His gaze lifts to mine once more, those icy blue Lancaster eyes freezing me where I stand. “Right. And your father is long dead, correct?”
I don’t talk about my father. Whenever he’s brought up, even in simple conversation such as this, it cuts deep. Reminds me of the pain I went through when we first lost him. When I was an angst-filled teenager who cried and cried, pissed that life was so unfair and that my father was gone.
I’m no longer that sad, depressed teenager who let his emotions spill everywhere, but I’m still pissed about it. And this asshole doesn’t help matters whatsoever.
“Yes, sir. He is.” I decide to give him an ounce of respect, hoping he’ll get the hint and leave. I’m tired. I want to shed this suit and take a shower, wash off the filth of the day and the words from this man who has zero concern for his daughter. Who only uses her as a pawn to gain what he wants.
“Such a shame.” He drains the glass yet again and sets it on the bar cart before he turns to face me. “He was a shit businessman anyway. Your brother has done a far better job of growing Halcyon into what it is today.”
I press my lips together, not wanting to speak my mind and piss this man off.
But it’s as if I can’t help myself. The words come anyway.
“Don’t insult my father.”
“Touchy subject?” The fucker seems amused.
“He’s dead. And anyone who’s dead deserves some respect, especially my father.” I don’t look away. I even contemplate taking him. I’m younger. Taller. Stronger. I could do it. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t insult the man who raised me.”
He’s quiet as he takes a step toward me. Then another. Until he’s practically in my face, though I’m taller by a few inches. “You think you’re better than me because you’re younger and full of so much come, all a woman has to do is breathe on you and you’re squirting in your shorts? Guess what, you’re not. I’m the one who’s pulling all the strings here, despite what your brother might’ve told you.”
For someone supposedly so refined, he talks crudely.
“Really.” My voice is flat. I’m not in the mood to challenge him.
His gaze grows icier, I swear. “Don’t underestimate me. It won’t end well if you do.”
That was definitely a threat.
We stare at each other, neither of us saying a word. Hell, I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
“I’d advise you to do the same in regards to me,” I finally say, my voice quiet.
His cheeks flush red. He didn’t like my response.
Tough shit.
“I gave her to you,” he says through clenched teeth. “I can take her back, too.”
“I dare you to try.” I smile, as if I’m confident Charlotte would stay with me despite everything.
Though I’m guessing I’m less of a threat than her own damn father, which is sad.
The staredown continues between us until, finally, he’s the first one to give. Reginald tears his gaze from mine with a grunt and turns away from me, striding toward the front door.
“Watch your back, Constantine,” he calls, his voice rough. “It’ll take nothing for me to keep her in line.”
“She’s not yours any longer to keep in line,” I remind him, my voice smug as hell. “Whether you like it or not, she belongs to me.”
The door slams, and I wonder if he heard what I said.
I fucking hope like hell he did.
I grab the bottle of scotch and pour it into my glass until it’s practically sloshing over the top. I drain it in a few swallows, then pour myself another one, the liquor’s heat sliding through my veins, making me warm.
Not soothing my anger one damn bit.
I settle onto the couch and brood over the situation, at one point even considering calling my brother so I can tell him what just happened. Winston would probably want to kick Reginald Lancaster’s ass.