Taking Turns (Turning #1)(81)

“So,” she says, fake smile all over her face. “You’ve met my dad. How special.”

I nod. “Yup. So nice of him to drop by. I was afraid I wouldn’t have your full attention tonight with that party.” And then I look at the senator. “But now we don’t have to go. You saved us from a boring night of hell, Henry. I owe you for that.” I wink at him just to thrust that knife in a little farther.

“OK,” Chella says. “Dad, I know you’ve met, but this is Smith. We’ve recently started a relationship.”

“And he’s living with you already?” her father blurts. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“Excuse me?” I say, pulling Chella behind me a little so I can look this piece of shit in the eyes. “She’s not,” I say in a low voice. “But even if she were, she’s a grown woman, Walcott. And she would tell her father about it when she was good and goddamned ready.”

“Senator,” a woman says, obviously uncomfortable with the tone of our conversation. “We have your table ready. Would you like to follow me?”

He stares daggers at me for a second longer than is polite, and I stare back. He can be a big old dick to me all he wants. But I won’t let him talk to Chella that way. Not while I’m around. And especially not in public.

Chella sighs as her father follows the woman. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers as we walk. “I had no idea he was going to show up. He told me he couldn’t make it for Christmas, so I naturally assumed—”

“Shh,” I hush her as we walk. “You don’t need to make excuses for him to me, Chella. I’ll handle this.”

We’re seated at a table for four next to a window and settle in, handing our coats over to the wait staff, who are over-eager to please the senator. His reputation for being an * precedes him.

After the server tells us the specials, we look at the menu in silence. I reach under the table and grab Chella’s hand.

She shots me a look of panic and shakes her head, mouthing, Stop it, at me.

But I shoot her a lopsided grin that says I’m absolutely not interested in backing down from this one.

“So,” Walcott asks, once we’ve ordered. “What do you do, Mr. Baldwin?”

“Dad.” Chella laughs. “Smith Baldwin?” she asks him, incredulous that he doesn’t know who I am.

“I’m talking to your friend, Marcella. I’m sure he can speak for himself?” He gives her a glare so ominous, I feel her wilt next to me.

I squeeze her hand harder. She doesn’t squeeze back.

“Nothing,” I say, answering his question.

“Excuse me?” her stunned father replies.

“I don’t do anything, Senator. I don’t have a job.”

He has the smuggest look on his face when he turns to Chella with raised eyebrows. “Not exactly cream of the crop, is he?”

“Actually, Senator Walcott, I am the cream of the crop. I don’t have a job because I’m richer than God, sir. I’m worth forty-seven billion dollars, to be exact. And my mission in life is to give it all away.”

“Really?” Chella asks, turning away from her father and towards me.

“Really,” I say, taking time out from the Mexican standoff her father and I are having to smile at her bewildered face. “It never came up.” I shrug. “So I didn’t bother mentioning it.”

“Giving it away?” her father asks, his temper tempered. “What does that mean?”

“Well,” I say, scratching the stubble on my face that I forgot to shave. “I don’t have a job because I don’t have time for one. I spend my days looking for people who need help. Sometimes that’s a corporation that I feel can make a difference. Sometimes it’s a non-profit. Sometimes it’s just a single mother who needs a hand up. You see, I give out one point six billion dollars every year and it’s not as easy as it sounds to spend that much money, Senator. At least for private-sector people like myself. I’m sure you government types could find a good war to spend that on, but that’s a conversation for another night.”

I look over at Chella. Her mouth is hanging open. I think I just really f*cked that up. I’m about to apologize to her when she says, “I had no idea, Smith.”

Oh. Well, maybe she’s impressed. Maybe I’m not the dick she thought I was.

“No,” I say, “I don’t like to talk about it much. But since you asked, Senator, let me just be a little more thorough with my explanation. You see, when my parents died and left me with all this money, I had some idea what it might do to me.”

“Do to you?” the senator asks, frowning.

“Corrupt me, sir. Turn me into someone people don’t like.”

Like you, I think. But then I take it back, even though I didn’t say it. Because he did something right. He helped create Chella. And she’s as sweet as they come, even with that dirty, dark side she’s trying to hide. I know there’s more to her life, her past, and her motives for being with me and my friends, but I don’t care. It’s just not a factor in how I feel about her as a person.

She likes the dark stuff, just like me. Just like Bric. Just like Quin. But we’re not bad people. None of us. And neither is she.