Page 122 of Eight Count Heat
The table goes quiet. Even in this room full of wealth and influence, my family name carries weight. Gray catches my eye across the table, something between admiration and amusement flickering in his steel gray gaze.
"Of course," Harrison says, his tone warming considerably. "Your father and I have done business before. Excellent man. Very focused on traditional values."
The compliment carries an edge. He's testing whether I share those traditional values, whether I understand my place in the natural order his generation built.
"Father does appreciate structure," I agree diplomatically.
"As do we all," Helena adds, signaling the server for the next course. "Order creates stability. Stability creates success."
"Speaking of success," Katherine jumps in, her tone bright with false enthusiasm. "Gray tells us you're coxing for the men's team. How... progressive of you."
The word "progressive" drips with disdain, but she delivers it with a smile that could sell toothpaste. I've dealt with her type before. The kind of woman who destroys other women with carefully placed compliments and concerned observations.
"Actually," a new voice cuts in from the doorway, "I think it's brilliant."
Everyone turns as Victoria Lockwood enters, still wearing surgical scrubs under a wool coat. Gray's older sister moves with the confident stride of someone who saves lives for a living and has little patience for social games.
"Victoria," Helena says, clearly displeased. "You're late. And inappropriately dressed."
"Emergency surgery," Victoria replies without apology, settling into the empty chair beside me. "Some of us have real jobs."
The tension in the room ratchets up several notches. I can practically feel Katherine's relief at the distraction, her mother's disapproval, and the collective sigh from Gray's aunt and uncle at another family drama.
"Real jobs," Harrison repeats, the phrase carrying years of accumulated disappointment. "We've discussed this, Victoria. Medicine is fine for a hobby, but—"
"But nothing that might interfere with producing the next generation of Lockwood heirs," Victoria finishes dryly. She turns to me with genuine warmth. "So you're the woman who's got my little brother twisted in knots. I can see why."
"Victoria," Gray warns, but there's affection beneath the exasperation.
"What? He's been different ever since he started rowing with you. Lighter. Less rigid." She grins at me. "I could actually hear him laughing during our last phone conversation. First time in years."
"Thank you," I reply, genuinely touched by her easy acceptance. "Though I'm not sure I deserve credit for any positive changes in Gray's personality."
"Trust me, you do." Victoria accepts a plate from the server. "He actually smiled during our last phone conversation. First time in years."
Katherine's laugh tinkles like breaking glass. "How sweet. Though I have to say, it must be challenging coxing for eight male rowers. All those... competing energies."
The comment seems innocent, but there's poison underneath. She's implying something inappropriate about me being the only woman around eight men, trying to make me sound like some kind of distraction or worse.
"Actually, it's remarkably harmonious," I reply smoothly. "Elite athletes understand the importance of discipline and focus."
"Discipline," Katherine muses. "How important in any relationship, don't you think? Knowing one's proper place?"
Now we're getting to the heart of it. This isn't about rowing. It's about me knowing my place in Gray's life versus hers.
"I believe in earning your place," I say, meeting her gaze directly. "Rather than assuming it based on family expectations or social positioning."
The verbal slap lands perfectly. Katherine's smile never wavers, but her eyes flash with genuine anger.
"How refreshing," she says. "Though I suppose when one has been raised with certain... advantages... it can be easier to take risks others might not be able to afford."
"True," I agree easily. "Which is why I'm grateful my parents taught me that privilege without purpose is just waste. Money means nothing if you don't do something meaningful with your life."
Victoria barely contains her snort of laughter. "I like her even more."
"Indeed," Harrison says, but his tone suggests he's not entirely pleased with the direction of this conversation. "Though one might argue that family legacy is itself a form of purpose. Continuing traditions, maintaining connections, ensuring the next generation..."
"Absolutely," I reply. "As long as those traditions serve the people involved rather than trapping them in roles that don't fit."
