“Excuse me, Kate. I’ll be right back. Men’s room. Uh, wait for me by the bar. You’ll be fine right here, I promise.”
Nerves don’t really frazzle me, after all, coming off a successful food truck business in the hustle and bustle in the city that never sleeps. I was used to rude people. I was used to busy people. I was used to impatient people.
But behind the white apron I wore while cooking, I was Chef. There was an element of respect in what I did, especially when people knew of my food’s stellar reviews. The memory still panged me, writing that closure letter after my ex did the unthinkable. My memory diverted to that very chilling morning when I published my closing blog post on my Facebook page when someone else’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“And what does your daddy do?” Her eyes were menacing, and she held her sculpted chin high, as if she were balancing a pile of books on her head. I could practically see her nostrils flaring.
She had slithered in, disrupting my thoughts, and I hadn’t even noticed her.
“Excuse me?”
“I asked, what does your daddy do?” Her voice was slow and deliberate, as if intentionally speaking to me like I either had a hearing problem or was slow.
“And why does that matter?” Who was this pretentious bitch?
“It’s Charleston, honey, and you’re on Atticus Branch III’s arm. You do not run in these circles unless your daddy is a someone. You’re not in your late cycle of life, so you certainly haven’t married well into money. And I know everyone. And I mean everyone. And I have never seen you before.”
“What my daddy does, honey, is none of your business.” I gritted my teeth. Even though I know there was no way for a perfect stranger to know about my father and my past, the possibility of my dirty laundry possibly being aired to the public still rattled me. It was a past I eagerly sought to move forward from. An embarrassing, shameful past. When Atticus had mentioned catty women in my interview, I thought he was just being general. The claws really did come out. My response seemed to only bait her further.
“Oh? Is that so? Or are you skirting the question because you know you don’t belong here?”
“Excuse me?” Oh hell no, Felecia. “Why would you—”
“You think by attending one of these events, making a big splash, that you're going to get access to his money just like that? His billions?”
Billions?
I gulped. He was that rich?
“Listen to me. You clean up nicely, sure. But let's not play pretend any longer. Atticus has a heart of charity—it always gets him into trouble. Tell me, are you a drug addict?”
“What?”
Her eyes darkened with malice.
“I was in the spa earlier today and overheard your excitement to receive your first pedicure.” She admitted as if we were talking about something serious. Like, admitting I was twenty-six years old and seeing a dentist for the first time with twelve cavities.
“So? That doesn’t mean a thing. You can’t just accuse—”
“Oh, you obviously have a drug problem. Who doesn't get regular beauty treatment unless their last cent is spent on something?”
She was actually serious. Spoiled-rotten serious.
Um, people who have to work hard for things in life who don't wake up born in a castle? Who use every last dollar to make something of themselves? But I wasn't going to let her in on any part of my history. Or me. She didn't deserve that.
"I don't do drugs. I'm sorry, but I wasn’t aware of an interrogation hazing ritual. So what, you've never seen me before? What are you, Queen Bee of the latest gossip column or something?"
"No, but she is. And she's listening very carefully." Her eyes moved towards a woman not far away, smartly dressed in a red dress.
I rolled my eyes and tapped my fingers along the table, impatiently waiting for Atticus to return. Suddenly, the room felt hotter. Louder. My insecurities of being the girl with the wrong clothes from the wrong store came whirling around of me. I tried to keep a lid on it, but she was prodding me so hard!
"Look at you, you don't even know the proper etiquette on how to hold a glass of wine. Any woman who belongs here would know you hold the stem, never the glass. You’re changing the temperature of the wine as we speak from the heat of your sweaty palms, which is saying something, because you know you’re a fish out of water. Furthermore, any Charleston woman of means and position in our rather tight-knit group is born into it. You don’t just waltz in, and you most certainly don't drink red wine. Look around, you why don’t you? You would be drinking Champagne to keep your pearly whites white. And to keep your lip color intact. Of course you’re not from here. And neither do you belong. Especially not on his arm.”
My jaw dropped open. I couldn't believe this bitch.
She made my blood boil. I did not get walked on by bitches like her. She was not going to knock me down. On that note…
“If you really have a problem with the way I sip beverages of my own free choice, then why don’t I just make you a heart made out of straws then so you can suck my ass?” She had unlocked the door of my inner Brooklyn child.
Her eyes widened at my choice of words, and my I roared in triumph.
“I’ll be sure to pass the condolences and warm anecdotes to my brother, dear. And that's an interesting choice of words, to be sure. Another hint of your uneducated breed. My brother despises language. Anyone woman belonging to this pedigree would understand that. Well look, there he is now! Perfect timing, Atticus.”
My heart dropped. Sister? As in, the sister he said was a bit of a handful? My eyes widened as the gossip columnist who lurked with great intent right in ear sight of our conversation. She now spoke low, hushed words into her phone as if speaking to someone or taking notes. No doubt she heard the whole thing.
He glanced at me with a worried face.
“Brittany, that's a face that tells me you're up to no good. Daily News is in earshot.” He hissed.
