22. Fancy seeing you here （where I invited you）
CHAPTER 22
FANCY SEEING YOU HERE (WHERE I INVITED YOU)
EMMA
T he secret to a great tuxedo is simple. It isn’t about the price tag, believe it or not, but how well it fits. Even a rental will look phenomenal if the tailoring is done right.
And on Charlie?
The tux fits. It really fits. I’ve never seen any garment worn as well as this one.
Traffic comes to a screeching halt in my brain. All thoughts are at a bumper-to-bumper standstill under a flashing sign that reads I want him .
“Wow,” I say instead of hello, because my brain went offline as soon as I opened the door to the world’s sexiest suit.
Charlie raises his hands. “Yeah, okay. Get it out now. Make fun.”
“No, you…” Where do I even start? Our status quo is one of a tentative alliance. The only reason he’s here is because I want to make Logan jealous. This isn’t a date.
It’s not a date.
But if it was, it’d rank high.
Because Charlie is gorgeous .
Top shelf, top model, top me , gorgeous.
He raises a teasing brow. “Yes?”
I am so well and truly screwed. “You… You look good. Really good.” I can do better than that. “Incredible, actually.”
When he waggles his eyebrows and grins, goose bumps erupt over my skin, making it so much better and a thousand times worse.
I swear my insides are melting.
Between my legs, my pussy is constructing an ode to his mouth. I rifle through my clutch, pretending I can’t find my phone when I know full well it’s on the couch behind me. Anything so that I can avoid looking at him right now.
“Are you objectifying me?” Forget the North Star. The twinkle in Charlie’s eye leads toward much more interesting ends. He leans in, and god, he smells incredible. “Keep going. I like it.”
My breath skitters like wind chimes, and I want to press myself against every inch of his body.
I need to get a grip before I faint.
“You okay there, sweetheart? You look a little peaky.”
I hate him, I remind myself.
It would be better if I could stop forgetting that part.
Because this? Charlie and me? Is a bad idea. We’re too different. We’re from completely different worlds, and more than that, we’re still competing for the same promotion.
Then I catch sight of the flowers he’s holding.
“What are those for?”
“Do I need an excuse to bring you flowers?” He clears his throat, the sound low and rough. “Apparently, peonies aren’t in season, but the florist did me a favor.”
I’m speechless. Peonies? But how did he…?
“They were right,” I eke out, as I take the bouquet, my heart slamming wildly against my chest. It’s beautiful—bright pink and tied with twine.
“Come in,” I say, turning for the kitchen. I plug the sink and leave the flowers in fresh water. It’ll have to do for now. “I’m almost ready. I just need to find my earrings.”
Charlie’s hand on my wrist stops me. “Quit running for a second. Let me look at you.”
Breathing deep, I turn to face him and wait as he takes his fill. And does he ever. His gaze works over me like a caress, eager and insatiable. As the seconds drag on, I fight the urge to fidget.
Twenty-seven is too young to have hot flashes.
The dress is a rental. Something I considered abhorrent as a teen. But I was much sillier then. Now I’m draped in deep forest silk georgette from Givenchy. It’s backless and sleeveless and beautiful, and I don’t even have to worry about whether I’ll wear it again.
“I’d apologize for staring, but I wouldn’t mean it. I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful.” Charlie’s appreciation works wonders for my ego. “You sure you want to go to this thing? Because I can think of plenty of ways to spend the next few hours, and all of them involve a lot more than just looking at you.”
His dimples are going to ruin me.
“We’re going,” I say, swallowing back the temptation. I’m not wasting the chance to show off that tux. I might be as tall as Charlie in these heels, but there’s only one way I’ve ever been able to get on equal footing with him. “If, by some chance, Logan isn’t thrown into a jealous rage, every woman there will be when they see your ass in that tux.”
And as it turns out, leaving Charlie speechless is exactly as amazing as I imagined it would be.
For all that I know about clothes, I know less than nothing about cars, but even I can appreciate Charlie’s black beauty. I can’t help but touch the gleaming woodgrain dash.
“It’s gorgeous,” I say. “Is there a story behind it?”
