Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“Ryder,” she said, surprise in her voice. “And, Alex, was it?” As though she hadn’t met him several times and heard countless stories about him by now.
I frowned, and he squeezed my hand. “Yes, that’s correct. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Calloway. Mr. Calloway, you’re looking well, sir.”
Ugh. I hated that my family brought out Alex’s stuffy, polite side. My boyfriend wasn’t polite. He was grumpy, gruff, and sexy as hell. But it wasn’t just him. Most people reacted this way to my stiff, noses-turned-up parents.
My father narrowed his eyes in disapproval but gave a well-mannered nod. “Alex, welcome.” His words were slow and stilted, but he’d gotten them out. Sometimes he still said the wrong word or couldn’t come up with one at all. It was the main reason he had yet to return to work in any capacity.
“Had we known you were bringing a friend, we’d have prepared him a cocktail,” my mother said as though she’d been the one to make their drinks.
“Not to worry, Mrs. Calloway.” Grace, one of the kitchen staff members, hurried in with two whiskeys on a tray. “We’re on top of it.”
“Ah. Well, please sit down, boys.” Her pinched expression failed to hide her dislike of Alex’s presence. Despite the ultra-conservative world my parents lived in, they’d never given me grief over being gay. I think they enjoyed it a little too much, as it gave them a cause to champion and a reason for people in their circle to talk.
Their problem stemmed from Alex living in a different social stratum than us. Though they’d yet to say it to my face, I knew they disapproved of my relationship with Alex. He didn’t give a shit about stock portfolios or social standing. He couldn’t name five luxury designers if you paid him, and he’d rather poke his eyes out than hobnob at the elite country club my parents belong to.
It didn’t matter if their son was in a same-sex relationship, but it sure as hell mattered if he was not in a same tax bracket relationship.
Alex and I accepted our drinks with thanks to Grace, who smiled and informed my parents that hors d’oeuvres would be served in a moment.
“Please ask the chef to hold off for a few moments, Grace. We have some things to discuss first. I’ll request food when we’re finished.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll relay the message.”
Guess we weren’t allowed to have snacks while engaging in awkward conversations.
As soon as Grace vanished, my father turned his attention to me. “How’s the prize?” he asked, then frowned. “Prize.” He shook his head. “Goddammit.”
“Prototype?” I supplied, earning me a glare for easily summoning a word my father couldn’t. The speech pathologist had called it expressive aphasia, which occurred as a direct result of the part of his brain affected by the stroke. At first, he couldn’t speak at all, which had been extremely difficult for my prideful father. Slowly, with much effort, he began to find his words, but he still struggled with them months later. The simplest way the speech therapist described the deficit to me was that he knew what he wanted to say, but the stroke disrupted the connection between his brain and his mouth. Sometimes he spoke an incorrect word, and sometimes he couldn’t get one out at all, though I’d say it had gotten about seventy-five percent better over the past few months.
“Yes,” he said, eyes shooting fire. I had no doubt he’d have blasted me for cutting him off if he could have.
I sighed. I was about to give him the worst possible news he could ever ask for, yet this somehow seemed as bad. “There are some challenges.”
“Challenges?” my mother asked before my father could attempt it.
I sipped my drink before nodding. If I thought the liquid courage would have made this shit show easier, I’d have tossed back the entire tumbler in one gulp. Alex sat beside me, a silent sentry giving me strength and support. “Yes. I won’t bother sugarcoating it. Testing is not going well.” I then plowed forward, reiterating everything Rachel and I had discussed, including the proposed budget increase and estimated time extension required to execute the necessary fixes.
“Fuck.” My father tossed back the rest of his whisky, slamming the drink on the end table beside him. The loud clank had my mother visibly jumping. “This wouldn’t have happened if I’d been there.”
Beside me, Alex stiffened. I risked a quick sideways glance at his face to find him scowling at my father. His fierce snarling-dog expression had me fighting a chuckle instead of absorbing the sting of my father’s words, which had flown out of his mouth without so much as a one-second delay. Knowing Alex had my back allowed my father’s disapproval to roll off me like water droplets on a windshield. If it weren’t for my protective boyfriend, I’d probably still be a messy heap on my office floor, and I certainly wouldn’t have the courage to say what I was about to say.