“Oh, Atticus, I am so delighted you asked. I was just striking up a conversation with your charming new charity of a case girl toy who has a very lively choice of words. I do believe you should listen to the creative things that come out of her mouth. Colorful indeed. Why, I do believe she decorated the phrase 'kiss my ass' up a bit.”
He ran his hands through his hair.
“Kate, this is my sister' Brittany.”
“Charmed' I’m sure.” Brittany muttered my direction.
“Brittany, this is my date, Kate.”
“Well, as you may already see' I certainly am not charmed. At all. By you.
Atticus's arm was firm as he pulled at his sister. “May I have a word with you by the fountain, please? I’ll be right back, Kate.”
I watched my new enemy walk away with my new boss.
Great.
Feeling a moment of relief at being away from that awful person, a warm, well dressed woman smiled my way. Her face was glowing with expertly applied makeup and hair.
“I just love your shoes. And that dress is to die for. Where did you get it?”
“Thanks so much! I got … well, my stylist got it for me.”
“Excellent stylist you have.” She laughed politely and tossed her head to the side. “My goodness, where are my manners. Hi, I’m Kendra Banks. And you are?”
“Kate. Kate Longhouse.” We shook hands, and she walked away and whispered something to the gossip columnist standing nearby.
I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. Had I just made a mistake talking to this stranger? The room began to spin as I scanned the room and drank another sip of my wine very nervously. I slid my fingers down to the stem thinking about what Brittany had said, and took a sip, feeling irritated as hell.
The truth was, I didn’t want to be like a fish out of water. I placed the wine glass down and slid it away. Mental note: always have champagne.
“So imagine this for headlines: Kate Longhouse, private chef without a website, but according to Google had a very successfu
l taco truck business that shut down from crippling debt—also known as bankruptcy. Too bad it had raving reviews. So, this poor cook received not only her very first spa treatment the day she accompanies one of the most important men in Charleston, but she also insulted her date’s twin sister, receiving her first cold shoulder instead of a warm welcome by the woman who matters most in this scene.” I blinked taken aback at this woman’s audacity.
“You are aware that you just brushed off the most important woman in Charleston's scene aren’t you? Most women would be aware of who Brittany is. But you really are a woman out of her habitat. Tell me, are you an escort?”
“No! Why does…why would you even think that?”
“People are talking. It’s the most logical answer. We’ve never seen you before.”
“So? Atticus and I met in New York.”
“Oh? And why he was there?”
“On business.”
“Doing what?”
I shook my head nervously, my heart caught in my throat. I hated lying. I hated it desperately.
“It’s honestly none of your business. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
“Honey, do not fool yourself. You stand out like a monkey in a high-end shoe store.”
“Monkey?” I was taken aback by the choice of words.
“You just come off a little…overly enthusiastic in conversations, smiling like you're competing for Miss USA. Not cool, collected, and calm by any means for a seasoned aristocrat. I'm a trained people watcher. It’s what I do for a living. Now, why don’t you really tell me what's going on here, and maybe I can compensate you for your secrets.”
I shook my head, trying to keep my insecurities at bay. That was one thing I refused to be: an obvious fish out of water, even if that really was what I was. Did I really look that obvious? Or was she trying to poke the hornets' nest? Maybe this wasn’t for me. Atticus was pulled away by another man as a group of girls huddled around Brittany, and they laughed and talked in hushed tones and looked my way like a flock of hungry wolves.
I gulped. I felt so alone. Never had I felt more out of place at an event than right now.
I held my chin up high though. This is a job. A job, I will not let people intimidate me. I will not…
“So what does your daddy do, Kate Longhouse?” The journalist asked me with careful eyes.
What does my daddy do?
It was enough to scare me away fast.
I turned on my heel and headed for the closest exit I could find for fresh air I was talking to the wrong people and I didn’t need the very place I was looking to make a brand-new life for myself to be muddied by my father’s sins.
Such crooked fairs that landed him in jail, including forgery and major credit card fraud, using my name.
Chapter Five
Kate
I stormed out of the building to a street I’d never been to before. I knew I was in the gaslight district, though, and I would find my way back somehow. Atticus had my phone turned on for me while I was at the spa. If all else failed, I could take another Uber back to Claire’s.
I had worked my ass off and kept my dignity to live a respectable life by careful design. But being publically ridiculed wasn’t something I easily tolerated.
Fuming and needing to calm down, I welcomed the chilly early spring air against my heated skin.
Just because you have more money than God, doesn’t give you the right to treat me like a piece of trash!
I passed by a bakery, the warm smell of cookies and bread making my stomach growl. There was only one thing to do to lift me out of this mood: my happy place in the kitchen.
With my arms tightly wrapped around me, I scrolled through my map on my new iPhone, which I would have to give back to Atticus, since I just blew my job. A Whole Foods grocery store with raving reviews was just a few blocks away.