“The guy who originally owned her lived next door. He ran a repair shop and didn’t mind teaching me, then gave me a job after I’d learned enough. I helped fix her up after school and on weekends, and I kept on working for him right up until we moved here.”
His voice is full of a fondness that makes my heart swell.
She is a classic, I’m informed. With a personality.
“We’ve been through a lot together.” Charlie rests his arm along the back of my seat, teasing the bare skin of my shoulder. “I even lost my V-card in her back,” he adds with a wink.
I run my hand over the smooth leather. If he’s not careful, I’ll show him a few more tricks back there. “Virginity isn’t real, and also, I don’t think your hand counts.”
He throws his head back to laugh, and I grip my clutch tighter to stop myself from hauling him in by the lapels.
“But if you’re going to do it anywhere, this is a good choice.”
He leans in, and his lips brush against my cheek. “You’ll need to stow those ideas away for later, sweetheart. As much as I want to rip that dress off you, we’re running late.”
I’m trembling so much I barely notice when he sits back and starts the car.
The engine growls when he accelerates. I’ve never heard anything quite like it. While idle, it hiccups and grumbles, more like an out of breath chainsaw than a purr. But I’ll forgive a fifty-year-old antique some rough edges when it’s so lovingly kept.
Charlie looks even better behind the wheel, the warm dusk light enhancing how sharply handsome he is. It makes him look dangerous.
A man on a mission.
“Lead the way,” I say.
The (now singular) Conway residence sits on five acres outside town. Despite boasting six bedrooms and seven bathrooms, it’s considered modest compared to its neighbors.
My heart bucks like a palomino as Charlie turns into the drive. Ahead of us, a steady line of cars slowly approaches the house, and attendants greet guests so they can take over and park the vehicles on the empty lot down the street.
My throat tightens.
Though I’m not ashamed—I love my parents, even though they regularly frustrate me—ostentatious displays of wealth are not my style, and now I’m terrified that when I look over, a sneer will have replaced the playful smile.
“Hey.” Charlie’s voice tears me out of my thoughts, and I realize we’ve stopped. Both doors are open, and a valet waits at the driver’s side.
All of Charlie’s focus is on me. It helps. Gently, he raises my hand to his lips, kissing first the inside of my wrist, then my palm.
“We’ve got this,” he says, his breath ghosting my skin.
And as though the words are keys in a lock, I feel myself restart.
We’re directed to the terrace, where the party is being held. I have other plans, though, and instead drag Charlie through the house (which we’ve been told to stay out of) in search of a drink.
Every detail of these parties is perfectly arranged as a performance. The clothes, the speeches, the friendliness.
Here, words are weapons and destruction is a sport.
I’ve spent enough time around the rich to keep my guard up. Betrayal left my trust hard to win and even harder to keep, which is why it’s so nerve-racking to put my trust in Charlie tonight.
“This might not even work,” I say, airing out the fear that’s plagued me the whole way here.
“It’ll work,” he says gruffly. “If he’s got any brain cells at all, he’ll be sick at the sight of you with anyone else.”
“Let’s hope,” I say, not entirely convinced.
The kitchens swell and heave with catering and wait staff. Within the storm stands my mother. She’s completely swallowed up as the smallest person in the room and yet still in command of it all.
Charlie gleefully swipes tiny portions of food as servers pass, enjoying the morsels with little sounds of pleasure that burrow into my mind like rabbits building a warren.
When my mom’s attention lands on me, I elbow him in the ribs.
Mom sweeps me into a hug, looking lovely in a floor-length Balmain. “Darling, don’t you look stunning.”
“I said the same thing,” Charlie says. “As do you.”
Mom is looking at him the same way Charlie looks at pie, with delight, and I’m suddenly hit by how terribly things will go when this whole charade is over and I have to witness the disappointment on her face.
Oh Em, she’ll say . This one too?
“No one else is coming through the house, are they?” she asks me, peering around me, her forehead furrowed in worry.
“No, just us. It’s okay.”
“Thank goodness. I told Violet to keep it outside, but you know how nosy everyone gets.”
I do. “They love a secret.”
“Speaking of secrets,” she says, being as subtle as a foghorn as she openly assesses my date. “You must be Charlie.”
