Beautiful Entourage (8 page)

“Seventy-two?” His eyes narrowed and his voice was full of awe. “Where?”

“The New York Country Club.”

“That’s impressive,” he said. “You’ve golfed for a long time?” All the irritation he had for Aspen had disappeared.

“My whole life,” I said. “I buy new clubs every year since I wear them out so often.”

“Me too,” he said. “I’m glad I’m not the only one. But I admit, I just love shopping for golf supplies.”

I released a fake laugh. “You and I are one and the same, sir.”

Mr. Lane was in a very good mood now. “What do you drive?”

Aspen said cars were another weakness. “I drive a Jaguar. But I also have an Indian motorcycle for those rare occasions I want to venture out of the city and into the wide open spaces.”

“New York can get claustrophobic at times,” he said. “I have a house in Connecticut so I can breathe in the fresh air.”

“That’s a smart idea, sir.” At least he and I were getting along.

Mr. Lane snapped at a waiter. “Get this man a scotch.”

I didn’t like the way he spoke to the waiter but I didn’t voice it.

“You’re a scotch man, right?” he asked.

“Through and through,” I answered.

The waiter handed me the glass and I downed it.

Mr. Lane smiled. “You drink like a real man.” He drank his own.

Aspen stood silently beside me, like she didn’t exist.

I kept my arm around her so she wouldn’t feel completely left out.

“What do you do?” Mr. Lane asked me.

I had a cover story, thanks to the help of a friend in a high place. “I own a company that supplies parts exclusively to GMC motors.”

His eyes were wide. “They make a killing.”

“They do, sir. It’s a great team to be a part of.” I figured if he knew I worked in business, he would like me, and perhaps that would help in Aspen’s favor. But it was ridiculous she had to have a boyfriend at all when it was clear she could take care of herself.

He took another drink of his scotch. “What are your other interests?”

“I’m an entrepreneur. I’m always trying to find new ways to make money.” That wasn’t true at all. I made a killing working as an escort but the money wasn’t important to me. I just said what he wanted to hear.

He chuckled then clanked his glass against mine. “You got a good head on those shoulders.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Come with me.” He put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me away from Aspen. I felt bad Aspen was being forgotten like dust on the top of the refrigerator but I was doing what she paid me to do. Her father seemed to like me and that’s all that mattered.

He and I sat at the bar and talked about golf. We discussed difficult tactics, different clubs, and even what brand of balls we used. I’d been golfing for a long time, so it worked out in my favor when Aspen said her father loved to play. And I did drive a Jaguar and a motorcycle. Perhaps he and I were more alike than I cared to admit.

He introduced me to his colleagues and I made small talk with them. They were just as stiff as Mr. Lane and all reeked of scotch.

“I need to go bid on the silent auction,” he said. “I hope you’ll be making your way over there sometime this evening.”

“I will. That vacation to Hawaii sounds tempting.”

He laughed and patted my shoulder before he walked away.

I breathed a sigh of relief when he was gone. How did Aspen put up with that shallow and selfish man on a daily basis? She deserved a medal from the President of the United States.

She appeared out of thin air. “How’d it go?”

I relaxed when I recognized her. “He likes me. Mission accomplished.”

“You know, my father likes anyone with money. He’ll know you’re lying about GMC.”

“No, he won’t,” I said. “I know the CEO. He’ll cover for me.”

“He will?” she asked in surprise.

“When you’re in this business, you meet all kinds of people.” I shrugged then finished my scotch.

“You undercharge, you know that?”

I chuckled. “After doing this for so long, it becomes second nature.”

“Hopefully, my dad comes around and decides to give me the company. He’s being a real pain in the ass about it.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How did you turn out so amazing but your father is…not the best?” I tried to be sensitive since it was her father I was bad-mouthing.

“The words you’re looking for are smelly douchebag.”

“Smelly douchebag?” I said with a laugh.

“And I don’t have an answer to that question. I suppose it’s because he spoiled Lance and made me work for every dime I had. Or maybe he has a mental disorder. Probably both.” She rolled her eyes in irritation.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty amazing for putting up with their bullshit.”

“Thank you.” She put her hands on her hips. “It’s about time someone said it.”

I chuckled then put my arm around her waist. “Now what?”

“I want to ditch,” she said. “Get some ice cream.”

That was the most random thing I ever heard. “Ice cream?”

“Yum…with chocolate syrup and whipped cream.”

It sounded like she’d been thinking about it for a while. “Can we do that?”

“No.” She deflated like a balloon. “Let’s stay for dinner then hightail it out of here. My dad might want to talk to you again. You guys discussed golf, cars, and money. Now women is all that’s left.”

“That would be an interesting conversation…”

We took our seats at the table near the front of the stage, and plates were set in front of us. I put my hand on Aspen’s thigh and noted how toned it was. Her legs were thin but they were tight. I wondered if she was a runner.

Her father took a seat at the table and so did her brother.

Lance glared at Aspen across the table.

She ignored him.

“So, what’s this about you pouring booze on a waiter?” Mr. Lane asked his son.

Lance shot Aspen a hateful look, clearly pissed she tattled on him when she hadn’t. “Aspen was the one who knocked me into him. Then she tried to pour champagne on me but got the waiter instead.”

Did he really think anyone would believe that?

Mr. Lane gave Aspen a dark look. “Is that true?”

“Absolutely not.” She kept her voice low so no one else would hear. “Lance brought his annoying friends along and they were just being jerks.”

