Nick's POV
The sharp sound of his palm slamming the table echoed through the restaurant, snapping heads in our direction. A few forks froze mid-air, and the air thickened with the weight of curious stares. My chest tightened, but I didn't flinch. Not this time.
"Dammit, Nicholas," Dad growled, his voice carrying enough authority to make even strangers shrink. "I already gave you the position you wanted. The least you could do is show some gratitude—by making up with Sarah."
I set my glass down calmly; I had practiced more often than I thought I had. The harsh ocean and weather had honed me to be this way throughout the years that I was at sea.
Though my patience was running razor-thin. "Enough about Sarah. I don't like her, Dad. I never will. I thought we talked about this. You said you were fine with anyone."