He angles in and kisses her cheek, and oh god, being jealous of my own mother might be a new low.
Mom gives me a sly look over his shoulder. “Emma’s told us almost nothing about you.”
Wow. Thrown under by my own family. Nepotism isn’t the same as it used to be. I stifle a laugh.
“What can I say? I’m a man of mystery,” Charlie says.
She raises her chin. “Hopefully not to my daughter.”
When an attendant passes with a case of wine from the cellar, I sidestep out of the way, but not before swiping a bottle for myself.
“There’s nothing she could ask for that I wouldn’t want to give her,” he says, stealing my mother’s heart along with all the air in my lungs.
It’s the most romantic thing I may ever hear in my life, and it’s a lie.
How fitting for the fallen Conway heiress.
As another case of wine is brought in, and another, a familiar worry creeps into my gut.
“Mom, who’s paying for all this?”
“Emma, you know that’s impolite,” she says, eyes on Charlie.
I sigh. “Mom?—”
She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. “Tonight is about the foundation, and I told you, everything’s covered. Now, go mingle and enjoy yourselves.” Carefully, she plucks the bottle of rosé out of my hands. “You’re worse than your father. You didn’t come all this way to hide in the house. There are plenty of drinks being served outside with our guests.”
She’s one to talk, in here with her clipboard. I’m convinced she likes hosting because it gives her an excuse to escape awful conversations.
I watch forlornly as a server takes the bottle out of her hands. Then, without another word to us, my mother swans after him, orders spilling from her lips.
“Chardonnay?” another asks, appearing out of nowhere, as if Violet had the whole crew complete ninja training.
“No thanks. I’ve got just what we need,” Charlie says, pulling a flask from the depths of his jacket. As the server departs, he looks at me, playful and wild, lighting a spark under my skin that threatens to bloom into a flame. “What do you say? Want to get a little naughty with me?”
Do I ever.
“Why am I not surprised,” I tease, slipping it from his hand as we exit the kitchen. “Next you’ll be asking me to get fresh in the back seat of your car.”
“It’s always good to be prepared,” he whispers. “Ask me what else I have on me.”
The fire in my chest roars.
Charlie whistles low as we step out onto the terrace. “Bet this was a nice place to grow up.”
Beyond the terrace are rolling hills, green as far as the eye can see. Of course, I didn’t do all my growing up here. There was the beach house and the cabin upstate. The beautifully restored Tudor. All sold now.
“It was, when we stayed long enough to enjoy it.”
“I get it. I moved around a lot as a kid. The novelty wears off quickly.”
“Yes, it does.”
We’ve settled at the edge of the party, by the railing that looks out over the view. It’s the best vantage point to people watch.
Charlie throws me a wry smile. “No need to act coy for my benefit. I already clocked the Rubinstein. I get it. I don’t get the toy box you’re choosing to live in, but this?” He gestures around us. “You don’t have to pretend to hate it.”
My life, I’m certain, could be a production, and my role in it, at least the one I’ve been asked to play every time I enter my parents’ world, filled by anyone. I’m dispensable, replaceable, extraneous.
A pretty extra with a welcoming smile who says little to nothing.
“I’m not acting. I promise you.”
The wrinkle between his brows is pure skepticism.
Okay, let’s prove it.
I gesture to Freddy Welsh, third son of a pharmaceutical CEO. “See the young guy in the gray Versace?”
“With the floppy hair and an eat-shit attitude?”
I nod. “In the last two years, his parents have paid to refit three private planes because Freddy and his friends partied so hard that the aircrafts were left soaked in booze, vomit, and smoke.”
Cringing, Charlie curses.
I continue. “Over my shoulder, by the pool, there’s a woman in a yellow dress. Very lithe, is probably talking a lot with zero expression.”
There’s no denying how beautiful Logan’s mother is. Violet has done more to advertise her plastic surgeon’s services than ten years of advertising could, and she looks every cent like the million dollars she’s spent on it.
“I see her.”