It didn’t seem like her father believed her. “You need to stop picking on your brother. It’s always something with him. Just let it go.”

Aspen looked outraged.

Lance grinned like an idiot.

Was this a joke? Did the owner of a billion dollar company really believe his punk-ass son just because he was a boy?

“You should just fire her, Dad,” Lance said seriously. “She’s an embarrassment.”

Aspen looked like she might explode.

Her dad started to eat like the conversation no longer interested him.

I knew I should stay out of the argument because it wasn’t my place but I couldn’t let Aspen be knocked around like a punching bag. “Sir, Lance did pour champagne on that waiter. It was an unprovoked attack. I saw the entire thing.”

Their father turned his gaze on Lance. “Rhett says you’re lying. What do you say to that?”

“Who cares what he says? He’s just a punk.”

I stared him down without blinking. This guy was a scumbag.

“I do,” Mr. Lane said. “And you’re suspended from work without pay for two weeks.”

I tried not to smile in victory.

Aspen didn’t hide her joy. “Asshole…” she mumbled.

“What the fuck?” Lance said. “That’s not fair.”

“Do not cuss,” Mr. Lane hissed. “We’re in public.”

Lance opened his mouth to speak but was cut off.

“You want me to make it three weeks?” Mr. Lane threatened.

It was pathetic that Lance had to be disciplined like a child.

Lance threw his napkin down and marched off.

Mr. Lane ate like nothing just happened.

Aspen turned to her father. “When I say something you don’t believe me. But when Rhett, a guy you hardly know, says Lance is acting like a child, you believe him?”

He sighed. “Don’t get started, Aspen.”

She turned away like she’d been slapped in the face.

I held her hand under the table and tried to comfort her. It was ridiculous she had to put up with this. Of the three of them, she was the most responsible and logical one. “Think about that sundae we’re going to get,” I whispered in her ear.

Somehow, she found the strength to smile. “With a cherry on top.”

I smiled at her, glad she didn’t let her woes weigh her down. “I’ll give you mine so you’ll have two.”

“You practically just gave me your soul.”

“Well, make sure you enjoy it.”

She squeezed my hand. “Oh, I will.”

***

She and I left the fundraiser the moment they announced the last winner of the silent auction. Without saying goodbye to her father or spitting on her brother, which was an impressive feat, we slipped out and reached the crowded sidewalk.

“Geez, that was torture.” She tucked her clutch under her arm and walked beside me, keeping her grace despite the sky-high heels. Her shoulders were back and her spine was perfectly straight. She turned heads as she walked.

“Good thing I got paid for it,” I said as I nudged her in the side playfully.

She laughed then nudged me back. “Well, you got ripped off.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” I said. “There was a full bar, dinner, and I got to spend the night with a beautiful woman.”

She gave me a slow smile then faced forward. “You’re sweet.”

“And not just because I’m paid to be sweet.”

“You wouldn’t tell me otherwise even if it were true.”

“No, probably not,” I said.

We entered a small ice cream parlor a few blocks away then approached the glass that protected the ice cream from coughs and sneezes.

She touched my arm gently then leaned toward my ear, like she was going to share a secret with me. “You know those scenes on TV when the mother or father goes to the room where they keep all the babies in the hospital after they’re born, and they stare in amazement at how beautiful their child is?”

“Yeah.” I had a feeling I knew where she was going with this.

“That’s how I feel every time I get ice cream.” She tapped the glass with her fingers then gave me a smile that clearly said she wasn’t ashamed.

I chuckled. “Were you obese as a child?”

“No. Somehow, I learned restraint.”

“Well, don’t hold back tonight.”

“I won’t,” she said. “After that terrible evening, I need a monster size. Alcohol fixes most people. But my poison is ice cream.”

“At least it’s less detrimental than alcohol.”

“What’s your poison?” she asked.

I put my hands in my pockets as I thought of a response. “Running.”

She stared at me blankly. “Running?”

“Whenever I’m really upset, I’ll go for a long run. The endorphins you release during intense physical activity minimize pain.”

She rolled her eyes then looked away. “Lame…”

“How is that lame?”

“A poison is something you abuse, something you shouldn’t use as a crutch. Your poison is healthy, so it’s lame.”

“I never thought doing the smart thing would make me lame.”

“Well, it does.”

“Why don’t you try it sometime?” I asked.

She gave me that look that clearly said, “You’re crazy.”

“What?” I asked with a laugh. “I can tell you work out.”

“I run,” she said. “But I have to force myself to go. And for a full hour before that I try to make excuses to get out of it.
Like, I have to do the dishes. I have to make the grocery list. A nap doesn’t sound bad…
”

I tried not to laugh. “For what it’s worth, I’m not judging you.”

“Oh, I feel so much better now,” she said sarcastically.

I laughed even though I didn’t want to. When she was away from the stress of her dysfunctional family, she was really cool. She made me laugh more times than I could count.

The guy behind the counter approached her. “What can I get you?”

Her eyes lit up like a child. “Monster sundae with rocky road and extra fudge.” She said it quickly like she’d been eager to order for a while.

“You got it,” he said. “Two spoons?”

“Uh, no…” She shot me an apprehensive look then turned back to the guy. “That’s just for me.”

“Oh.” He seemed embarrassed by the assumption. “And you, sir?”

“I’ll have the same,” I said. “And one spoon.”

“Wow, you’re going to eat all of that, Mr. Perfect?” she asked.