Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,38

to freak out when they mention my name or the blatant lies associated with me, telling myself they’ll say anything to get a response from him. My grip goes so tight on my iPhone, I worry I’ll create even more fissures in the ruined screen, but I can’t stop watching. I’m relieved when Chase doesn’t turn, doesn’t react at all to their invasive questions. He knows better than to give them what they want.

Well, I thought he did.

But then, he hears the next questions.

Should we expect an engagement?

Will there be a new Mrs. Croft anytime soon?

I’m pretty sure the reporter was trying to be funny, but Chase doesn’t seem to get the joke. As soon as those words leave the reporter’s mouth, Chase slams to a halt and despite the grainy quality, I see every muscle in his body go tense. He turns slowly to face the camera, and his face is set in stone — his expression harder, harsher than I’ve ever seen it. For a moment, he almost looks like he wants to kill the reporter who asked the question. Apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks so — the video bobs as the cameraman takes a hasty step backwards, away from Chase.

Something about those questions clearly struck a raw nerve.

But then, quicker than lightning, Chase’s lips twist up into the ghost of a smile — totally at odds with his eyes, which are still flat with anger. His voice is charming and more than a little condescending, when he speaks.

“Listen, boys, I’m gonna say this once, and then I’m never gonna address it again — mostly because there’s nothing to address. She seemed like a nice enough girl and she was in a tough spot at the game…” He shrugs, like he’s barely given it a thought. “I figured I’d help her out. But as for anything serious…” His smile turns wolfish. “Well, you boys know better than anyone, I’m not a one woman kind of man. Certainly not for an entire lifetime. Hell, sometimes not even for a single night, if you know what I mean.”

I feel my stomach clench and hug my blankets a little closer.

Everyone in America knows exactly what he means — according to Chrissy, he was photographed on more than one occasion going home for the night with multiple women hanging on his arm, back in his party-boy years.

“So, no relationship?” The reporter asks again. “Nothing’s going on with you two?”

“Less than nothing.” Chase grins full out — that heart-stopping, panty-dropping grin — and starts jogging backwards away from the camera. “And, for argument’s sake, let’s just say, if I ever am going to settle down… I doubt it will be with a girl like Gemma Summers.”

His words hit me like a bucket of ice water.

Done with the interview, he winks, turns, and jogs away down the path without another word. Seconds later, the video feed clicks off, and I’m left staring at the blank screen of my phone, feeling like an idiot of the highest order when tears start to prick at the back of my eyes.

Chase Croft is an asshole, jerk, buttfaced idiot.

But I’m an even bigger idiot for letting him get to me.

***

The answering machine beeps in my ear and I take a deep breath.

“Hi, Ms. Scarpozzi, it’s Gemma Summers from Point de Fuite. I’m just calling to let you know that I’ve finished drafting your paperwork. You’ll receive an invoice sometime within the next two business days. Once the wire transfer is complete, we’ll notify you, and then you can come pick up your new Lalanne. If you’re unable to pick it up, we offer delivery services for an additional fee. It was a pleasure working with you and your husband! Feel free to give me a call back if you have any questions, and thanks again for your business. Bye, now.”

I place the handset back in its cradle and file the Scarpozzi’s paperwork away in my desk drawer. The wealthy newlyweds uprooted to Boston a few months ago from suburban New Jersey, and came to the gallery with money to burn, determined to trade their cheetah-print for Chagall. I like them a lot, regardless of the fact that they’ve just earned me a commission big enough to pay my rent for the next month and put some much-needed cash flow back in my bank account. I also admire their attempt to reinvent themselves, even if I can’t fathom why anyone would want to join New England’s