“Her father got caught stealing millions of dollars from domestic abuse charities, and instead of jail, he got off with a small fine.” I finish my drink and turn my back to the crowd. “I can’t tell you how many people I’ve overheard laughing about what they’ve gotten away with. How they’ve gutted employees’ wages to double their own bonuses or hiked up the prices of luxury herbal remedies that have zero health benefits.”
“Poor, unfortunate souls,” Charlie bites out. “Does everyone here have skeletons in their closet?”
“Some don’t. It might shock you to know that not everyone with money is a mustache-twirling villain.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t all benefit from the ones who are.”
You, not they.
We might be friendlier, but Charlie still sees me as the enemy. Maybe he always will.
“Says the man in Armani,” I say.
He doesn’t answer.
I take a deep breath. We’re surrounded by opulence, beauty, and a choreographed dance of happiness.
“I can’t change how I grew up, Charlie. Honestly, I don’t care whether you believe me or not. But I don’t want to be a part of all this anymore. I like my shitty apartment,” I say, even if I do actually hate that the heating doesn’t work and I’m not sure the smoke alarms do either. “I like my job,” I add, ignoring how I want to quit every time it’s being mansplained back to me. “I won’t deny I’ve been extremely lucky, but all this? The parties full of people who are only here to brag to each other? It isn’t for me.”
A breeze passes over the terrace, making me break out in goose bumps.
“This doesn’t define me. I wish you could see that.” I don’t want to care what he thinks of me, but I do. A week ago, I was laid out in my lingerie before him, but right now, I feel more vulnerable than ever.
He shifts closer, concealing me from the wind.
“It goes both ways, you know,” he says. “There’s more to me than the suits and the charm. No matter how good I make it look.” He settles his hand on my lower back, the heat of his skin burning into mine, and I shiver for a completely new reason. “I know what it’s like to be misjudged, and I wouldn’t be here if I thought you were like them. So maybe we can both do better.”
The moonlight’s turned his eyes so pale they’re practically transparent.
“Deal,” I whisper.
He drags his gaze down to my mouth, making my pulse jump.
“Good,” he says, taking a step closer. We’re so close now that the word dances along my cheek. And in the next instant, his lips press to the spot.
I’m not cold anymore.
I clear my throat and step back, sipping my wine to cover my blush.
“So,” Charlie asks with the same cadence as a doting grandmother. “Which of these smirking pricks is yours?”
As subtly as I can, I point to where Logan is standing. “Over there. Tall, blond, and avoiding me.”
Like every man in attendance, Logan is dressed well. Notch lapel, French cuff, black and classic. The sight of him doesn’t give me the same heart flutter Charlie has all night, but he still looks good.
I swear Charlie inches closer. “You can do better.”
“You don’t even know him.”
“Yeah, but I’m getting to know you. Enough said.”
As soon as he spots me, Dad is by my side, looking dapper. His comically large mustache is trimmed and proper, coordinating perfectly with the slightly unorthodox turtleneck he’s wearing under his double-breasted jacket.
“Guess” is all he says as he places a wineglass in my hand. It’s our favorite game.
Intense blackcurrant hits me immediately, typical of a Cabernet Sauvignon. He isn’t even trying to make this difficult. I hold back a smile. “Bordeaux,” I say, because that’s the easy part.
“Oh? Why do you say that?”
I narrow my eyes at him. He knows why.
Then a subtle shift of his eyes from Charlie to me gives away the game.
Oh. He’s helping.
It’s so touching, my heart clenches. He’s setting me up to impress Charlie, who has somehow already charmed both of my parents.
Because of course he has. The man could charm the secrets out of water.
And here is my father, trying to make me look good in front of my date. It’s completely unnecessary and exceedingly sweet.
So I play. “Easy, the flavors are bold and complex. Concentrated. From the left bank. It’s too focused for the right.”
The closer I get to the answer, the bigger his grin gets, and it’s as infectious now as it was when I was nine. By the time I’ve finished, I’m grinning too.
I forgot how fun this was.
“I’m going to guess Chateau Margaux.”
“Excellent!” He claps, drawing the attention of several people mingling near us. “Charlie, isn’t she amazing?”
“And more.” Charlie is giving me a strange look. I’d almost call it fond, if that were ever something I could imagine him feeling toward me.
