Chapter 12 #2
It’s in his every move. Everything about him points to unquestionable wealth, the kind that doesn’t need to prove itself.
His tailored three-piece suit sits perfectly, custom made and likely costing more than most people’s rents.
A polished gold watch sits on his wrist, just beneath his cuff, understated but unmistakably expensive.
Even the way he moves, measured and unhurried as he approaches Paige, suggests a lifetime of power, the kind that comes with knowing the world is at his fingertips.
Then again, as he stands there and holds his long, bulky arms out toward Paige, there is a tenderness I wouldn’t expect him to possess, at least not at first glance.
I guess that’s the thing about stereotypes and judging a rookie by his title, so to speak.
You never really know what someone is capable of until you take the time to figure it out, but then again, I would have sworn I knew my mother and look how that turned out.
I take a step back, and the moment my foot lifts from the ground, his blue eyes slice to mine.
“You must be a friend of my granddaughter.” His tone is friendly enough, a little more business than personal, but that’s all right.
Paige steps out of his embrace, smiling from him to me. “Yeah, Grandfather, this is Chase. Chase, this is my grandfather, Grant Randolph.”
Straightening my spine, I step up and offer my hand, which he takes, his lips twitching slightly when I match his firmness.
“It’s good to meet you, Chase.” His eyes fall to my AU football T-shirt, and when they come back up, there’s a small, inquisitive crinkle at the edge of his eyes. “You’re on the team, son?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I might have to bring myself out to a game this season, seeing as it seems to be the only thing my granddaughter is willing to do on Saturday nights.”
That makes me smile her way. “Yeah, she’s a loyal little fan.” I don’t realize how teasing it came out until she drops her gaze to the grass, a light laugh leaving her, and now all I can think about is how she had my number on her cheek two weeks ago.
Now I’m thinking about all the ways I might be able to convince her to do it again.
“Loyalty might just be one of the most important traits in a person,” he says, regaining our attention, and I’m not sure if I imagine that bitter note in his tone or not. “Anyhow, I came to surprise you, take you to lunch.”
My shoulders fall instantly, but when she glances over, I make sure there’s a grin on my lips. “I’ll catch up with you—”
“You wanted to go to lunch together,” she interrupts, calling me out right here in front of her grandfather.
There is absolutely no reason for a small flicker of pride to move through me, but it does. Still, I say, “Another time. He came all this way here. You should go.”
I don’t miss the pleased way her grandfather stretches taller. “You could join us, son. If you’d like.”
My brows jump at the offer, and I can’t quite tell if the invitation came out of his need to be polite or if it’s a genuine one.
“Yeah, come with us!” Paige nods, looking over at the SUV. “There is plenty of room and we’d need to be back about the same time anyway.”
I’m already shaking my head. I’m not sure what the cost of a place her grandfather might choose for lunch might be, but chances are it’s more than I should spend on a single meal. But she’s already walking closer, stepping right in front of me, big, blue eyes on mine.
“Come on, Chase,” she whispers, and at my side, the heat of her pinkie brushes my knuckle, making my hand twitch with the need to turn it, to curl my fingers through hers and draw them to my lips.
I can’t give her much, if anything at all, but maybe little, simple things like this, I can. How could I say no when she is looking at me like this?
“Please,” she adds.
When she begs me like that?
I couldn’t possibly.
“Yeah, okay.” I nod, and when she squeals, I can’t help the chuckle that leaves me.
My eyes seem to trail her as she hurries back toward her grandfather, and when I look up, I find his gaze is on me.
“Perfect.” He nods, stepping back as Kevin steps up and opens the door for us. The three of us climb inside, and I’m surprised to find that the bucket seats are facing each other.
Paige takes the seat beside me, Grant across from us.
After a moment, as we just sit there, Paige’s brows pull and she goes to open her mouth, but before she can get the words out, the door opposite to the one we climbed in is yanked open and none other than Prince fucking Charming appears.
My muscles grow taut, and I stare as he hauls himself inside, his attention instantly moving to the girl at my side.
I have the sudden urge to wrap my arm around her middle and haul her to me, right onto my damn lap, but I clench my fists at my sides to keep from acting like a caveman when I don’t have the right to.
But why does it feel like I have the right to?
Better question: Why the hell is he here?
