Not You It's Me

by Julie Johnson

  “Nonsense.” She waves my words away. “It’s just sitting in my closet, collecting dust. And, girl, a Simon Gilbert dress should not be collecting dust. Ever. That dress deserves a night out on the town.”

  “Well, if you’re sure…” I grin, unabashedly pleased that I don’t have to wear one of the other dresses she’s brought along. As soon as she zipped me into this one, I knew it was perfect.

  Shelby snorts in amusement. “Do you want jewelry, too? I brought some nice pieces…”

  “No.” I reach beneath my neckline and pull out the gold sun pendant, so it hangs over the front of the dress. “I’ll wear this. I have a feeling I’ll need whatever lucky juju I can get, tonight.”

  Shelby stares at the necklace for a minute, then nods. “It looks perfect, actually. Whimsical.”

  “Cool.” I grin. “But Shelbs, I think you’re forgetting something.”

  “Impossible. I’m like a rhino. I never forget.”

  “An elephant.”

  “Did you just call me an elephant?”

  I roll my eyes. “No, idiot. The expression — it’s an elephant never forgets, not a rhino never forgets.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s a rhino.”

  “It’s not.”

  “Well, I like my version better.” She shrugs. “Animals aside, I didn’t forget anything.”

  “Beg to differ.” I narrow my eyes at her. “I need underwear, genius.”

  “Oh, that.” She makes a pffft noise with her lips. “You aren’t wearing any.”

  “I know, that’s the problem.”

  “No, I mean you aren’t wearing any tonight. Not with this dress, anyway.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Gemma.” Her hands land on my shoulders and she looks deeply into my eyes. “You are not wearing granny panties with a Simon Gilbert design. Underwear lines in this dress would be a crime against humanity.”

  After five years of being Shelby’s best friend, I’ve learned to recognize the battles I’m never going to win.

  This is one of them.

  “Fine,” I mutter darkly. “But I’ll have you know, I like my granny panties just fine, thank you very much.”

  Ignoring me, she reaches into her purse, pulls out her phone, and gestures for me to turn in a circle. “Do a spin for me, I want to see the dress move.”

  Eyes on her phone, I raise one brow in question.

  “Oh, fine.” She sighs. “Chrissy threatened to kill me if I didn’t send her a video of the 360 degree finished product. She’s mad enough she can’t be here in person — if I don’t do this, she’ll probably murder us.”

  “Mad as in angry or mad as in crazy?”

  “A little of both.” She shrugs. “Now spin!”

  “Fine, fine.”

  I do as she says, pivoting in slow circles, catching my own eyes in the mirror each time I come back around. Even after she’s finished filming, I keep spinning, until I’m dizzy and breathless with laughter, twirling around the room like a little kid. I can hear Shelby screeching about wrinkles and torn hemlines, but right then, in that instant, I’m too happy to listen.

  When two warm, callused hands close over my bare arms, I jolt to a sudden stop. For a few seconds, the world continues to spin around me — if not for the steadying grip at my biceps, I’d fall on my ass in a swirl of silk. I’m still laughing when the dizziness fades and I finally meet Chase’s eyes.

  “Hey,” he whispers, leaning in to brush his lips against mine.

  “Hey yourself,” I whisper back, my eyes dropping to take in the sight of him. He looks incredible in a tailored black tuxedo.

  “You look beautiful.” His eyes are warm as they sweep appreciatively down my frame. “That dress was made for you.”

  “Actually, it’s Shelby’s,” I blurt stupidly. “And you look beautiful, too.”

  He grins.

  “Handsome!” A blush heats my cheeks. “I mean you look handsome.”

  “Thanks, sunshine.”

  I hear a forced cough from behind me. “Introduce me.” Shelby coughs again, louder this time. “Anytime, now.”

  “Oh! Sorry.” My blush gets redder as I turn to face my friend. “Chase, this is Shelby. Shelby, Chase.”

  They shake hands politely, and I notice Shelby’s eyes have practically glazed over as she stares at the man beside me.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice deep.

  “You too,” Shelby breathes. “I’ve heard all about you.”

