Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,98
say anything else and neither does he, as we ride slowly toward what will undoubtedly be a trying night. I just nestle closer, my head fitting perfectly in the crook of his neck, and absorb the heat of his skin, the clean smell of his aftershave.
And there in his arms, I find I’m not even a little upset that I’ve talked us out of a prime opportunity for backseat-of-a-limo sex – a bucket-list item if there ever was one. There, wrapped up in him, I’m totally, completely, 100% content.
***
I was wrong.
About the night being fine, that is.
Not that that’s anything new.
As soon as the limo pulls up to the curb — where, I kid you not, a legitimate red carpet has been rolled out — and Chase helps me out of the car, there’s an explosion of light and sound. Reporters are screaming, cameras are flashing, and I thank my lucky stars I’m not epileptic because, otherwise, I’d be on the ground seizing.
Chase!
Gemma!
Look this way!
Give us a smile!
Are you two officially together?
How about a kiss?
Chase squeezes my hand and heads for the entrance, his eyes on the doors and his stride never wavering. I do my best to adopt his I-couldn’t-give-fewer-fucks attitude, but it’s hard to be aloof when you’re trying your damnedest not to trip in high heels and keep your eyes from squinting against the bombardment of camera flashes.
When we reach the entrance, the doors open immediately, two uniformed attendants nodding in welcome. Chase’s grip tightens as we step over the threshold into a gorgeous atrium with a grand crystal chandelier, gleaming gold-veined floors, and about two hundred people, chatting and sipping cocktails, dressed in dark suits and formal black dresses.
Seriously, I’ve seen funerals with more color.
Waiters move through the room with lofted trays, conveying all manner of drinks and finger foods to the many guests in attendance. At the back of the atrium, there’s a large bar — thank god — and a huge set of double doors, leading into the main ballroom where dinner will take place.
“All right, sunshine.” Chase’s voice is low. “Let’s get this over with.”
“I didn’t think there’d be so many people,” I breathe, trying to calm my racing heartbeat as the collective weight of several hundred eyes turn to take in our arrival.
“Typical Jameson — never one to pass up a good opportunity for a party.” He tucks my hand into the crook of his arm as his eyes scan the room. He’s clearly looking for someone — someone I’d guess, by the tension in his frame, he doesn’t want to see.
Probably Brett. Or Vanessa. Or his uncle. Or some unknown enemy I have yet to hear about.
Great.
“So, what do we do now?”
“Mingle.” Chase says it like a curse word. “Otherwise known as kissing shareholders’ asses, schmoozing with potential new clients, and trying not to piss off any current ones.”
“And I suppose I’m just your silent arm candy for the evening while you swim with the sharks?”
My voice is teasing, but when his eyes cut to mine, they’re anything but.
“No.” He stares at me for a beat, totally serious. “You’re my fresh air when they try to drag me under. The only thing keeping me from drowning in this bullshit.”
Oh.
My heart clenches and my hand tightens on his arm. “Chase.”
His eyes go soft when I say his name, but only for a second. By the time he’s turned back to face the room, his body tensing like a soldier heading into battle, they’ve morphed back into shards of ice. I keep my hand on his arm as we walk into the room, pretending not to feel the eyes on us from all sides. Pretending it’s not weird that conversations hush as we drift into the fray. Pretending it doesn’t set my teeth on edge when the women examine me like a unfortunate wad of gum stuck to the bottom of their Manolos, while their men gaze at me like a piece of meat at the butcher shop, to be sized meticulously, consumed vigorously, and replaced easily.
I wasn’t built for this life. Never wanted it. The pretension, the posturing, the sheer ostentation — it holds no appeal for me. In fact, it makes me a little sick to my stomach.
But for Chase, I’ll grin politely, make small talk when necessary, and do my best to bear it. Because, at the end of this miserable night, I’m going home with him. And for that, I’d suffer through anything — even dinner with his family