“Why hold a charity event when you’re letting people drink hundreds of dollars of champagne that nobody even likes?” I glimpse around the room, watching tray upon tray of flutes around the room. “If they cut that, they’d have made more money than any fundraiser the school’s ever done. And that’s before these assholes even open up their wallets!”
“I guess they think drunk people spend more money? It’s all a show, Ren.”
“They’re right! But you only give them one drink of the good stuff. You water the rest down!”
“Welcome to Hollywood, Sunshine.”
“Rich people are dumb.”
“Thanks, babe,” he teases, pretending to be hurt by my comment. Chase’s hand is on my hip as we head over to the stairs, where a woman who looks just out of her teens blushes as she leads us to our seats. Chase gives her a cute little smile because he treats his fans well, so long as they’re not assholes. He pulls my chair out with a bow.
“M’lady.”
The room fills in a few people at a time as Chase stands behind me, looking around. I’m too busy checking out the table decorations and the other names printed on the cards. If mine didn’t sayGuest of C. Cooper, I wouldn’t think twice about tucking it into my clutch. Once again, I’m floored by the expense. There’s a gift bag on top of each of the table settings. Chase had told me this happens at award ceremonies and some other events. They could sell what’s in these bags and make a fortune, but big name companies just drop expensive gifts right into the laps of people who could already afford it.
Why?I’m understanding why Chase hates these functions.
“Hey,” Chase leans down next to my ear. “I’m gonna go say hi and bring a friend over. I’ll be back in two seconds. Punch anyone in the balls if they try to talk to you.” He doesn’t wait for my reply, kissing me on the head before he goes.
I love watching him work. The swagger, the confidence—it’s cute and what people expect. But I’m one of few who knows it’s all a front. When we go home, he’ll be my shy, dopey, idiot boyfriend with his therapy dog at his side. I pick up my champagne glass to take another drink when someone bumps right into my arm, pouring my drink all over the front of my dress.
“Oh…oh no!”
Of course, it’s Rich Lawson, the man desperate to cling to his younger years even though they left him a while ago. I’m trying to find something to wipe my dress off while he spins around like a dreidel, freaking out more than I am. I’m just glad it didn’t ruin my hair or makeup. The black fabric won’t show as wet, and no one will even notice it but me if he’ll shut the hell up about it.
“Oh, oh, I am so sorry about that. Why don’t you come over here and we’ll see if one of my staff has a towel or something?” I try to shake him off, but he’s insistent and pulls me out of the chair. As he drags me across the room, I glance behind me, but I can’t find Chase before I’m pulled behind the curtained area. Lawson flags down John Cena’s dollar store doppelgänger. Of course, he’s the chief of security.
“Ma’am, the fillers aren’t allowed in the seats during the diner service.” Cena’s buddy, ninety-nine cent Macho Man, says. Maybe he’s the head of security and not the other way around? Either way, I don’t care.
“I’m not a filler.”
“The agency should have gone over this with you, miss. Guess they’ve run out of girls, since they’re using you,” Not-Cena finally speaks.
“Fourth stringers. They should do better for Chase. Something like this could ruin his image.” Richie says, exasperated and as if Chase didn’t introduce him to me earlier. He’s being dramatic, arms flailing about, huffing and scoffing as often as he can. He sounds like the old jalopy my uncle drives. When I stare him down, he backs away. I have a feeling he doesn’t deal with many women who don’t intimidate easily. “Are you seriously trying to play that you’re really dating him? I’ll bet my left fucking nut that?—”
“Renate? Are you back here?” Chase comes around the curtain, looking concerned. He spots un-Cena and not-Macho Man, glaring at them until they get the hint and slink away. “Ren, are you okay? What happened?”
“What happened? Chase, it’s cute that you brought a charity case, but you know the agency’s people stay outside. There are rules for a reason.” Lawson’s gravelly voice sounds like Harvey Fierstein with a helium balloon. This guy must smoke four packs an hour and use Listerine as a chaser.
“Richie, she’s not from the agency. I introduced you to her earlier. She’s my girl?—”
“Coop, stop fucking playing with me.” He sounds disappointed. “You’re better than this. I don’t care how good a mouth she has, you don’t bring them out of the bedroom until the lipo and Tic Tac diet does the job.”
Chase drops my hand and steps toward Rick the Dick, going toe to toe. “What the fuck did you just say? I’m hoping it’s the alcohol and loud music that makes it sound like you’re disrespecting my girl.”
Richie glances back at me again for half a second before his lip curls up. “Fine. I sure hope you’re paying by the hour and not the pound, though, buddy.”
In the blink of an eye, Chase has Richie shoved up against the wall by the lapels of his jacket. The security bros stand by, unsure of which person to take orders from. Three staffers come rushing over to break it up, but they stop when they see who’s involved. No one wants to interrupt Hollywood’s new royalty as he shows the old guard the way out.
“Jesus Christ! Fine!” Richie holds his hands up. “She can sit wherever she wants.”
“It’s not about where the fuck she sits, dickhead. It’s about respect, something you know fuck all about,” Chase snarls, not backing down. “I don’t give a shit if other people let you talk to them like that. I’ll fucking deck you if you say one more fucking thing, got it?”
“You’ll throw your entire career away for a?—”
Chase shoves him harder, and I swear he growls.
I am so wet for this man right now.
