Diary of a Bad Boy(97)

“Thank you,” Whitney says, looking quite relieved. “I wasn’t sure how you’d take it since I’m your boss, but I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’re okay with this.”

“As long as you’re happy, that’s all I care about.” Sutton gives her dad a hug as well, one that lasts much longer than expected. She says something into his chest, but I can’t quite make it out with all the background noise. This could be our moment though. Seeing he understands being in love, I’m certain he’ll see the same look in my eyes for Sutton that he has for Whitney.

Awkwardly I turn to Whitney and say, “Congrats.”

“Thank you.” She laughs and nods. “And congrats to you as well.”

Oh.

Shit.

I squeeze my eyes shut as Foster says, “Congrats?”

Christ. This is so not how things were supposed to go down.

I look at Sutton who pales immediately, panic racing through her eyes. Normally quick on my feet, I feel tongue-tied, unsure what to say, unsure what Sutton wants me to say. We must be silent for too long because Foster starts to look between the two of us. This is it. This is where he sees my love for his daughter. We shouldn’t have to spell it out either.

“Sutton,” his voice grows serious, “is there something you need to tell me?” When Foster glances in my direction, he doesn’t look happy. A lesser man would wilt under his stare but instead, I hold my position and don’t break eye contact.

“I, uh . . . I was going to tell you—”

“Mr. Green, your table is ready,” the hostess says, breaking the tension in our little circle.

Foster rolls his teeth over his lip, looking between the two of us before nodding his head—not in a happy way—and taking Whitney’s hand in his. Without another word, he follows the hostess toward the dining room as Whitney apologetically whispers to us “sorry.”

Not a single comment. Nothing.

I expected him to have something to say, but silence?

Fuck. I don’t think I can take silence.

Once out of the room, Sutton presses her hand to her forehead as tears start to well up in her eyes. I’m at her side immediately, but again she pushes me away.

“That was so bad,” she says, her voice shaking. “He’s so mad.”

“Sutton”—I take a step forward, but she takes another step back—“can we go to my place and figure this out?”

“What’s there to figure out, Roark?” She gestures toward her retreating dad. “He’s clearly angry.”

“He’s processing.”

She shakes her head. “That’s not processing, that’s seething.”

“Let’s just go back to my place—”

“Hey, she clearly doesn’t want to go anywhere with you.” My shoulder is pulled back, flinging me around to find John, once again. This wanker.

Taking a calming breath, I say, “If you were smart, you’d mind your own business.”

“If you were smart, you’d take a hint,” John replies, side-stepping me and taking Sutton’s hand in his. “Come with me.”

Sutton’s face says it all.

Help me.

“Drop her hand, now,” I say, giving him a fair warning.

Instead, the idiot weaves Sutton through the throng of people even as she says, “That’s my boyfriend.”

“If he is, he’s treating you like shit,” I hear him say before they move out of earshot.

I want to toss the motherfucker into the wall, but I can’t. It’s a grand restaurant, and I can’t afford to get into another fight. Even though a douche named John thinks he can play superhero. Where the hell did this guy come from?

So instead, I set my tumbler down on a high-top table and follow them . . . calmly. But when I round the corner to the hallway that leads to the bathrooms, all I see is red.

John has Sutton pressed up against the wall, trapping her as she tries to push him away, but he doesn’t budge.

Fuck. No.

This motherfucker has messed with the wrong person. No one takes my girl from me or traps her against her will. Fury. That’s where I’m at now.

“Get away,” I hear her screech, right before I rip the guy’s shoulder back and plow my fist right across his jaw.

He stumbles backward a few steps and blinks before he looks up at me and charges, bulldozing into my body and ramming me against the wall. He gets a few punches into my side before I knee him in the gut and get free of his grasp.

In the background, I hear the shrill cries of women as I charge after John, my fist connecting with his side right before his crosses my eye, sending a thrilling pain through my skull.

“Roark, stop,” Sutton yells.

I can’t stop. He had his hands on my girl. But before I can cock back my arm again, a pair of strong hands pulls me back by the collar of my shirt and pulls me through the entryway and into the streets where I’m thrust forward.

I turn to find Foster, standing boldly, hands on his hips, a look of fierce anger in his eyes. I’m still bristling with rage from what that motherfucker did to my girl. Sutton moves toward me, but before she can touch me, Foster gestures his arm to the side. “Get out of here, Roark.”

I catch my balance, leaning forward as blood drips from my nose to the ground. I swipe my hand across my face and look up at the man I respect more than any other male figure in my life. “Foster, it’s not like it seems.”