18. Jon #2
“We’ve crossed paths.” I don’t elaborate that those paths involved pulling Julian out of a compromising situation in Monaco that would have embarrassed both his family and his firm. Client confidentiality still applies, even during uncomfortable dinner table conversations.
But Marcus’s mentioning of Julian is deliberately aggressive, sending a clear message as to who he considers worthy of dating his daughter.
“Julian is focused on his career.” Aria’s dismissal is polite but firm. “As am I.”
“One should never be too focused when advantageous connections are present.” Marcus signals for our main courses. “The Greaves family has considerable influence in circles that could benefit your—candle shop.”
The subtle diminishment in his tone when he mentions the shop doesn’t escape me. Nor does the implication that Julian Greaves represents a more suitable match for his daughter than a security specialist.
“The shop is doing quite well without those particular connections.” Aria’s smile carries a practiced brightness that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Our customer base grows every week.”
“Yes, your little boutique operation has its charm.” Marcus accepts his steak from the server with a regal nod. “But we’re discussing real growth now. Scale. Significance.”
“It’s already significant.” The words escape before I can filter them. “To the people who work there, and the customers who value what they create.”
Marcus studies me over the rim of his wineglass. “Significance is measured in impact, Mr. Knutt. A few hundred candles sold to local customers is— quaint . Millions sold nationwide is significant .”
“Different metrics for different values.” I cut into my steak, perfectly cooked but somehow less appetizing than it should be. “Not everything worth doing scales well.”
“An interesting philosophy.” Marcus’s tone suggests it’s anything but. “Is that Guardian HRS’s approach as well? Deliberately remaining small and—limited?”
The jab is precise, targeting both professional and personal goals. Aria once again tenses beside me, ready to intervene, but I touch her knee gently under the table.
“Guardian HRS is selective.” I meet his gaze directly. “Quality over quantity. Depth over breadth. It’s served us well, as you know.” I’m not letting this bastard diminish Guardian HRS, especially since he owes his daughter’s life to our rescue.
“I imagine it limits your earning potential considerably.” Marcus smiles, but there’s no warmth behind it.
The curve of his lips is all performance—his eyes stay flat.
It’s the kind of smile meant to disarm, not to connect.
“Security work is already a modest field, financially speaking. Deliberately constraining growth seems—unnecessarily restrictive.”
“Dad.” Aria’s voice now carries a sharp edge. “That’s enough.”
“It’s merely an observation, darling.” He turns his attention back to his meal. “I’m sure Mr. Knutt is quite comfortable with his choices.”
“Quite.” I maintain my composure, though something hot and defensive burns beneath it. “Some of us define success beyond balance sheets.”
“A luxury many can’t afford.” Marcus’s eyes flick up, something almost like respect flickering briefly.
“Or a priority many choose to make.” Aria’s quiet contribution lands with unexpected weight. “Like I have with the shop.”
A silent moment stretches between father and daughter—some private communication I’m not privy to. Marcus breaks it first, setting down his cutlery with precision.
“Which brings us back to the matter at hand.” His tone shifts to business mode, the personal attack apparently complete for now. “I’ve scheduled meetings with potential investors for next week. People who understand vision and scale.”
“You did what?” Aria’s fork stills midway to her mouth.
“Several key players in the luxury retail space,” Marcus continues as if her shock is merely a minor detail. “Miranda has prepared a comprehensive prospectus. With the right capital infusion, we could begin production expansion by quarter’s end.”
“Dad.” Aria sets down her fork carefully, her control visibly tenuous. “We haven’t agreed to any of this. Ember and I don’t want to expand beyond our current operation.”
“Discussions are well and good, darling, but opportunities have windows.” Marcus makes a dismissive gesture. “These particular investors won’t wait indefinitely.”
“Then they can invest elsewhere.” Aria’s voice gains strength. “This isn’t your decision to make.”
“I’ve invested considerable resources into your—project.”
Aria cuts her father off before he can finish.
Sharp. Controlled. Deadly calm.
“My resources,” she says. “Not yours. I used my investment. My money.”
Marcus’s expression shifts, just barely. No visible flinch, but his eyes turn cold and calculating. The man doesn’t like being corrected, especially not by his daughter.
He adjusts his cuff like he’s brushing off lint. “True. You provided the capital, but I’m contributing something far more valuable—my connections, my reputation, my name.” He lets it hang there like a noose. “That gives me a vested interest in seeing this venture succeed—properly.”
I lean back, every instinct on edge. The way he says “properly” makes my jaw tick. Not because he’s threatening her outright. He’s too polished for that. It’s the way he talks like she’s still some ambitious little girl playing CEO, and he’s humoring her. Letting her think she’s in control.
Aria’s hand tightens around her knife—not dramatic, not performative. Just firm. Deliberate. Her spine straightens. Shoulders squared.
“It is succeeding properly ,” she says, her voice like cut glass.
He smiles again, that thin, polished thing that doesn’t reach his eyes—doesn’t even try. “You always did have a rebellious streak. Just like your mother.”
Fucking hell.
Low blow. Deliberate. And he watches her like he’s gauging damage.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But I see the flicker—just a flash—in her eyes. The kind of pain that sharpens into fury when held too long.
I shift closer, just enough for my knee to brush hers under the table. Not to soothe. Not to pull her back.
To anchor her.
To remind her she’s not alone in this room with him.
She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t need to. Her fingers loosen on the blade. But she doesn’t let go.
Good.
Let him see that too.
The tension between them crackles, years of similar conflicts visible in the practiced way they square off. I remain silent, watching Marcus calculate his next move.
His phone buzzes discreetly. With a slight nod of apology that feels entirely perfunctory, he glances at the screen. Whatever he sees causes a momentary furrow in his brow before he masks it.
“Excuse me a moment.” He rises smoothly. “A matter that requires immediate attention.”
As he steps away toward the private dining room’s entrance, Aria exhales heavily, shoulders dropping slightly.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “He’s always like this, but tonight he’s especially…”
“Testing boundaries?” I offer, covering her hand with mine. “Marking his territory?”
A small, sad smile touches her lips. “That obvious?”
“Only to someone trained to read people.” I squeeze her hand gently. “You’re handling him well.”
“Years of practice.” She glances toward where Marcus stands near the door, engaged in an intense conversation on his phone. “God, I can’t believe he scheduled investor meetings without even telling me. Ember will?—”
My phone vibrates in my pocket. I withdraw it discreetly, expecting a check-in from Storm or Razor.
Instead, I see CJ’s name with a single message: Surveillance footage at the shop. Check now.