  Chase glances at me, eyebrows raised. “Oh, really?”

  Shelby nods. “Gemma tells me everything.”

  “Not everything,” I mutter.

  Chase chuckles, turning to face me. “We have to leave, sunshine, or we’ll be late.”

  Shelby meets my eyes when his back is turned.

  He is so hot! she mouths, fanning herself with her hands.

  As soon as Chase looks back in her direction, her arms drop to her sides and her face morphs into a polite mask.

  “Nice to meet you, Shelby. I’m sure I’ll see you again, soon.”

  “Count on it.” She smiles wide.

  He winks at her, then turns back to me, plants a soft kiss on my forehead, and stares into my eyes.

  “Five minutes, okay?”

  I nod, fighting the urge to melt into him. “Okay.”

  He grins, like he knows exactly how many female hormones he’s just sent into overdrive, and walks out of the ginormous master bathroom where we’ve been getting ready.

  “Oh. My. God.” Shelby squeals as soon as the door closes at his back. “He’s so hot. Like, hotter than hot. Sahara freaking desert hot.”

  “I know,” I say miserably.

  “You are so totally screwed.”

  “I know,” I repeat.

  “Seriously.” She starts fanning herself again. “If you don’t jump his bones tonight, I will.”

  “Shelby! You’re married!”

  “Have you seen the man? Paul will understand.”

  I sigh.

  She meets my eyes. “Gemma…”

  “What?”

  “You’re falling for him.”

  “No,” I lie instantly.

  She stares at me for a moment. “That bad, huh?”

  “Ugh!” A groan slides from my throat. “He’s just so…”

  “Hot?”

  “Perfect,” I whisper miserably. “Kind and generous and thoughtful…” I don’t even mention how good he is in bed because, knowing my friend, that conversation will take at least three hours to get through, which will definitely make me late for the gala. “He’s freaking perfect. And I’m a disaster on wheels. What if I embarrass him in front of all these people, tonight? What if I look like a fool, standing next to someone like him?”

  “Gemma.” Shelby rolls her eyes. “You’ve never seen yourself very clearly. I mean, sure, you’ve got your share of problems, what with the obvious daddy issues and clear avoidance of attachment when it comes to men—”

  “Gee, thanks, Shelbs.”

  “What I’m trying to say is… no, you’re not perfect. Nobody is. Not even Chase Freaking Croft – though, admittedly, with an ass like that, he comes pretty close.” She walks over to me, slides her arms around my frame, and hugs me gently. “Don’t sell yourself short, Gem. He’s lucky to have you on his arm tonight, not the other way around. Trust me — I wouldn’t waste this dress on anyone who didn’t deserve it.”

  I blink away tears as I hug her back, trying not to ruin the makeup she’s spent the last hour applying with meticulous precision.

  “You really think so?”

  “I do.” She pulls back to look at me. “And, if it’s really bad, call me. I’ll stage an emergency extraction. Chrissy’s preggo, but she can probably still drive a getaway car, if necessary.”

  I laugh. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  ***

  Chase is tense the entire ride across the city. Besides a few short words to Evan, he hasn’
t said a thing in almost twenty minutes. The privacy partition is up, closing us together in the back seat, and as time creeps by and we near our destination, the silence only seems to get heavier.

  “You okay?” I ask finally, when it’s too much to bear any longer.

  He startles at the sound of my voice, as though I’ve brought him back from somewhere far away. His gaze slides to mine and even in the darkness of the car, I can see demons still lurking in the depths of his eyes. He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he reaches out, tags me around the waist, and tugs me closer, so I’m sprawled across his lap. One large hand wraps around the nape of my neck, pulling my face in so our foreheads rest against each other and our breaths mingle. His other hand traces absent circles on the bare skin of my back.

  He’s wrinkling my dress, mussing my hair, but I don’t fight him — not now, when he so clearly needs the comfort of physical touch. Laying my hands on his chest, I stare into his eyes, so close to mine, and search my mind for the right words to say.