“Sorry about that. I hope you weren’t waiting long. I had to step out for a quick call.” He turns to Grant with a smile. “They went for it, at a 4 percent lower rate than originally offered.”
“That’s my boy.” Grant nods proudly, then look up at me. “Prescott, meet Chase. He goes to school here with Paige and he’s joining us for lunch today.”
“We met, actually,” he tells the older man. “At the San Jose show.”
“Ah, I see,” Grant mumbles.
Prescott glances my way, a grin in place. “Good to see you again. It was Chase, right?”
“You work with Mr. Randolph.” I can feel the small frown on my face, but I can’t seem to wipe it away.
“I do, yes.” He nods, settling back in the seat and unbuttoning his jacket, his attention immediately moving to the girl beside me.
My eyes slide toward Mr. Randolph, narrowing the slightest bit, and what do you know.
He’s looking at me, too.
So her grandfather sent her to some big show, something near and dear to her heart. I’m assuming he’s learned that much about her during all the hours they’ve spent getting to know each other. Something that means something to her, like a loving and caring grandfather would do.
Yet this man, this fairy-tale-looking fucker who works with her grandfather, just so happens to be at the same event, eight hours away from where he should have been the very same night that she was?
Mr. Randolph looks over, meeting my gaze.
Not fucking likely.
My mind is racing.
I hadn’t thought to ask Paige how she knew Prescott the night I met him. He seemed to have teleported in at the worst time possible, and I started spiraling, much like I’m doing now.
He won’t stop looking at her, smiling and laughing, and sure, their conversation is nothing more than polite small talk, dumb shit that doesn’t matter, but it matters to me.
I didn’t know she liked two sugar cubes and a tablespoon of honey in her hot tea, but I learned that little fact today, watched with rapt attention as her delicate little hands scooped them up and dropped them in, grinning as they dissolved.
I smiled to myself, storing that little bit of information and wondering if you can buy those cubes somewhere or if they only serve them in fancy spots like this one.
But I wasn’t the only one paying attention because the moment she gripped the handle to go in for the first taste, Prescott laughed, ordering his own cup because he “had to try it the Paige way.” Slick fucker.
Only he doesn’t act slick or even privileged. He gave a polite smile to the woman who greeted us at the door and complimented the guy who showed us to our table. Says please and thank you and “if it’s not too much trouble.”
Clearly I’ve been paying attention to the guy, and from what I can tell, he’s just this charming, friendly dude.
It’s annoying. It’s worse how effortlessly at ease he is, sitting back in his seat with this air of professionalism and perfect posture.
It’s like even these chairs are made for men like him, his shoulders lining up perfectly with the high golden back.
And then there’s me, slouching forward a bit because my shoulders are a few inches too high, too wide, the edges of the chair back digging into my shoulder blades.
I’ve got to keep my legs spread a little wider than I’d like because my thighs are thicker than what the small square under my ass was built for.
No, this place isn’t for athletes.
It’s for fucking accountants or some shit.
My eyes move to Paige, laughing at something her grandfather said, and I reconsider. Okay, well, it’s not meant for the type of athlete that I am. Of course, my petite little dancer—
No. Not mine.
Shit.
Whatever, Paige looks like she belongs. She’s dainty and elegant without trying, fitting with the softness of this café and the people scattered around it.
She looks my way, our eyes locking, and my lips tip up.
“What do you think?” she asks.
My face falls, and I cut a quick glance around the table, finding all their eyes on me, but I return mine to her. “What?”
She nips at her lip and my eyes fall to the movement. “Do you want to try the salmon rolls? Prescott said we can’t come here without doing so.”
What the fuck is a salmon roll?
I was prepared for some scrambled eggs and maybe an English muffin with strawberry jelly, if it didn’t cost extra. Salmon?
Panic bleeds into my veins, and I look to the lemon water they gave me without my asking. Shit, what if that’s some imported water from a glass bottle you have to pay for?
I should just get up and go.
“I told him I’d rather eat dirt than fish,” Paige says. My eyes snap to her face, just in time to see her give a little cringe. “I’m going with the only thing I can pronounce on this menu. A good old-fashioned grilled cheese off the kid’s menu.”
“Paige, sweetheart, no.” Her grandfather sounds horrified but I’m already chuckling, soaking in the smile she gives me in return.
She’s like you, Chase. She is.