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“I’ll go. I need to stretch my legs.” He gives me a conspiratorial wink. He takes my glass and heads over to the bar. It’s at this time the waiters decide to deliver our next course. I wait for Chase to return with our drinks before I start to nibble at my salad.
I look around at all of the extravagance. All of these people with their glamorous gowns and expensive suits. I certainly don’t fit in with this crowd. I feel out of place, even more so than when we went to Bobby Vans. I feel Chase behind me before I can see him. He puts my glass down in front of me.
“Thanks,” I breathe looking up at him.
“Anything for you,” he whispers darkly. He sits down and starts to pick at his salad.
Without me noticing, he slides one hand over to my thigh and strokes the inside of my leg through the slit in my dress. I gasp and shoot him a glare. He has a wicked smile on his lips. I reach for my champagne and practically inhale it.
“My, aren’t we thirsty,” he teases. He knows what he’s doing, the bastard. Taking his hand off my thigh, he stands up. “Let’s take a walk.”
“Sure,” I murmur. He pulls out my chair, takes my hand, and we head toward the bar.
Chase stops to talk to several people on the way, never letting go of my hand. Once at the crowded bar, Chase hands my glass as well as his own to the bartender, who comes to our aid right away with a fresh glass and a full bottle of Clicquot. He opens the bottle with a flourish and fills my flute. He brings Chase a glass of single malt scotch. Chase whispers something to the bartender. Nodding, the bartender finds a champagne bucket. Filling it with ice, he places the bottle of champagne in the bucket and on the bar off to the side just close enough for Chase to reach it if he desired.
“I thought we’d stay here for a bit, if you don’t mind,” he says.
“No, not at all.”
“My stepmother and I don’t get along.”
“She doesn’t seem so bad.” I try for the polite route.
He looks at me. “She’s a bitch, nothing but a fake money hungry whore.”
Wow.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I moved out when she moved in a few years ago. I only see her at parties.”
“Does your dad know how you feel?”
“Yes. He says I’m overreacting but respects my opinion.”
I sip on my champagne. “My mom is still mourning the death of my dad. I couldn’t imagine dealing with a step parent that I couldn’t stand.” That would be horrible.
“Tiffani is on her third marriage. My father doesn’t see what’s right in front of him I guess.”
“What happened to the other two?” I ponder aloud.
“She divorced them, acquired half of their worth.” He frowns into his glass.
“I see,” is all I can manage to say.
“At least my father isn’t as imbecilic as the other two. He made her sign a prenup.” He finishes his glass and waves the bartender over. Chase reaches for the champagne bottle and tops off my glass while he waits for his scotch.
“So why don’t you get along with your stepmother?” I regret asking as soon as the words come out of my mouth.
“My parents weren’t getting along well toward the end of their marriage. I don’t want to say that Tiffani was the antagonist, but she was around before the ink was dry on their divorce papers.” His tone is bitter.
I reach for my glass and take another large sip. “Where are you living if you aren’t living with your dad?”
“I have an apartment here in Manhattan close to the office.”
“Do you see your mom often?”
“She lives in the same building as I do. I stop by quite often. She’d like you,” he adds with a smile. “Did I tell you how fantastic you look in that dress?” he purrs, stroking a finger down my cheek. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s trying to change the subject. Clever boy.
