“You look like a princess,” he said hoarsely.
She grinned. “Does that make you my prince?”
He glanced down at his two-hundred-dollar suit, a suit that would probably make most women all mushy and hot, but would in no way impress Annabelle’s parents. “A prince I am not,” he sighed.
“Cheer up. It’s just dinner, and tomorrow we can explore the city before we fly back to San Diego.” She mimicked the words he constantly tossed her way. “It’ll be fun.”
“Whatever you say,” he said noncommittally, all the while knowing that what awaited them downstairs would not, in any way, shape or form, be fun.
And he wasn’t wrong. Annabelle’s parents met them in the sitting room, which looked exactly like a living room but rich people were funny that way. Annabelle’s dad was a commanding man with a head of salt-and-pepper hair and deep wrinkles around his mouth, probably because all he did was frown. He frowned when Annabelle introduced them, frowned when Ryan shook his hand, frowned when he offered him a drink. Neither Sandra or Gregory spoke to him during the fifteen minutes the four of them spent in the sitting room, so when Gregory pulled him aside after Sandra announced it was time to congregate in the dining room, Ryan was thoroughly surprised.
“I’d like a word with you, if you don’t mind,” Gregory said cordially.
Ryan glanced at Annabelle, who offered a tiny shrug. So he said, “Yes, sir” and followed the older man, while the two women headed off, Annabelle’s mom chattering on about the new silverware she’d ordered from Paris.
Gregory led him into a large study with oak-paneled walls and an expensive burgundy carpet. There was a huge stone fireplace on one side of the room, with two plush chairs in front of it. “Have a seat,” Mr. Holmes said graciously, gesturing to one of the chairs.
Ryan didn’t want to sit, but he did, and a moment later Annabelle’s dad took the seat across from him. The older man unbuttoned his pristine navy-blue suit jacket, then clasped his hands in his lap and said, “How did you meet my daughter?”
Ryan gulped. “Annabelle told you in the other room, sir. She’s staying in my building.”
Gregory frowned. “And what exactly is the nature of your relationship, Mr. Evans?”
He suddenly felt like he was in the interrogation room at a police station. He swallowed again, his mouth too dry to work. “We’re, uh, seeing each other, I guess.”
Jeez, why the hell was he so intimidated by this man? He was a Navy SEAL, for f**k’s sake. He was good under pressure, and more than used to getting yelled at. Yet despite his training and background, he found himself extremely uneasy around Annabelle’s dad.
“Are you aware that my daughter is engaged to be married?” Gregory asked coldly.
“I was under the impression the engagement is off, sir.”
“For the moment, perhaps, but there is no doubt in my mind that my daughter will marry Bryce Worthington.” Another frown, this one deeper. “This marriage was decided on when Annabelle was a child, and Bryce is a worthy match for her.”
Ryan bristled. All right, he saw where this was going. Bryce was worthy, Ryan was not. Well, f**k that.
“I have to disagree,” he said politely. “Annabelle was unhappy with Bryce.”
Gregory smirked. “And she’s happy with you?”
“Yes, sir, she is.”
“What is it you do again?” Gregory asked, as if Ryan hadn’t just told him five minutes ago in the sitting room.
“I’m in the Navy,” he answered through clenched teeth.
“Right, the Navy. I take that to mean you travel frequently, sometimes at a moment’s notice?”
“Sometimes,” he said warily.
“Then how do you expect to provide my daughter with a stable, comfortable life?”
“With all due respect, Mr. Holmes, I’ve only known your daughter two weeks. We’re not really at the point where we’re discussing our future.”
Frown number three made an appearance. “Well, you see, I am thinking about the future. My daughter deserves a man who can support her, who can provide her with the life to which she’s accustomed, and I don’t believe that man is you. Frankly, young man, I don’t believe you are good enough for my daughter.” Gregory leaned forward, a calculated glint in his brown eyes, the same shade of brown as his daughter’s. “So, with that said, let’s get down to business. How much?”
Ryan faltered. “What?”
“How much, Mr. Evans?”
Was this some kind of code? He had no f**king idea what this man was talking about, and he was tempted to unleash a right hook in the older man’s jaw. Nobody had ever spoken to Ryan this way, in such a chilly, disgusted voice, as if he were nothing more than dog shit under the guy’s shoe. Even his drill sergeant in the Navy had been nicer than this, and that guy had been a total dick.
Gregory sighed. “How much will it cost me for you to say goodbye to my daughter and walk out the door right now?”
It finally dawned on Ryan. The son of a bitch was trying to bribe him. Bribe him. Who the hell did this man think he was, the Godfather?
“Nothing.” His jaw was so stiff he could barely spit out the word. “It will cost you nothing, because I’m not going anywhere.”
Gregory’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be difficult, son. I’m sure we can work something out.”