“Then let’s eat, shall we?” he said and crooked his elbow for my mother to take.
Logan followed suit, winking at me and dropping a fast kiss to my head. “Survived so far,” he whispered.
I nodded, hoping it continued.Logan“You met in the subway?” Lottie’s father, or Mr. Prescott, since he didn’t offer to let me call him Charles, asked, his appalled tone letting me know what he thought of my statement. His wife hadn’t corrected my use of Mrs. Prescott either, but somehow it didn’t feel as insulting.
It had been the same the entire brunch. I had to admit his tone varied. Disgusted, dismissive, patronizing, contemptuous, and often bordering rude was the range. At each new tone, Lottie seemed to shrink a little more before my eyes. She picked at her food, admonished her father on occasion—not that it did any good. Every question he shot my way was designed to embarrass and belittle. Every response to my replies ensured everyone at the table knew he thought I was an idiot and didn’t belong there.
I tried to direct my comments to Lottie’s mother. She, at least, seemed to be trying. She had been unfailingly polite, gracious, and a good hostess. She attempted on occasion to stop Lottie’s father, but he was determined to hate me, usually speaking over her and interrupting often. I thought him rude, overbearing, and an utter asshole.
I was certain he had similar thoughts about me.
“Yes,” I replied smoothly. “I needed to sit down and get some notes out on a song in my head, and Lottie sat across from me. I was captivated.” I glossed over the true story, knowing what a response that would get me.
“Oh, a wannabe singer, are you?”
“No, sir. I simply enjoy writing music. It’s an outlet for me.”
“Right,” he snorted. “Because your life of teaching is so stressful.”
I fought down a wave of anger. He was beginning to piss me off, but I refused to rise to the bait. He wanted me angry. He hoped I would show what he felt were my true colors and embarrass myself in front of Lottie.
“You don’t know anything about my life, sir,” I stated. “Or the stress and worries it contains.”
For a moment, the table was silent until Lottie spoke. “And you never will if you don’t begin to listen, Dad.”
He glared at her, then looked at me. “Did you know about the record label merger?”
I sighed, knowing that somehow, he was going to try to blame the leak on me. “I did,” I acknowledged. “But I assure you, the kids in my class promised not to say a word. I thought I could trust their discretion.”
Lottie laughed at my joke, and even her mother’s mouth quirked. Her father didn’t see the humor. If anything, it made him angrier.
“Sabotaging a business deal is nothing to laugh at.”
“Enough,” Lottie’s mom said. “No more business talk. You are being obstinate today, Charles. Behave.”
Lottie looked at her father. “This merger is not going to suffer because of a leak. You know that. Logan had nothing to do with it. It was probably one of the companies themselves. We’ve seen it before.” She paused. “Stop it, Dad. Please.”
I knew her plea wasn’t simply for the merger talk. She was asking him to lay off me. He stood, setting down his napkin. “Excuse me.” He strode from the room.
“My husband has a lot on his mind,” Mrs. Prescott said in the way of an excuse.
I wanted to tell her that was no excuse for his behavior, but I only nodded and finished my breakfast. My appetite was gone, but I refused to let them see how upset I was. I had been wrong when I assured Lottie nothing bad could happen over breakfast foods and coffee. My battle for acceptance by her parents was not going to be an easy one.
“I think we need to go,” Lottie stated, standing. “I guess I had better make some calls.”
Her mother nodded, looking disappointed. I excused myself to use the washroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Maybe I should have cut my hair even shorter. Worn a damn suit. I shook my head, knowing it wouldn’t have helped. The only thing that would have aided my case was an Ivy League education, a large bank account, and a career her father found acceptable. Teaching wasn’t one of them. Neither was music. I had a feeling the news I hoped to share with Lottie soon wasn’t going to be celebrated by her father.
I stepped out of the room, somehow not shocked to find her father waiting, his arms crossed.
“Mr. Prescott.”
He narrowed his eyes. “If you thought cutting your hair and putting on a clean shirt would help, you’re wrong. I know your sort. A lazy drifter. Coasting through life on nothing. Latching on to my daughter, hoping for an easy ride.”