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Earlier today, I was tempted to give in to my sexual attraction for Jason, but now I’m glad I didn’t. At this point, I need his friendship more than one afternoon or night of pleasure.
Chapter four
Jason
December
A Carlson Christmas Gala
Rolling back the sleeve of my jacket, I check my Rolex and smile with the knowledge that, for once, I’m arriving at the Carlson Christmas Charity Gala on time. The advantage of going solo this year. I hate being late for anything, especially when it’s due to someone else’s poor time management and not my own. Generally, I’m pretty easygoing, but lateness has always been one of my personal triggers.
A young waitress offers me a glass of champagne from the gold-embossed serving tray, and from the way she pushes out her chest, then flutters her lashes, I get the feeling chilled champagne may not be all that’s on offer. I take a glass, politely thank her, and walk away. I might be single now, but it’s been years since I entertained the idea of a night with someone who looks to have just turned twenty-one, twenty-two at most.
With a quick glance around the small number of early arrivals, I easily spot my father speaking with Hunter and his girlfriend, Trudy. They’ve been dating for nearly a year, and I’m grateful for the calming influence she seems to have had on him.
Hunter’s father is my father’s younger brother, and together they have grown Carlson Publishing from the original small family enterprise started in the 1930s into the formidable Fortune 500 company it is today. With both men now retired but retaining seats on the board, the reins have been passed on to the next generation: Hunter, his younger siblings, and myself. And if this last year is anything to go by, our ambitious global expansion plan will make the company even more successful.
After greeting my father with an affectionate hug, I then turn to Trudy and Hunter. Our families are tight, which is a good thing, given how closely we all work together.
“You all set to be auctioned off like you’re the prize bull at the State Fair?” Hunter asks, a grin stretching his mouth wide. Officially, he’s my boss, but at family functions like tonight, he’s my annoying older cousin.
As the only remaining Carlson bachelor this year, it’s my turn to be the Dinner with a Bachelor silent auction prize. I’m not sure who first came up with this idea of raising money, but it’s turned out to be very successful. Hunter, as the oldest, was the first bachelor, then Blake. Last year it was meant to be my turn, but I was sick, so Logan had to step in at the last minute. He wasn’t happy about it, whereas I don’t mind. I guess putting myself out there has never really been an issue for me, which is why I went into marketing. I could sell ice to Alaska.
“You’re worried the ladies will bid more for me than they did for you,” I joke. Trudy snickers beside him. And when he frowns down at her, she laughs louder. She’s certainly good at keeping him grounded.
“I’m here for the ladies.” I spread my arms wide. “Let them fight over this and raise a shit load of money for sick kids.”
Hunter gives me a friendly slap on the back. “Sure, Jase. But will you beat Logan’s price last year?”
“Logan cheated, using Allie as a front for him bidding on himself.”
Hunter laughs. “True, but the facts remain. Out of all of us, he raised the most money.”
“Hmph. Maybe I need to get networking. You know I hate losing as much as you do. Point me in the direction of the rich single ladies.”
My dad slings his arm across my shoulders, a habit he hasn’t broken since my childhood, even though we’re now the same height. “You should start with Mrs. Carrington, a widow with plenty of cash and heart to give to a good cause.”
I follow the direction of his gaze to the octogenarian lady making her way to her table, carefully dodging people and chairs.
“I’m on it.” I place my empty champagne glass on a passing tray and collect two fresh ones, then weave my way through the tables to where Mrs. Carrington has just sat down.
Sadly, it only takes me five minutes of chatting to discover that Mrs. Carrington already has herself a young man. What I really mean is a younger man, as he’s in his sixties and wealthy in his own right. I wouldn’t want to intrude on another man’s date. I learned that lesson the hard way with Dana, and it was a whole week before she forgave me. So I leave the sweet couple with the champagne and wander back to the bar, ordering a whiskey instead of collecting another glass of champagne for myself.
Leaning back against the solid wood edge, I take a sip, and with the golden liquid still burning a path down my throat, I check my Rolex again. Dana should be here any moment. I could set my watch by her. It’s one of the many reasons we get along so well. She’s even more fastidious about being on time than I am.
I glance toward the ballroom’s main entrance, hoping to see her arrive just, as someone slides into the space beside me. “Well, if it isn’t Jason Carlson, our bachelor for tonight’s silent auction.”
Instinctively, my shoulders tense at the high-pitched voice coming from the woman now invading my personal space. The brittle tone is as pleasant as a squeaky hinge on an old rusty gate.
Fuck. Chantelle Carmody, the well-known socialite who has been trying for years to get her hooks into a Carlson man.
I pick up my glass, my fingers holding it so tightly it’s any wonder it doesn’t shatter in my fist. I take a sip, then turn to face her. I’m well aware of the kind of woman she is, but I’ve been brought up to be polite even when every cell in my body is fighting against it.
Chantelle leans even further into me, and I angle my body away. Not deterred, she presses her breasts up against my arm and places her hand on my sleeve. I stand my ground, though everything in me wants to recoil from her touch and cloying perfume. I don’t care how expensive a perfume is, when it’s on the wrong woman, it smells disgusting.
I don’t look at her, preferring to glance around the room instead. Lucky for me, that’s the moment Dana walks in the door. She looks gorgeous tonight—not that she doesn’t usually—and I focus my gaze on her, smiling instinctively.
Chantelle clears her throat, demanding my attention. Reluctantly, I peel my eyes from Dana and glance down at where Chantelle’s hand is still clinging to my jacket. Her long, blood-red nails looking more like the lethal talons of an apex predator. I hold back a shudder. It’s time I was bluntly honest with this horrible woman who I want nothing to do with. Even I, the eternal bachelor bad boy, have some standards.
