“Do you want me to read your future?”
I’d like to listen to Mark, the person everyone else istryingto hear over her. Or at least pretend.
I muster the most serious expression I can and choose the quickest way to end this conversation. “I don’t believe in the future.”
Michael snickers, and I pinch his leg beneath the table.
“What do you mean?” Chanel looks at me in horror, and I feel like Ijust told a child Santa Claus isn’t real.
“I believe in numbers,” I offer half-heartedly.
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Mark claps his hands, his eyes directed to our corner of the room. I clamp my lips shut and give him my full attention, but Chanel isn’t finished with me.
“But if you don’t believe in the future, then you’re not going to have one.”
How insightful.
Sean places an arm around Chanel and whispers something in her ear. But she shoves him off and continues to stare daggers into my soul, or maybe myfuture. Whatever she’s doing with her crazy eyes, she needs to stop. I’ve got a no-trespassing sign around my soul and that applies to everyone.
“Tonight, we’d like to give a special thanks to Ron and his forty impressive years with the company.” Mark raises his voice.
Chanel scowls and lifts her red solo cup to her lips.
The crowd claps, and Mark motions behind us to where I’m assuming Ron sits. “Come on up here.”
“Me?” Chanel drops her cup and water sloshes across the table, completely drenching my food.
Will my food ever be safe in this house?
Chanel jumps to her feet. “I’d love to.”
Mark, and everyone else for that matter, fall deathly quiet, but Chanel can only hear the sounds in her head apparently, and they must be something else because when she reaches the front of the room, she takes off her shirt.
There’s a collective gasp, and I reach for Michael’s hand beneath the table. I grip my fork with my other hand, but the second-hand embarrassment is killing me.
Beneath her floral shirt, she’s wearing a coconut bra and what looks like necklaces around her stomach.
I have a bad feeling about this.
“This is a little something I choreographed this week,” Chanel says, and then she dances. I believe they call it belly dancing, but with the way she’s shaking her butt, it’sreallyhard to tell.
I grip Michael’s hand harder. “Is someone going to stop her?”
He grimaces. “I hope so.”
“Sean! Join me,” Chanel calls, running back for him.
Sean doesn’t move until Trent gives him a less-than-brotherly shove to the back, sending him out of his seat. Sean returns the service with a glare.
But it’s too late. Chanel has him in her grasp.
“Like this,” Chanel tells Sean. When he doesn’t move, she grabs his hips and moves them for him.
Michael releases my hand and gives me a mischievous grin. “I think this night is finally looking up.” He pulls out his phone and aims it at his brother.
I doubt Sean gets embarrassed easily, but the poor guy hasn’t stopped blushing since Chanel trapped him. I can feel his discomfort from across the room. I almost feel bad for him.
That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop Michael, though. It’s a free country, after all.
