Page 30 of Pucking Never
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says. “I need to take this. It was nice to meet you.”
“You too,” I reply but she has already turned from me and is walking away.
I watch her go, completely baffled by the interaction.
Who was she looking for? And why did it feel like it mattered so much? Shaking my head, I turn back to the ice, refocusing my attention on Carson and his fellow goalies. My lens hones in on Carson as he cradles a puck with his glove, a demonstration of precision and skill. I refocus my camera and soon enough, the mysterious blonde is pushed out of my thoughts.
Chapter Fifteen
JENSEN
I pull up to Enclave Steak House and park in front of the valet’s stand. For a moment, I hesitate about getting out. I briefly consider just driving off and ignoring my father’s summons.
When the valet knocks on my window, I’m snapped back to reality, and I know there’s no option to leave. Dad will just hound me until I give in and meet with him anyway. And as much as I hate to admit it, there’s a part of me deep, deep down that still wants his approval and attention. I hate that fact so much, but I know it’s there. Sighing, I open my car’s door and step out before handing my keys to the valet and heading into the restaurant.
Enclave Steak House is as extravagant as always. Low golden lights illuminate the polished cherry wood that makes up the bar and tastefully decorated tables adorned with crisp, white cloths. Piano music flows quietly through the space, softening the muffled chatter of well-dressed diners. The hostess, a young woman in a simple black dress, is already looking my way. "Mr. Reece," she greets me. "Your father is expecting you. This way."
I follow her through the restaurant, weaving around tables until we reach a more private area towards the back where my father likes to hold court. As we approach our destination, I spot him.
My father sits at a round table near the corner, scotch in hand and eyes focused on another figure sitting across from him. It’s a woman with long blonde hair. I frown, confused, and instantly suspicious. The hostess gives me an apologetic smile before retreating, leaving me to navigate this conversation alone.
"Hi, Dad," I greet him cautiously as I take the vacant seat opposite him and directly next to the blonde. She turns to me and smiles, her green eyes flashing with a familiarity that baffles me.
My dad slowly turns his eyes to me. His gaze is sharp and calculating. Cold. It feels like he’s already frustrated with me and I just got here.
"You're late," he comments simply.
"Sorry, Dad. I had a brand meeting that ran long."
"I don't care," he retorts, his gaze never wavering. "You're late, and that's disrespectful."
I clench my jaw, struggling not to voice my indignation. If there's one thing I've learned from dealing with my father, it's that arguing doesn’t get me anywhere. Instead, I turn my attention toward the blonde.
"Camille," she introduces herself as if reading my thoughts. Something flickers in her eyes, an emotion I can’t quite decipher.
“Jensen,” I reply, holding out my hand to her. She takes it and we shake. When she lets me go, though, she draws her fingers slowly down mine. The gesture is unexpected and too intimate. I pull my hand away and clench it into a fist before resting it on the table.
“Camille is the daughter of one of my colleagues,” my dad says, as if that explains why she’s here tonight.
"And who might that be?" I question, my eyes narrowing slightly as I glance between my father and Camille.
"Edward Chamberlain," she responds, her tone casual as she sips her wine. "Do you know him?"
Of course I do. He's a major player in the business world. Like my father, Chamberlain is known for his ruthless tactics.
"And why are you here?" I inquire further, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
"I invited her," my father replies matter-of-factly before Camille can answer. He swishes the drink in his glass, the ice clinking against the crystal, and gazes up at me with a cool but expectant expression. His mouth is a thin line and his eyes glint like steel. It’s like he’s been carved from a hunk of ice and there’s no warmth in him whatsoever. "I thought you should meet."
"Why?" I blurt out. The question hangs in the air and even the pianist seems to hit a wrong note.
My father finally looks at me directly, his cool gaze boring into mine. "Because it's important that you know her. She can connect you with the right people to secure your future once you’re done with this… hockey nonsense."
Hockey nonsense? I grit my teeth and try to push down my spike of anger. I can’t help the wave of disappointment that crashes through me, though. Nothing has changed.
“Dad, I’ve already told you, I’m not?—”
The waiter suddenly appears to take our orders, oblivious to the rising tension at our table. My dad smiles at the waiter and is a proper gentleman, a sharp contrast to the asshole he was being to me moments ago. We order our meals and once the waiter leaves, I turn my attention back to my dad.