Chapter 22 #3
I barely take two steps out of the ladies’ room before an arm is around my waist, and I’m being guided to an alcove by Stuart Lockwood.
“No more games, Harlow, I want to know what your motivation is here. Is it my attention? You’ve got it in spades, honey.
” At only five-four, I’m used to being shorter than other people.
But the way Stuart physically positions his body to tower over me, it’s clear he thinks he is in control of this coerced conversation.
“Personally, I thought it was a bold move to step out of your parents’ shadows and appearances, my dear, they are everything in our world. ”
“Our world? What are you talking about Stuart?”
He lowers his shoulders to back me into the corner, and I can’t see around his large frame.
We’re tucked back enough that if someone doesn’t look directly into the alcove, they could easily miss us.
Stuart drags his finger up my arm and runs the strap of my gown between his forefinger and thumb.
“Oh, come on. We both know what happened and don’t need to make it a bigger deal than it is.
Plus, this plays well into us taking the next step of exploring a mutually beneficial relationship. ”
If I had a beverage in my mouth, I would have spit it all over the buffoon in shock. Maybe he’s on something because logic has left the building.
I shift my shoulder back, so his hand falls away from my dress strap. “Stuart, I think you’ve misunderstood my intentions this evening.”
“Oh, please, you’ve been playing hard to get, flirting with that geriatric fossil at dinner to keep me enthralled.” He leans closer, and I can smell the whiskey on his breath.
“Flirting? I was asking about his grandchildren!”
“You should be acting a little more like how you were raised, Harlow. Then we would get along just fine.”
“Oh, and what would that look like?”
“You being docile, agreeable, and following my lead.” He tries to touch my arm again, but I step backward until my back hits the wall.
“But you can be a wildcat when it’s just the two of us.
I’m down to play that game with you every single night.
When it comes to social settings, though, you’ll need to be a little more …
amenable. You know, for appearances’ sake. ”
What alternate planet did I step on?
“I have no interest in playing those games or in anyone who wastes their life chasing meaningless social achievements and giving two shits about appearances.” My voice is steely and calm, but there is a small part of me that wishes I had brought my service weapon with me tonight.
Stuart has corralled me to an alcove with very few people around, and I am not comfortable with the upper hand he has given himself.
But before his large paw can wrap around my arm to do who knows what, a shrill voice saves the day.
“Harlow! There you are, dear. Let’s go talk to the organizers and figure out this little bidding snafu,” my mother calls from the doorway across the hall leading back into the ballroom.
She walks over and grabs my arm—a bit too tight—as she gives Stuart a saccharine smile. “Excuse us, won’t you, Stuart?”
“If it is an issue with the bidding system, I should be involved, Astor.” He moves to put his hand on my lower back, but my mother starts to tug me away.
“Nonsense. I wouldn’t want to disrupt your evening with minor details like this. I hear the Senator just arrived and was looking to thank you for your company’s sponsorship.” That news perks Stuart up, and he quickly departs in search of the congressman.
“Which senator?” I ask my mother as she drags me away.
“What? Oh, I don’t know. I made that up. I saw Stuart had you cornered, and I should have known better. His father was always a grabby little man, but I thought his mother raised him better.”
My mother … helped me?
I open my mouth to thank her, but she interrupts my moment of gratitude.
“The last thing I need is for you two to get married and then have him ruin our name with scandals in the society pages with wandering eyes and grabby hands. No, no. That certainly will not do for the Morgan-Lane heir.” My eyes shutter at that statement.
For a moment, I thought she was worried about me or my own well-being, but no, always and forever only concerned with how people see her.
We find the event organizers, and they show me the bid that looks like it was placed from my phone, but the bank account is some foreign routing number I don’t recognize.
I assure them I will look into it and let them know, then my mother promises to honor and pay for the package before I can even decide what I want to do about it.
She can spend twenty thousand without batting an eye.
I try to make my escape, but my mother keeps pulling me along by the elbow into one conversation after another.
I don’t want to be here, and I don’t want to have the same discussion over and over with her so-called friends.
My mother finally gets pulled away to take some photos, and I take my sliver of freedom.
I find my father and tell him goodbye, which he halfway acknowledges before going back to talking about the best places to golf in Scotland, and I pull up a ride on Uber.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m getting dropped off at my parents’ building.
It’s been well over three hours since I cried in the bathroom on the phone, but I don’t care if I have to get a red-eye out of New York tonight.
I don’t want to be in this city anymore.
I thank the driver then the doorman as he opens the door for me and take two steps into the lobby before I stop in my tracks.
Ryan is standing in the lobby of my parents’ building. He’s wearing jeans, a dark jacket, and his hair is disheveled.
He’s beautiful—even before his face lights up when he sees me.
“Hi,” I squeak as I walk up to him, and he opens his arms for a hug, that I refuse to overthink before stepping into his embrace. “You’re here.”
I press my face into his chest as he wraps his arms around me.
“Hey, Lo. I told you I’d come. Ready to get out of here?
” I swear I feel the faintest kiss on the top of my head.
The tension of the evening lessens with every word as I nod against his chest. Within twenty minutes, we are back downstairs with my things and climbing into a cab headed to the private airfield.