Half an hour later, I emptied my bank account. All of it. I really needed that check from my cousin to keep me afloat while I found another job. I’d go back to cleaning houses. Anything. I'd rather clean shitty toilets than be treated like shit by a toilet on legs, aka the bitchiest girl I’ve ever met in my life.
My feet hurt in the swanky designer heels, and I totally forgot all about my other clothes. Actually, I had no idea where my actual bag was, including the keys to the apartment. Thrift store purses don’t exactly go well with high-end Couture.
I was in a pickle. And my favorite kitten heels! Ugh, I really couldn’t stand to see his face again. I was mortified. Embarrassed that I had stooped so low and let his sister have it like that in front of a gossip writer. But I couldn’t live without my favorite heels. We had a history and had survived so much together.
I placed the paper bags down on Claire’s front porch and rang the doorbell, feeling impatient. The cold had finally caught up with me, and I could see fog in the air from my breath.
I knocked between ringing the door bell.
“Please be home!” I muttered to nobody.
The door slowly opened. Claire’s eyes were red.
Great. That Andy better watch his back. Bastard.
“Hey, you okay?”
“Um, sorry Kate.” She leaned against the door. She barely had it open, as if she were hiding something. “This really isn’t a good time right now. Um, Andy’s here and well, we’re trying to patch things over.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, and well, I really hate to do this, but is there anywhere else you can go tonight? Andy thinks that you’re kind of cramming our space here, and with things on eggshells as they are, I really need to fix this. We can’t let the band break up. I flipped out. I overreacted. I mean, he is a rock star after all. And he was drunk. It just happened, and it doesn’t mean anything.”
She eyed my bags.
“Three times though?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“I’m really sorry. And by the way, you look ah-maz-ing. How the hell did you afford all that?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Well, I understand that word more than you know. Look, can I just get you an Air B&B or something? Whatever you find, just send me the link and I’ll foot the bill.” She reached for my bag by the door.
“I packed this for you.”
“So, you’re serious.”
“I’m sorry, coz.”
She shut the door quickly as I sat down on the step, defeated.
“It’s okay.”
I sat there quietly for a moment before letting the rant out.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me.”
I mumbled into my hands, unaware of the lightly purring Bugatti that had pulled up in front of me.
It was him.
“Oh my god.” I stood up weakly, feeling like a coward for just disappearing like that. I didn’t expect for him to follow me. Honestly, I didn’t even know what to expect; I wasn’t thinking.
“Are you, um… following me?”
“Well, you are wearing company clothing, technically. And jewelry.”
“Fuck…me.”
His eyes darkened for a flash, and I felt all weak and woozy from the sight of him.
“Well, if you want to be that forward. I could jump from first base to home run tonight. Told ya, you want a piece of this diiiiick.” He winked. “You are aware you just asked me to have sex with you? And as I mentioned to you earlier today, that’s a very, very bad word.”
Feeling heat soar through my body teasing me of what it would be like to sleep with a man like that; well, my emotions went from 0 to 100 real quick. Real fucking quick. Thanks, Drake.
“I’m sorry? Really sorry. I didn’t think about all of that when I left.”
“Ah, it’s okay. I had your location turned on when I activated your phone, so tracking you down was easy.” The door opened, and he walked across the front of the car towards me. “Why don’t you allow me to grab your bags. Come with me?”
I must have stared at him for a long time; it was one of those out-of-b
ody moments where time stood still. You see, I found myself once again in the presence of this very handsome man, this rich man, who now wanted to take me in his car somewhere. Who just mentioned his dick.
“I’m not an ax murderer, I can assure you. I can see you’re cold.”
Defeated, I stood there, considering my options. I was just kicked out of my cousin’s house, after all.
He opened the car door for me like a perfect gentleman before shutting it smoothly. It was the first time in my life a man had ever done that to me.
This was the fanciest, richest car I’d ever taken in my life. The smell of the leather, the sound of the engine, I was afraid to even move in fear I’d mess something up.
“Are you running away? Overnight bag?” He eyed everything speculatively.
I blew out air, still soaking in the realization that Claire practically kicked me out.
“It’s…complicated. But to answer your question, my plan of going to sleep in my normal bedroom was on track until my bag was packed for me. My cousin and her on-again-off-again boyfriend are trying to work it out, and apparently I’m causing tension. Are you sure you’re okay with my groceries back there in the backseat?” I suddenly felt acutely concerned by the richness of the car.
“What’s that?”
“The food? I doubt you’ve ever had food back there.”
He tilted his chin thoughtfully, a small smile playing across his lips.
“Guilty. Red-handed. I doubt anything would spill, anyway.”
“So where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to your new home.”
“With you?”
“With me.”
“Where you live?”
“Where you’re going to live. We have to keep this as believable as possible. It’s one of our corporate houses. It’s the least I can do for you. I think you’ll like it a lot.”
$1,000.
That was the rate I was to earn, was supposed to have earned if I still was employee-assistant. And I blew it.
“I’m sorry I ruined my job. But you don’t have to extend the courtesy. I understand if you want to find someone else.”
Southern Charmed Billionaire Page 4