From Emmaline's experience, rich kids' parents always backed them up.
They always paid for their kid to get off scot-free and they always made things go their way instead of the just way.
She braced herself.
But Ashton remained firmly between Keegan and Emmaline.
He didn't even let go of Keegan.
"Good evening, Mr Kingsley," Ashton greeted politely, as if they had met on a walk in the park rather than in the dingy backroom of a bar.
Emmaline waited for the cry of outrage. The 'get your hands off my son!'. The 'Just what do you think you're doing?'.
Instead, Mr Kingsley's face morphed into a civil smile, "Mr Ashton Wright, to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Just thought I'd show Emmaline the view from here," Ashton glanced back at Emmaline.
Emmaline had no idea what was going on. Keegan's hand was still being crushed in Ashton's grip and she was still peeking out from behind Ashton.
