Genevieve walked beside her father, Ryan, as the elevator doors slid open. The mirrored walls reflected their image— her neat blouse tucked into her skirt, his grey suit crisp and sharp, like a man who always had the final say.
As the doors shut with a dull chime, Genevieve turned to him. Her brow was raised.
"I thought you said you wanted to talk to me. Why didn't you say anything in the car?"
Ryan didn't look at her. He was staring straight ahead at the glowing floor numbers above the doors.
"Because it's private," he said coolly. "I didn't want the driver to hear."
A cold feeling crawled up her spine at his tone. She pressed her arms against her sides. "Private… like what?"
Ryan turned his head, his voice calm but serious. "I want Pete to marry Abigail."
Genevieve's heart dropped. Her brows pulled together as she frowned. "What?" she asked. "Why would you want that?"
