Page 177 of Ice Me Out

“Hart.”

“Vera.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Is it another gift for me?”

“Could be,” I said, swiping my keycard and opening the door for her.

She pointed at me. “You’re starting to play with my emotions, and I don’t like it.”

I smirked and followed her in. “You’re starting to get spoiled.”

“Spoiling me is literally your favorite pastime.”

No truer words were ever spoken.

We were halfway through the entrance when I noticed the man sitting near the concierge desk. At first, I barely registered him. He seemed like just another visitor waiting for someone. Then he lifted his head, and my entire fucking world stopped.

No… fucking way.

He was visibly older than the last time I’d seen him—thinner, too. His hair had gone mostly gray, and the deep lines tracking his face made him look far older than he was. None of that mattered because we still shared the same fucking face—same eyes, nose, and jawline.

Unfortunately, genetics didn’t give a shit about whether you didn’t want to resemble the person responsible for making your childhood miserable.

My grip tightened around Vera’s hand.

“Hart?”

I couldn’t answer. My brain was still processing the fact that my father was standing 100 feet away from me. Beyond that, all I could think about was what this would cost me.

Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? Fifty thousand?

He must have had some serious demands to come in person.

“Hey, Son.”

My stomach dropped, and my saliva thickened in my mouth, briefly preventing me from speaking.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I finally asked.

My father took a tentative step toward us, and I instinctively stepped back, dragging Vera with me.

“It’s good to see you, Hartford.”

I let out a humorless laugh.

“Are you fucking serious?”

He stopped.

“I didn’t mean to surprise you like this.”

“Surprise me? Is that what you’re calling this?”

“Hart, I just want to talk.”

“Then you should’ve called.”

“Thought you wouldn’t answer.”