A Debt Owed(2)

“Awful,” he says, slurping his coffee. “Just like this coffee. Don’t you have anything better?” he snarls at the waitress.

She shrugs. “Sorry, sir. That’s our best blend.”

“Bland indeed,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“Father,” I mutter.

Has he always been like this? Probably. I made him seem better in my mind just to cope.

“No, they should make better coffee,” he growls while the waitress places down my cappuccino in front of me.

“Why did you even wanna meet at this place if you don’t like it here?” I ask.

“Because it’s the only option I had.” He clears his throat. “Considering my budget.”

“Budget?” I frown and lean back in my seat. “Wait, you don’t mean to say—”

“The business is not going well,” he interjects, but it sounds as though he’s grossly understating things. “But you already knew that. I told you a while ago when I asked you for help.”

“Yes,” I say, folding my arms, “and I specifically remember saying no.”

“I know you did, but listen …” He takes in a deep breath and licks his thin lips. “I’m on the brink of losing everything. I did the only thing I could. I got a loan.”

“So? What does that have to do with me?” I ask, not touching my cappuccino. I know where this is going. I’m almost inclined to leave right now, but I don’t wanna jump to conclusions too quickly.

“Everything,” he says. “You’re my last hope.”

“Really? What about your wife then? Can’t she pitch in?” I snort.

“She’s left me.” He swallows as if he didn’t see it coming from a mile away.

I raise a brow. “Let me guess, she ran away with all your money?”

He narrows his eyes at me, but it’s all I need.

“Figured.” I sigh. “I tried to warn you.”

“Charlotte,” he says in a condescending tone. “You’re my daughter.”

“So?” I suck on my bottom lip. He can’t play on my emotions, not now.

“A loan always needs to be repaid. And part of the agreement was that you—”

“No,” I interrupt, my heart palpitating. “Tell me you didn’t.”

He closes his lips and stares me down, which tells me he really did do it.

“No, not happening,” I say, shaking my head. “How dare you try this on me again?”

“It’s too late. The deal has already been made,” he replies.

My heart stops. “What?!”

I get up, and with a flat hand, I slap his face. The whole place has gone quiet, and everybody’s looking at us, but I don’t care. “I am not an object you can trade for money! I’m your daughter!”

I refuse to become that woman who belongs to someone like some sort of pet. I want to be independent, someone with her own business and her own life. No man will ever make that happen, and no man can make me as happy as my independence does.

Father reaches for my hand, but I pull it away before he can grab it. “Charlotte, you’ll be happy with this man. I promise you.”

My father has always tried to control me by telling me what school to go to, how to dress, and what to say. When I didn’t listen, he scolded me … sometimes, he even hit me.

And now, he’s gone and traded me to some man in exchange for a loan.

“No. You can’t say that. You can’t do this to me.” I shake him off and try to walk away.

Right then, the door to the establishment opens and in walks a handsome, suited-up man with wavy dark hair, a cleft chin … and an insufferably arrogant grin on his face.

My eyes widen, and I begin to stutter. “Easton …”

Easton Van Buren … once a simple waiter in my father’s restaurant with big dreams, he’s now a notorious business mogul who opens clubs all around the world. We first met at my father’s second wedding when we were still kids, and now we meet again … at what seems to be mine.

“Hello, Charlotte,” he muses, his voice still as salacious as I remember. “How nice of you to be here too. Right on time.”

No, this can’t be happening. Not here … and not with him. Even though he sure looks like James freaking Bond when he walks and talks, I know he has an ulterior motive, and it’s anything but good.

He walks toward me and briefly grazes my arm, but the implications are huge.

“You,” I mutter in complete shock. “Why are you …?”

He licks his lips, and a wicked smile forms on his face. But those eyes … those dazzling blue eyes only show contempt and vengeance.

“No,” I mutter.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “I’m the one who lent money to your father, and I want you as payment for that debt.”

For a few seconds, all I can do is stare. Then my palm instinctively comes up to slap him. However, he grabs my wrist before I can even come close.

“Ah-ah, Charlotte. That’s not nice. Hasn’t your father taught you manners?”

I spit in his face. “Asshole.”

He wipes off the spit with one hand. “Now, now … it seems I’ll have to teach you to behave.”