first instinct was to tell Marc. To text him that Dad was behaving weird and there was some smooth dude named Evan sitting at my dinner table checking me out.
I had to admit it wasn’t in an older, creepy way. It wasn’t like his eyes kept going to my boobs or anything. His assessment was more like I was a thing of value, only the exact value was still to be determined.
I couldn’t tell Marc any of that because I wasn’t talking to him. Since our confrontation by the pool last month, I’d decided to play hardball. He wanted to believe I wasn’t important in his life, then I had to show him I was.
One month without a call or a text. One month for him to feel my absence. To understand what pushing me away felt like. One month for him to come to the conclusion I was important to him.
Because I was sure he would.
I hoped he would.
Maybe I hadn’t accounted for how stubborn he could be.
“Ashleigh! Evan asked you a question.”
I blinked, coming back to the conversation at the table. “I’m sorry. I must have zoned out.”
“I was curious when you would be turning eighteen. This is a big birthday for you, correct? You are officially an adult.” He smiled smoothly and I liked him even less.
“In a few months, yes,” I answered vaguely. The less information Evan knew about me, the better. “I hate to excuse myself before dessert, but I do have a very important test tomorrow I must study for.”
“Of course. Grades are very important,” Evan said.
My father didn’t look happy about me leaving, but I didn’t care. Normally, I would clear my own plate and silverware so George wouldn’t have to bother, but I had this need to go to my room and lock the door.
I was being ridiculous. I knew that. Evan had been nothing but polite the entire evening and was simply asking about an upcoming important birthday. There was nothing strange about him. I’d just gotten a gut sense of wrongness.
Maybe I was anxious in general. Because while I’d wanted to prove a point to Marc, I was suffering my own consequences. I felt lost and unmoored with no connection to anyone. The more my father continued to behave erratically, the more I felt that way.
Walking over to my desk, I picked up my phone and saw an indicator I had a text.
The second I opened the app and saw Marc’s name, it was like this incredible wave of relief washed over me. He was still out there. He still cared. He couldn’t let me go any more than I could let him go.
Marc: WHAT.THE.FUCK?
Me: Sorry? I’m not sure I understand.
I checked and he’d sent the text only a few minutes ago. Clapping my hands, I watched the dots appear. It meant he was immediately on the other side of the phone. That feeling of connection thrilled me.
Marc: I got a text from some dude asking my permission to take you to Homecoming next month.
Wow. Jeffery was being pretty careful. I knew he liked me, but I didn’t think he’d take it that far. Then again, most people at school knew Marc sort of still loomed large over me. Jeffery was probably trying a pre-emptive approach so as not to earn the wrath of Marc Campbell.
Me: His name is Jeff. He’s a senior. He’s been flirting with me, but I didn’t realize he was planning that far ahead.
Marc: Flirting or harassing?
Me: Flirting. Ever since you shut Chris down, no one has been giving me a hard time.
Marc: So you want to go to this dance with him?
Me: Not really. But since you’re fucking all the hot girls on campus, I figured I should make some effort to lose my virginity.
I smiled as I typed the words, knowing his jaw was doing that flexing thing right now.
Marc: Nice trick. It’s not going to work. I’m not going to tell you not to fuck him.
Me: You sort of just did. What did you tell him?
Marc: The usual. He hurts you. I kill him.
Me: You say the sweetest things…
Marc: Stop messing around, Ash. I don’t give a fuck who you go to the dance with, as long as it’s not an asshole who would hurt you.
Me: Right. Because you’re the only asshole who gets to hurt me. Understood.
Marc: Look, maybe I was harsh last month. I just want you to understand where I’m coming from.
Me: I know where you’re coming from because I’ve been right there beside you the whole time. Admit it, you missed my texts a little bit.
Marc: I admit nothing.
Me: A little bit…
He went silent, but I knew my self-imposed ban of texting Marc was over. I considered telling him about Evan and my father and the totally weird vibe at dinner tonight, but I didn’t know how to express it. Not in text anyway. Instead, I changed out of my dress, one my father insisted I wear that made me look like Alice in Wonderland, and into my pajamas, and went to sleep more content and at peace than I’d been these past four weeks.