I feel outraged on his behalf, and I want to march over and tell Jameson what just happened, but then I don’t want to stress him out. But maybe that’s exactly what Gabriel wants—an open war.
Shit . . . this is hectic.
From my place by the bar, I watch as person after person goes and strategically says hello to the Miles family at their table, as if wanting to be acknowledged by them. Tristan is all smiles and happy, and Jameson and his father are polite. It’s blatantly obvious to me that they are not at all seduced or fooled by the fake greetings and well wishes.
After the longest conversation in history, I make my way back to Jameson. I sit beside him, and he takes my hand in his and puts it on his thigh.
“Do you like these people here?” I whisper.
His eyes hold mine. “I like the peo
