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With a snarky response readying itself on my tongue, I pause as I blankly stare at him. Of course he was only joking, so why did I have to go and get so defensive, as if he was actually insulting me? Suddenly, I feel like a bitch.
“Why don’t you just walk in with me? That way you don’t have to go in alone and if you want, you can stick by my side.”
He looks momentarily surprised by my offer. There’s a gentle crease between his brows as the warm summer wind blows through the courtyard, ruffling the brown locks of hair hanging over his forehead. It’s no secret that Beau is gorgeous in those fitted jeans and a tight polo shirt that shows off the impeccable shape of his muscled shoulders, but he knows how gorgeous he is and that’s what kills his appeal. If only he finished off the look with a touch of humility, he’d be a ten.
“Yeah, sure. Thanks,” he mumbles as he pushes away from the wall. “I’m not staying long anyway.”
Me either, I think, but I don’t say it out loud. I’m sort of hoping I can just slink out undetected.
With Emerson’s son on my right, I open the door to the party and walk inside.
Rule #9: Get into trouble as often as you can—trouble is half the fun.
Beau
Is it nine thirty yet? The clock is taunting me, moving slower than it should as I stand on the sidelines of the party with the remnants of a warm, half-empty beer in my hand. Every once in a while, I catch people looking at me, people I’ve never met, who probably heard about me through gossip or rumors. There’s a good chance half the people here just came to get a front-row seat to the biggest live-action soap opera story in Briar Point.
Millionaire club owner steals girl from his own son.
Well, that’s probably how they saw it. The details are irrelevant, like the fact that Charlie and I broke up months before she started banging my dad. They’ll soak up the scandalous stuff, though, like little drama sponges.
Did you hear Beau cheated on her, so to get back at him, she slept with his dad?
Did you hear Beau hasn’t had a serious relationship since?
No one wants to date the off-brand Emerson Grant.
“You all right?” Maggie asks, and I look up from the spot on the floor I was blankly staring at to avoid eye contact.
“No. This party is fucking boring.”
“No one is forcing you to be here,” she replies in that slightly sweet, bossy tone. It’s funny to me how someone so nice-looking can also be so strict and a little bitchy. Not that I don’t like Maggie. I find her fascinating, in a non-sexual, un-intimidating sort of way. I bet if she stopped dressing like a frumpy virgin and actually let her badass side out, she’d be pretty hot.
I am tempted to leave early, but it’s only eight, and I’d rather just kill time here because I’m sure as hell not going home, where I know my mother is waiting to talk massive amounts of shit about my dad and this whole engagement.
“I know that.”
Suddenly, we’re ambushed by a man in a tight blue suit, who approaches us with an inquisitive expression. I’m caught off guard, just staring at him as he smiles at Maggie.
“Fitz, I didn’t know you were here,” she says in a businessy tone, unlike the way she was just talking to me.
When she reaches out a hand, he shakes it, and I find my eyes trailing to the place where their palms touch. It’s a formal greeting, but something territorial in me stirs at the sight.
As they break their handshake, he reaches his hand toward me. “Is this your boyfriend?”
“What?” I snap, flinching. “No.”
Her firm grip latches onto the back of my arm like a claw as she composes her response much more politely than I did. “Actually, this is Emerson’s son, Beau Grant.”
His eyebrows rise upward in surprise as he surveys me, his eyes raking over my casual polo shirt and jeans, and I clench my jaw as he does.
“Beau, this is Xander Fitzgerald, the club’s attorney.”
“Please, call me Fitz.” His hand is still outstretched as he waits for me to shake it, but there’s just something about this guy I don’t like. I can see why he works with my dad. He looks just like him, but with more fashion sense and richer taste. Another guy with too much confidence and swagger who wants to make me look like a fool.
Maggie’s claws tighten, so I quickly reach out to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you,” I say through gritted teeth.
He smiles proudly as if he finds this amusing. “I see a lot of your dad in you,” he replies, and my eyes squint, refusing to show the faintest sign of interest in his opinion.