“See?” Dad continues. “This is why you’d be such an asset to the foundation. With your business acumen, you could be a titan.”
“Nana did all the girlbossing this family needs, Dad.”
“And she’d be as proud as I am to see how you’re forging your own path. I know it hasn’t been easy on you, but you’ve handled it with a grace and strength few could. I wish I could take credit for it, but you’ve always been a singularly bright star.”
Speechless, I sip my wine and will myself not to cry.
This is why I do anything I can for my parents. Because they’re good people, and they’ve always tried to be good parents.
Once, we spent a whole day setting up a train set in one of the guest rooms, goading each other to see who could make the most elaborate track. Dad won (more like cheated) when he boosted his track over mine with non-traditional parts.
Of the three of us, he’s the out-of-the-box thinker.
“You continue to impress and inspire me,” Dad says.
The time we spent together was priceless. Because he didn’t work, he got to stay home and have fun with me.
He might be an odd duck, but I’m lucky to be his duckling.
A little nudge from Charlie alerts me that Logan is coming over. When I reach for his hand, he squeezes back, and the tight feeling in my chest loosens.
“Now, Charlie,” my father says, as though they’re old friends and not complete strangers. “I’ve noticed you don’t have a drink. What can I get you?”
“I was just about to ask you the same thing. Why don’t you walk me to the bar and tell me more about this wine?”
Dad’s already launching into his speech before they leave.
Since I last saw him, I’ve considered that maybe I made up Logan’s reaction. Let my imagination show me what I wanted to see, that he missed me, that he too wondered what could have been.
The worry followed me all the way up the drive, into the house, and onto the terrace tonight. But the moment Charlie and my father step away, Logan is slipping in to fill the gap. The air barely has time to go cold before he’s stepping in closer than is polite and lingering at my side.
“You’re a vision,” he says.
I forgot how grandiose Logan’s compliments can be. It’s a skill we’re taught to master early, and we’re expected to always have them at the ready. If you can’t be the first to fire one off, make sure to best it. I never quite got the hang of it—too honest, too concerned with saying something genuine—but Logan is a natural.
“Aren’t you sweet,” I say, because the only thing worse in high society than not getting a compliment is actually accepting one. “Violet’s done a wonderful job with the party.”
“I heard we have your mother to thank for this,” he says.
A sharp spike of panic hits me, but I cover it quickly with a smile. It’s just a turn of phrase. Of course Violet wouldn’t openly take credit. Relax. I focus on how warm and steady Charlie’s hand felt on my back, and it’s easier to breathe.
“How—”
“Are—”
We both chuckle.
“After you,” I say.
“You brought a date.” It isn’t a question.
On the inside, I cheer, my pulse jumping. He noticed.
Outwardly, I dip my chin. “You noticed.”
“It’s hard to miss. And I’ll admit, I’ve been curious about him.” He peers over my shoulder, where I assume Charlie is. “Now that I see him, I’m not sure I understand it.”
“That’s funny,” I say, raising my chin. “He said the same thing about you.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “Did he now?” This time when he looks me over, his eyes are hungrier. Territorial. “And yet he left you here all by yourself.”
A shot of defensiveness fires through me. Not for myself, but on Charlie’s behalf.
“You left me first.”
When we dated, I never allowed myself to be bold. I did my best to make myself softer, quieter, sweeter. Only Ivy and Charlie have seen this side of me, and it’s obvious Logan is surprised to witness it.
“You have to know I didn’t want to leave, but I felt I had to, for both of us.”
“I know you did. That doesn’t change how hurt I was.”
He reaches out, brushing his fingers against mine. “That makes two of us.”
In all the time I’ve known Logan, it’s rare to see him openly vulnerable.
“I’m sorry things ended that way,” I say.
He hums and takes another step closer. “I’m sorry it ended at all.”
An arm slides around my waist, the touch startling me before Charlie speaks, and relief washes over me.
“I hope you didn’t miss me too much.”
He presses a kiss to my cheek, making my heart jump into my throat. The brush of his lips is a little closer to my mouth than I’m expecting, but since when does Charlie do anything I’m expecting?