Boyfriend Material (Hawthorne University, #2)(64)

A live band plays soft music to the right. Round, linen-covered tables are on the left. A herringbone parquet dance floor is in the middle. Servers dart around with platters of champagne and appetizers.

“You have a freaking ballroom in your house.”

“You have something against slow dancing?”

“It doesn’t bring the tips. Do they know I’m a stripper?”

He tenses. “No. It’s none of their business.”

My palms start to sweat.

He kisses my knuckles. “Don’t be nervous. You’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“Not concerned with you running off with the competition.” I push up a smile as I glance around. Most of the people are middle-aged or older.

He swans me around the perimeter, nodding and smiling at people but not pausing. “It’s completely extra considering we only use this room a few days a year.”

“Same, our heat only worked a few days a year.”

He smirks. “Regardless of what you do or where you come from, it only matters if you let it.”

“Nice speech, but were you talking to me or trying to convince yourself?” I say as I fix his bowtie, although it was already perfect. I try to put it back the way it was before I touched it.

He smiles. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to my parents.”

We weave our way through the crowd. People stop what they’re doing to greet him as he passes. He looms over most of the men, and he’s full of charm but doesn’t break stride until he stops in front of a couple at the bottom of a flight of stairs. They look vaguely familiar. I’m sure they came to graduation at our prep school, but that was years ago.

Maybe in his fifties, his father is tall and fit as if he spends time in a gym maintaining his physique. His hair is completely gray but full and lustrous. He has piercing green eyes, and the intensity of them is like being stabbed with a knife.

He gives me a hooded up and down, then dismisses me as he turns to Eric.

“You’re late.”

“Hi to you too, Dad.” Eric shakes his hand. “Yeah, traffic was a bitch. Sorry.”

Mr. Hansen scoffs then takes a sip of his champagne, his gaze jumping back to me.

I give him a frozen smile. If I just keep smiling, everything will be alright.

Eric kisses his mom’s cheek. Barely a touch.

Elegantly dressed in a floor-length black velvet evening gown, her hair is long and white-blonde. A perfect porcelain doll, her eyes are an icy blue, her smile barely there and vacant.

He pulls me closer. “Mom, Dad, I want you to—”

“Come this way,” his father says as he cuts him off and drags him away to the center of the floor. He hands a champagne flute to Eric, then clears his throat. “Everyone! Everyone! My son has finally arrived, and I have an announcement to make.”

A strained expression flits over Eric’s face as the music and chatter ebb away.

“Eric has been accepted into Hawthorne Law School. He’s decided against the Ivy league to follow my education path.” He pats Eric on the back. “He’s a future leader at Hansen Investments, where he’ll take us into the next generation.”

Applause and congratulatory calls come from the room and Eric smiles. They walk back to me and Mrs. Hansen—who hasn’t spoken a word—even though I’m standing right here. Smiling.

Eric wraps an arm around my waist, almost clinging to me. “Alright. Now. I’d like to introduce you to Julia Lauren. My girlfriend.”

They both blink as if Eric just said the world is flat. I mean, I am a girl and I am on his arm.

“Hi,” I manage. “Surprise?”

Eric lets out a husky laugh.

His father’s eyebrows come together. “You didn’t mention you were bringing a girlfriend. What was your name again?”

“Julia Lauren. Nice to meet you.”

His mother reaches a delicate, manicured hand out to me. She grazes my palm with the tips of her fingers in a limp shake. “Nice to meet you, darling.”

Eric gives me a pained smile. “I guess they thought you were a random girl I escorted inside the party.”

“Funny,” I say, but my eyes say Why didn’t you tell them I was coming?

“Be careful with this one,” Mr. Hansen continues. “He has quite the reputation.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I reply coolly. Lie.

“Then you haven’t given him time,” Mr. Hansen replies as he plucks two champagne flutes from a server and hands one to me, then to his wife. “Welcome to our home.”

We clink glasses, and I take a big gulp. I might need it to make this evening pass quickly.

“Tell me about yourself,” Mr. Hansen asks, eyeballing me as if I’m under a microscope.

“Um, I’m a senior at HU. I’m getting a Fine Arts degree. I know Eric from prep school.”

“Last name?”

“Lauren. I was one of the scholarship students.”

He repeats my name a few times, then shakes his head. “I don’t recall you. But then it was a big class.”

And I was a nobody.

A long silence stretches and tension bubbles in the air.

Mrs. Hansen breaks it by looping an arm through mine and starts tugging me away. “Sorry, guys, she’s mine now.”