Tom's POV
He stopped halfway down, his gaze flicking to me. For a second, I froze, unsure whether to stand, wave, or bolt the hell out of there. Then he chuckled, deep and easy, the kind of laugh that filled the space and made it less suffocating. "You're still here? I thought I scared you off," he said, amusement tugging at his lips as he continued his descent.
My mouth went dry, and I fumbled for words, caught somewhere between wanting to defend myself and not daring to say anything that might piss him off. Imogen giggled softly beside me, the sound lightening the tension.
"He's braver than he looks, Dad," she teased, and I felt my ears burn.
Her father smirked, glancing at me again, his eyes sharp but not unkind. "Good. Kid's got a backbone then." He crossed the last step and moved toward the living room, his presence filling the space without even trying.
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. Maybe, just maybe, dinner wasn't going to be the death of me after all.
"Dad, Tom's joining us for dinner," Imogen said brightly as her father settled into the single-seat couch, looking every bit like the man in charge.
He nodded slightly, crossing one leg over the other. "Alright. Has Samuel finished preparing dinner?" he asked without glancing up from his phone.
"I don't know, I'll go check," she replied quickly, and before I could even open my mouth to ask her to stay, she was already halfway down the hall. Great. Just me and her dad. Alone.
The silence that followed was deafening. I could hear the faint hum of the air conditioning, the ticking of the clock on the far wall, and the sound of my own heartbeat hammering in my chest. Her dad finally looked up, studying me with the sharp, calculating gaze of a man used to reading people — politicians had that gift.
"So, Tom," he began, leaning back into the couch. "Is that short for something? Thomas? Timothy?"
I swallowed hard. "No, sir. It's just Tom."
He nodded, his expression unreadable. "Just Tom." There was a pause — a long, deliberate one — before he continued. "So you're a friend of my daughter's?"
"Yes, sir," I answered, keeping my tone polite but not too stiff.
He tilted his head, still observing me. "You don't seem like her usual friends," he said finally, his voice calm but carrying that weight of subtle judgment. "The few she's brought home before were… well, superficial young ladies. The kind who think being near her would somehow get me to approve their parents' business proposals." He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "And boys—well, she doesn't really bring any home."
That last part hit harder than I expected. I wasn't sure what to say, so I just nodded awkwardly. "Does she… uh… does she know? About them using her, I mean?"
He sighed quietly, rubbing his temple as though the thought genuinely bothered him. "No. And I'd like to keep it that way. She's got a good heart, and I don't want her losing faith in people because of opportunists."
I looked down, my fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of my jacket. For a second, I actually felt bad for her — for the way everyone around her seemed to treat her like a means to an end. But then again, wasn't she doing the same to me? Playing me as part of Tyler's bullshit plan? The thought made my chest tighten.
Her father's voice broke through my thoughts. "I'm glad she finally found a friend who seems… decent." He gave a small smile, though I wasn't sure if he meant it or if it was just polite diplomacy.
"Thank you, sir," I said, forcing a small smile back.
His gaze shifted to the oversized teddy bear beside me, and his lips twitched upward in amusement. "Nice teddy, by the way," he said, chuckling. "I take it she showed you the arcade?"
I let out a small laugh, scratching the back of my neck. "Yeah.."
He laughed lightly, the first genuine sound of humor I'd heard from him, and for a fleeting second, the tension eased. But behind that small laugh, I couldn't shake the thought — she had all this: wealth, safety, a caring father… yet she was tangled up with someone like Tyler. And she was playing me.
I smiled faintly, pretending to match his tone, but inside, I just felt a quiet mix of pity and frustration.