Page 44 of The Client
“There you are, son! I should have known to check the bar first, ha!”
“Rupert,” Rhys says coolly, giving him a nod.
“We’re back to that, are we?” The elder McConnell pushes past us to flag down the bartender. “Hope the scotch is drinkable, anyway.”
“Glenfiddich, and it’s excellent,” Rhys says.
“It’ll do,” his dad says, pointedly ignoring me.
Rhys downs the remainder of his scotch and leaves the glass on the bar. He puts his arm around me, intending for us to leave.
Five callous words stop us. “Having fun with your new toy?”
My breath hitches and my pulse picks up. I hate the insinuation in his words. As though I’m not even human. Suddenly feeling embarrassed and small, I look down to my shoes and silently beg Rhys to ignore his dad so we can walk away. As screwed up as my situation is, I’m so very grateful that I didn’t end up with Rupert McConnell. He’s not a good person.
I’m relieved when Rhys leads me away without engaging further.
“Don’t go too far, son,” his dad calls after him. “Don’t want you to miss the big announcement!”
I barely know the man next to me. It takes time to learn what makes someone tick and how they respond to situations, stress, joy. The weave of family dynamics and their mutual pasts isn’t something to be unraveled quickly. Yet, I’ve witnessed Rhys interact with his father enough to know how he’ll respond to that parting shot. His shoulders tense and a spark of fire flashes in his eyes. His lips press into a thin line, parentheses deepening on the sides of his mouth.
Without thinking, I lightly pat the back of his hand and then squeeze as if my unsolicited touch can be of any comfort. He stiffens more and I brace myself to be chastised. I think of the tea and tissues he left outside my door and wish I could reciprocate with something meaningful but surrounded by all these people in such a public place, the only comfort I can offer is subtle.
He looks to where I touch him, then meets my eyes and I feel the tension in his shoulders and arms release even before he snags a champagne flute from a passing server. We weave through the crowd, making our way over to the tables set up at the edge of the room.
“Rhys! Come sit with us!” A middle-aged man in a bespoke blue suit waives us to a table in the back.
His companions are an older woman in a sequined blazer, her dark hair pulled to the top of her head in a tight bun, and a bearded man with a short afro and glasses, who looks like a college professor in his tweed vest. I can’t tell if they’re a couple, but they appear to be enjoying the people watching from their table. Rhys seems eager to join them. Or maybe he’s just glad to have a chance to sit down and take a break.
Pulling a chair out for me first, he introduces me to Ariadne Lyle, another one of the company’s board members, and her husband Gordon, who actually is a professor at Northwestern. They quickly immerse themselves in conversation, leaving me to sip my champagne and admire the many designer gowns I see floating by.
“I hear congratulations are in order.” Gordon slaps Rhys on the shoulder.
There’s a pause that draws my attention.
“For?”
“Celine.” Gordon says with a flourish. He pauses, then his brow furrows. He doesn’t elaborate as a look of realization and disdain crosses his face. “Oh, wait. I’m sorry. Never mind. I’m mistaken.”
Rhys puts one hand on the table. “Too late. Congratulations for what?”
“Gordon! Now you’ve put your foot in it!” Ariadne scolds.
He looks at both of us, spreads his hands in defeat and lowers his voice.
“I’m sorry, Rhys, I thought you knew. Your dad’s been talking about it all night. He’s going to make an official announcement, but Jesus, he’s already told everyone else.”
“I just arrived. Told me what?” Rhys says.
More silence, which quickly becomes even more awkward.
“Gordon, it’s not your place…” his wife says warningly.
His brow furrows. “Why don’t we just forget I said anything? You’ll find out soon enough, anyway.”
Rhys leans closer. “No. Tell me. I’d prefer not to be blindsided by another one of my father’s big public announcements.”
“Oh.” Gordon clears his throat, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else. “Well, Celine… she’s, well, she’s expecting. You’re going to be a big brother, as odd as that sounds I suppose, at this age.”
