9. Return of the Badass
RETURN OF THE BADASS
CHELSEA
It’s official. I’m a coward.
I make my way through the other dancers as though I’m not going anywhere in particular, and certainly not making my escape from a ballroom that’s suddenly far too warm, and far too crowded.
So much for all the badass cred I’d earned last night.
When I finally get to the door, I pick up my pace, heading straight for the bathroom. I brace my hands on either side of the sink and stare at myself in the mirror.
I look aroused. Flushed cheeks. Heavy-lidded eyes. Are my lips a little puffy, or is that just my imagination?
My brain is trying valiantly to list every single reason I should forget Brett Sillinger’s name, but my body?
My body remembers every second of our night together. Every touch, every kiss, every bit of anonymous pleasure. My skin is alive with the memory.
I wasn’t Chelsea London last night; I was free of my chronic need to control every detail. I’d been in the moment. Unburdened by checklists. Going with the flow. But that’s not who I am, day to day.
I don’t win the attention of handsome, sought-after hockey players.
He might be flirting with me now, but that’s because he only knows my daring alter-ego.
In real life, I’m far too tame for a man like Brett.
A man who attends fancy charity events and dances with Priscilla Bing, the timber heiress who’d been caught skinny dipping in an Italian fountain. Not the girl with the clipboard.
My clipboard. That’s what I need. Distraction in the form of routine. Work will fix this. Not hiding in the bathroom.
With a deep breath, I smooth a wayward piece of hair back into place, lift my chin, and return to the party.
Glancing around the beautiful ballroom full of smiling faces and raised champagne glasses, I wish for just a moment my team and I weren’t quite so good at our jobs.
The DJ has the dance floor full, the catering staff has already cleared all of the dinner dishes and begun prepping the tables on the far side of the room for the dessert buffet that will start in a couple of minutes.
There’s absolutely nothing for me to do but locate my clipboard and enjoy watching my event run like a well-oiled machine.
Oh, there’ll be a few more hiccups before the night is through—there always are—but I’ve learned to appreciate these moments when everything lines up perfectly.
Tonight, I take no satisfaction in it. Tonight, I need a distraction to keep me from scanning the crowd, looking for someone... uh, something. Surely something at this party needs fixing. Maybe if I find Shanna, we can—
A man in a suit steps in front of me, blocking my path.
Careful what you wish for.
“I don’t have time to deal with this right now,” I lie.
“Tough. We’re making the announcement.”
My brother’s words stop me. A slamming-into-a-brick-wall kind of stop.
Clearing my throat, hoping to dislodge the sudden lump there, I wipe clammy palms against my crepe-silk-covered hips. “But the silent auction hasn’t even closed yet, and—”
Andrew shakes his head and dread settles in my belly. “Not the winners. Dad wants to announce my promotion.”
“I thought…” Deep breath. “I thought you guys decided to put out a press release on Monday.”
“Things change. You’ve got to go with the flow.
I spent the last twenty minutes talking to the Timber King, while Grant Preston has been clamoring for my attention.
These two are primed for the picking, and if I can stoke the fires of their rivalry with a little public push in the right direction, our next fundraiser is going to be record-breaking.
Especially when they find out I’m the director. ”
“Casino night.”
“What?”
“The Foundation’s event next month.” My throat hurts, and the words come out quietly. He doesn’t even care enough to remember what events we have planned or which causes we’re backing, let alone to spare a thought about the people we help. He just likes the schmoozing.
“It’s a casino night. To raise money in support of several local veterans’ charities we’ve partnered with.”
“Right. That one. Anyway…”
Andrew drones on about all the reasons they need to announce his new position tonight.
“I can’t just change everything. The DJ’s already playing.”
Andrew rolls his eyes. “So we tell him to stop.”
Of course. Because that’s how my brother thinks this stuff works. He just flits around, cheersing and glad-handing. Never mind all the hard work and preparation he doesn’t help with.
“Just because it’s not written down doesn’t mean it’s impossible. You know life doesn’t only happen because you put it on a to-do list, right?”
“And you have to know events like this have a bunch of working pieces that need to come together seamlessly. That pre-planning is key, and you can’t just disrupt everything on a whim. They’re about to serve dessert.”
“Spoken by an uptight woman who could use a little more whim-following in her life. You need to look up sometimes, Sis. Read the room, not your stupid clipboard.”
I’m fuming now. “That stupid clipboard is the reason this party is going off without a hitch.” It would have been more impressive if I had the stupid clipboard in my hands right now.
Last time I had it was before Brett had pulled me onto the dance floor, hands gripping my hips as we swayed to the music, his big body making me want things I—
“I know, and what you’re doing is important. But here’s the thing—you have to adapt sometimes. Take advantage of opportunities you didn’t plan for. Or, you know, I can go tell Dad you said you couldn’t pull off a simple speech.”
The problem with being related to your arch-nemesis is he knows all your weak points.
“Fine,” I concede. “I’ll get the caterers to circulate with the desserts for now. That will keep the people mingling instead of lining up, which will be better for—” my voice breaks, and I try again, “—for the big announcement.”
“You’re the best. I will leave the details in your capable hands. As long as you have everything ready to go in the next five minutes.”
“Five minutes! But I—”
“Grant! Good to see you. How’s Marcie? And the kids?”
Andrew’s already gone, off to charm more donors with his golden tongue, leaving the grunt work to me. As always.
I’m on my way back to the kitchen to stall the dessert buffet when I catch sight of Shanna. I put her in charge of letting the DJ know what’s about to happen while I take care of the rest.
“Okay everyone,” I announce, stepping into the bustling kitchen. “Change of plans.”
By the time I’m leading a mini-army of vest-and-bow-tied waiters with trays full of desserts back to the ballroom, the dance floor is empty.
As per my instructions, the serving staff circulate through the room, and I try to focus on the smooth side-step of the hitch Andrew and Dad tossed my way, instead of the sudden gush of disappointment flooding my chest. I don’t know why the prospect of hearing my failure formally announced is so daunting.
The element of surprise, I guess. I thought I had another day to come to grips before—
“Can I get everyone’s attention?”
The ballroom stills at the sound of Craig London’s voice over the microphone. My dad knows how to command a room, I have to give him that.
“Tonight, I have the honor of making a very special announcement.”
Deep breath.
“But first, I’d like to bring my son up on stage with me. Andrew London, everyone!”
Andrew waves at the crowd as he joins our father by the microphone.
Nope. Can’t do it. I need to—
“Hey, I’ve been looking for you.”
The knot in my stomach loosens when Brett smiles at me. I’m vaguely aware the crowd is laughing at something my father said, but mostly I’m aware of Brett. How tall he is. How good he smells. How he’s exactly the distraction I need right now.
And he proves it, leaning closer, taking up all the space in my world.
“I wanted to tell you, you were right.” His voice is low. Intimate.
“Right about what?” I ask, the words shaky with the sudden urge to grab him by the tie and see if our mouths fit together as well as I remember.
“The fairy tale. Little Red Riding Hood.”
“Oh?” I pretend it doesn’t matter he remembers minute specifics of last night’s flirting.
“Yeah. It’s not the one where I blow you.” He leans a little closer, and I know it’s no accident when his lips brush the shell of my ear. “It’s the one where I’m in bed, and you tell me how big I am, and I say, ‘All the better to fu—’”
I grab him by the wrist and head for the door, pulling him along behind me.