Addicted to Mr Parks (The Parks Series #2)(106)

“My wife has told me so much about you. It’s a shame I had to hear it from her and not my own son.” Clinton shot a look towards Parks as he let my hand go.

“Yes, it is.” Parks glared at him as a warning, then ushered me to the dinner table and pulled out a chair for me to take a seat. I couldn’t help notice it was the chair furthest away from Clinton, who was sat as head.

Parks got seated next to me and soon after came along Jasmine and her partner Trent. He was a handsome man with black hair styled to perfection and sparkling, hazel eyes. He looked older than Jasmine but wealthy. I could see that a mile off. Harriet sat at my end of the table so I was nearest her. A waitress came around and first filled each glass that was placed at the table with water, then placed a jug of watermelon juice onto the table.

“Is Abigail not joining us?” Parks inquired.

Harriet shook her head, making the beautiful dangling pearls in her ears rock. “No, dear. She’s attending a piano lesson.”

“She’s getting good,” Clinton piped up. “Better than you were at her age.” It was a clear dig at Parks, and the way Parks balled his fists next to me told me it was something Clinton did often.

“Yeah?” Parks scoffed. “Three hours of piano lessons a night and that talent has no relevance in my life.”

Clinton’s nostrils flared. “It was a talent I brought out of you. Are you going to try and tell me that French, Italian, and Spanish classes didn’t help you, either? Everything I forced you and your sister to do as children has great relevance in your life. Don’t dare to undermine me.”

Forced? Parks was forced to do all those things as a child? I lifted my glass of water to my lips just to hide my confusion.

“Please, can we just have a nice family dinner? I haven’t had my son home in months, Clinton.” Harriet was almost begging, her voice timid and frail as she asked her husband nicely. It was a sure sign that Clinton wore the trousers in their relationship and Harriet did as she was told. Suddenly realizing it made me feel extremely uncomfortable and utterly sympathetic towards her. Clinton was coming across as self-centred, strict, and a controlling dickhead.

“He’s been working, Harriet. Where he should be. The less he’s home, the better.”

“Well,” Parks added, “that’s something we agree on.”

Jasmine’s eyes rolled back and forth from her parents to Parks. She was almost embarrassed, but I felt her pain. Even though I hated her.


“So, Evey.” Clinton clasped his hands together. “Tell me how you and my son met? I know I won’t acquire the information from Wade.”

“Neither will you get it from Evelyn.” Parks stopped my words coming out as he shut his father down. His mother shifted in her seat, but the smile on her face remained.

“Wade, you are so private,” Harriet went on, seeming to stick up for Clinton. “We are a family. You can share things with us.” She was pressing, and I felt bad because it seemed she so desperately tried with her son but got nothing from him.

Wade took a glass of watermelon juice to his lips. “We’re all private around here, Mother.”

Harriet tensed but uneasily kept that smile on her face. A smile I quickly got to know as fake. Putting up pretences. Keeping up appearances. For what?

When Clinton was served wine, I noticed Harriet’s chest rising and falling. Jasmine exchanged a glance with Parks, and he clenched his palm around his fork.

“Evey, Wine?” Clinton asked me while the server came towards me with the bottle resting across his forearm.

“Evelyn doesn’t drink,” Parks snapped, making the waiter retreat. Clinton glowered at his son, then turned his attention onto me.

“Oh, a lifestyle choice?”

Harriet’s full attention also seemed to be resting on my answer, but I played it down.

“I just don’t like it very much.”

“Nonsense.” Clinton waved his hand around dismissively. “We have the best wine growing here on this estate. Come, try some.” Clinton beckoned the waiter back with the wine. “Pour the lady a glass.”

“She doesn’t drink,” Parks yelled, banging his fists on the table, making the glasses clink.

All expressions fell, all except Clinton’s. His eyes were narrowed as he watched his son thoughtfully. “My apologies,” he said before taking a sip of his wine.

I caught Jasmine starting at her brother in a way that said, “calm down,” but Harriet seemed oblivious to her son’s outburst. Either that or she chose to ignore it to keep the peace.

“So what is it that you do, dear?” The question Harriet asked made me feel a little uncomfortable. I was dining with wealthy, high-profile, educated people. I really, deeply did not want to go into me.

“Evelyn works at my law firm in London alongside Clarke Muriel,” Parks answered for me, which I was both grateful for and pissed. Pissed because it seemed to be a diversion from me actually telling them I was just a simple assistant.

“You make it sound so glamorous. I’m just an assistant.” No, I never wanted to talk about me, but I wasn’t going to feel like I was too ashamed to tell them about my actual job. Ashamed was something of the past.

Clinton almost choked on his fine wine. Everyone could see he was starting to get rowdy and rude. It made me wonder if he was already drunk before the dinner party started.