the first time.
All that money concentrated in one place, doing nothing except showing how much of it you could throw around on pointless stuff. She wondered what one of Aiden's charities could do with the funds it took to restore a decrepit old building like this.
Bradley led them through a set of fresh mahogany doors which let into an opulent dining room, its walls consisting of more mahogany, giving the place a warm feel. A few of those Art Deco sconces spilled light up towards the ceiling, drawing the eye to a chandelier that again reminded Gwen of that party.
A single circular table occupied the space in the center of the floor, a crisp white tablecloth hanging from it almost to the floor. Three chairs waited for them.
"Thanks," Gwen said as Aiden pulled her chair out for her and sat her down. Bradley watched dispassionately.
"I just hired this chef from Paris. He came highly recommended; I'm sure you'll enjoy the food," Bradley said.
But no sooner had the food (succulent medallion steaks that had Gwen's mouth watering) arrived then Bradley began his interrogation.
The man would have made an excellent detective. Gwen's five-star steak grew cold on her plate as Bradley fired question after question at them. He really did suspect something, she knew.
She also knew that Aiden probably set up this whole relationship for his father's benefit, which in turn led to the question of what Bradley held over his son's head to make him go to these lengths.
"So tell me, how did you meet?" Bradley said. He hadn't even looked down at his food when the white-jacketed waiter set it down in front of him.
"Astor's party. Gwen couldn't find the washroom," Aiden said.
"So she found you instead, then," Bradley replied.
Gwen actually felt her mouth drop open a little at that. She'd been trying to maintain that same sweet smile from before, but the dregs of her small triumph in the limo quickly drained. Does Bradley actually hate his son or something? The man was impossible to read.
The questions dragged on forever. Gwen discovered that, while the chair she sat in looked ornate and expensive, it sacrificed comfort for fashion. Or it could have simply been that every muscle in her had been clenched solid for the last hour, trying in vain to shield her from Bradley's assault. She wondered what time it was, but didn't dare try to find out.
And then finally came the last question. Bradley had been saving it, judging by the way he paused before putting it to them.
He dabbed at his lips with the cloth napkin despite not having taken a single bite of his food. He pushed the plate out of the way and planted his elbows firmly on the table, his left hand encircling the right. He stared out at them from over this doubled fist.
"So how long are you going to keep this charade up, anyway?"
Coldness filled Gwen's chest and stomach, so sudden and sharp that she couldn't at first breathe. He knows!
Terrible thoughts flashed through her mind. She'd known this wasn't going to work. Aiden was going to cancel the check. She was going to lose her apartment. I'm going to have to move back in with one of my parents...
"What are you talking about?" Aiden said.
Another electrical storm started over the table.
Bradley waved his hand at the two of them, "This," he said, "Whatever this is. Did you really think this would fool me, boy?"
"I know you think you're this great judge of character, Bradley, but you're dead wrong here. This is real," Aiden said.
But Bradley ignored Aiden, at least for the moment, looking instead over his hands at Gwen. "Tell me now, Gwen, are you an escort?"
"Excuse me?" Gwen said, grateful for the heat of self-righteous anger as it flooded her chest.
Bradley shook his head in disappointment. "Is my son paying for your services? Because if he is, I could have recommended a few women better suited to the role..." He examined her openly, his eyes appraising. And apparently not approving of what they found.
Gwen's cheeks grew
All that money concentrated in one place, doing nothing except showing how much of it you could throw around on pointless stuff. She wondered what one of Aiden's charities could do with the funds it took to restore a decrepit old building like this.
Bradley led them through a set of fresh mahogany doors which let into an opulent dining room, its walls consisting of more mahogany, giving the place a warm feel. A few of those Art Deco sconces spilled light up towards the ceiling, drawing the eye to a chandelier that again reminded Gwen of that party.
A single circular table occupied the space in the center of the floor, a crisp white tablecloth hanging from it almost to the floor. Three chairs waited for them.
"Thanks," Gwen said as Aiden pulled her chair out for her and sat her down. Bradley watched dispassionately.
"I just hired this chef from Paris. He came highly recommended; I'm sure you'll enjoy the food," Bradley said.
But no sooner had the food (succulent medallion steaks that had Gwen's mouth watering) arrived then Bradley began his interrogation.
The man would have made an excellent detective. Gwen's five-star steak grew cold on her plate as Bradley fired question after question at them. He really did suspect something, she knew.
She also knew that Aiden probably set up this whole relationship for his father's benefit, which in turn led to the question of what Bradley held over his son's head to make him go to these lengths.
"So tell me, how did you meet?" Bradley said. He hadn't even looked down at his food when the white-jacketed waiter set it down in front of him.
"Astor's party. Gwen couldn't find the washroom," Aiden said.
"So she found you instead, then," Bradley replied.
Gwen actually felt her mouth drop open a little at that. She'd been trying to maintain that same sweet smile from before, but the dregs of her small triumph in the limo quickly drained. Does Bradley actually hate his son or something? The man was impossible to read.
The questions dragged on forever. Gwen discovered that, while the chair she sat in looked ornate and expensive, it sacrificed comfort for fashion. Or it could have simply been that every muscle in her had been clenched solid for the last hour, trying in vain to shield her from Bradley's assault. She wondered what time it was, but didn't dare try to find out.
And then finally came the last question. Bradley had been saving it, judging by the way he paused before putting it to them.
He dabbed at his lips with the cloth napkin despite not having taken a single bite of his food. He pushed the plate out of the way and planted his elbows firmly on the table, his left hand encircling the right. He stared out at them from over this doubled fist.
"So how long are you going to keep this charade up, anyway?"
Coldness filled Gwen's chest and stomach, so sudden and sharp that she couldn't at first breathe. He knows!
Terrible thoughts flashed through her mind. She'd known this wasn't going to work. Aiden was going to cancel the check. She was going to lose her apartment. I'm going to have to move back in with one of my parents...
"What are you talking about?" Aiden said.
Another electrical storm started over the table.
Bradley waved his hand at the two of them, "This," he said, "Whatever this is. Did you really think this would fool me, boy?"
"I know you think you're this great judge of character, Bradley, but you're dead wrong here. This is real," Aiden said.
But Bradley ignored Aiden, at least for the moment, looking instead over his hands at Gwen. "Tell me now, Gwen, are you an escort?"
"Excuse me?" Gwen said, grateful for the heat of self-righteous anger as it flooded her chest.
Bradley shook his head in disappointment. "Is my son paying for your services? Because if he is, I could have recommended a few women better suited to the role..." He examined her openly, his eyes appraising. And apparently not approving of what they found.
Gwen's cheeks grew
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