  Before I can come up with anything, he closes the distance between us and kisses me — hard, rough, like my kiss might erase all the anxious, angry thoughts swimming around his head. He doesn’t give me an inch of space to pull away, to protest, to question his sudden desperation. He just keeps kissing me, moving his mouth over mine until my lipstick is long gone and the air is stolen from my lungs. Until I’m forced to pull away just to catch my breath.

  “Chase…” I can barely summon enough restraint to keep from pressing my lips back against his. But, no matter how much I’d like to continue getting lost in him, a small, unfamiliar voice in the back of my mind is crying out that there’s something more important than a physical need, right now. Something deeper than these drugging kisses, than the numbing effect of passion on exposed nerves.

  With another guy, I wouldn’t care. I’d let him bury his problems beneath a mountain of lust and enjoy the avalanche that followed. But this isn’t some random guy.

  It’s Chase.

  So I make myself take a breath and say, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  He sighs and I feel the gust of his breath across my still-tingling lips. There’s a weighty pause before he finally speaks.

  “I should’ve prepared you.” His tone is closed-off, tight with self-restraint. “My family… They aren’t good people.”

  “Chase, after meeting Brett — who, I might add, makes Donald Trump look like a good guy — I wasn’t exactly expecting the Brady Bunch.”

  His lips twitch.

  “It’s going to be fine.” I kiss his clean-shaven cheek and feel his arms tighten around me in response. “You’ll see.”

  I don’t 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 and two hundred other snakes in human suits.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Phoebe

  I thought I’d be bored, people-watching and eavesdropping as I shadow Chase through the crowd, but it’s actually kind of fascinating to see him like this — polite, personable, playing the part of a well-mannered socialite rather than the brooding caveman I know him to be. To most eyes, he looks like the perfect golden boy, towering over the crowd like Thor, greeting acquaintances with varying amounts of sincerity. Only someone who knows him, as I’m beginning to, would see the wry twist of his mouth as he suffers through small talk, the slight clenching of his fists as someone slips an underhanded barb about his playboy past into the conversation, the infinitesimal narrowing of his eyes as he stares down a person he doesn’t particularly like.

  As my gaze moves around the room, I see Chase isn’t the only one employing the smile
-on-your-lips, daggers-in-your-eyes method — which isn’t exactly surprising, given the fact that this room contains more WASPs than the nest in the old tree behind my Mom’s house. Everywhere I look, people are glaring over the rims of their cocktails, raising eyebrows at frenemies’ backs, and laughing coyly at their own jokes.

  Between the thinly veiled insults being tossed back and forth, and the subtle manipulation of resources and power happening in each and every conversation around us, it’s basically like watching a live episode of Game of Thrones.

  Just, like, without the dragons and stuff.

  After a solid hour of small talk, I’ve almost reached my limit. My cheeks are starting to ache from smiling so much, my feet have begun to cramp in the heels Shelby forced me to wear, and I’m going to explode if one more person looks at Chase like he’s some kind of freaky black-sheep interloper, out to steal the family business. Or worse, like he’s some vacuous party-boy who spent the last five years on a beach somewhere.

  First, it was the snotty woman by the entrance.

  Oh, Chase, it’s just wonderful to have you back. We all wondered if you’d ever return from your little…trip. Where was it you went, again? Cabo?

  Then, the balding man by the coat check.

  We’ll talk, my boy, we’ll talk. I’ve got a great new venture Croft Industries would be lucky to get their hands on. A young stallion like you needs something splashy, right out of the gate, to prove he’s willing to put his money where his mouth is.

  Then, the pinch-faced couple by the grand staircase.

  Good to see you, Chase! I’m sure the family is thrilled to have you back. Brett most of all. Though, I’m sure he was as surprised as the rest of us to hear you’d be taking the reins in his place!

  Everyone we’ve chatted with has been pretty terrible, though my personal favorite has to be the woman we’re talking to now. Mrs. Pauline Breeland is one of those wives who speaks enough for two — probably because her husband never says anything at all. She’s been prattling on for the last ten minutes about their daughter, Cherie, who apparently Chase once met at a mixer during his boarding school days and, thus, is destined to marry.