One to Chase - Tia Louise Page 0,62
town car. We’re waiting in the car-line slowly moving up the pier to be dropped off at the red-carpeted entrance. “All the women looked like movie stars.”
“I’m sure that’s the idea, having a red-carpet entry.” I’ve always avoided being photographed at these events. It’s silly and self-indulgent, considering none of us are celebrities. Tonight, I’ll break with tradition and hopefully be done with this farce.
Glancing across the car, my date’s full-length, ocean-blue dress ripples around her in waves. The top twists in the center and drapes over her slim shoulders like a toga, and her hair is gathered up loosely at the back of her head. A gold-studded headband is woven through it and the length spirals down over one shoulder.
“You look like a goddess,” I say with a genuine smile. “You’ll fit right in, regardless of your backstory.”
“It’s hard to believe I’m here.” Her voice has changed. It’s serious, with a touch of wistful. She blinks rapidly and looks down at her lap. “Thank you for what you’ve done for me. I’m sorry I had to drag you down to my level.”
I reach across the space and clasp her hand. “Don’t say that.” My voice is a low command, and she blinks up to my eyes. “Nothing makes these people better than you. They just started closer to the goal line.”
I’ve thought a lot over the last week about why I agreed to help Paige. I’ve realized a big part is tied to the way I failed Elaine. I basically raised my little sister, and when the time came for her to spread her wings and fly, I stood by as Edward took out the scissors and clipped them.
Returning to Paige, I try to explain. “Business, society, all of it is pretty shitty to women, especially poor ones. You did what you had to do to make a living.”
“A pretty good one, actually.” She laughs and looks down at her nails. “Don’t underestimate the adult entertainment business. I paid cash for my very first car.”
“I’m sure.”
Hesitant blue eyes hold mine. “So many of the girls couldn’t handle it. They’d get hooked on drugs or stay with abusive men. They believed the worst about themselves. That we were all worthless sluts.”
“You didn’t.” It’s as much of a question as a statement of fact.
“I didn’t sleep around.” Her brow lines as she tries to explain. “I danced. I did lap dances and gave the occasional blowjob, but I never slept around. I danced because it was all I had.” She pauses for a brief laugh. “And I made a lot of money doing it.”
“You were fucking amazing.”
Her cheeks pink and she looks away, out the window. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to remember you.”
I laugh and lean back in my seat. “I’m a popular guy. I get invited to things.”
Her eyes meet mine. “Still, you were different. You didn’t look at me like I was a piece of meat. It’s why I came to you in the first place.”
Traveling too far down this road isn’t a good idea, so I try to steer us back to the point. “You’ll get through this transition, and you’ll do very well. You’ll be the finest blueblood of all the old bitches one day.”
Her nose wrinkles in a cute way, and our car is finally at the entrance. It stops and the doors open, but before she steps out, she holds my arm. “Why?”
I don’t hesitate. “Because of how you survived.”
* * *
Amy
The grand ballroom of the Navy Pier glitters like an undersea concert hall. Gold lights line the beams leading to the top of the dome, and the white-tiled ceiling is lit up in ocean blue and green. On the floor below, round tables holding elaborate, flowing centerpieces are arranged in sections leaving the wooden dance floor open in the middle. Long tables covered in white cloth are decked out with hors d’oeuvres, desserts, and beverage stations.
Corinthian columns and natural vines are arranged near the exterior walls, and tulle hangs in curves and flows around the tables and chairs. Clearly the theme is Ancient Greece. I didn’t even check the invitation. I never cared about events like this growing up. They’re nothing more than an opportunity for people like Karen and her entourage to go on record as being so deeply humanitarian. We walk in on a red carpet as if we’re celebrities and have our photographs splashed all over the Sunday society page.
Armand is impressed by the spectacle, as he should