Reluctantly Yours(44)

We smile for the cameras, Barrett’s arm around my waist, pulling me in close. The second we make it into the screening tent to check in, I step out of his reach. He doesn’t bother to address my rebuff.

A woman checks us in and gives us our silent auction bidding numbers and dining table number, then we move into a side room for cocktails. My heels are new and I’m struggling a bit, the balls of my feet absorbing the pounding of the hard marble floor, but when Barrett offers his arm, I push past him.

“Chloe,” he hisses in my ear, grabbing my elbow to keep me in place. “Do I need to remind you why you’re here?”

“No.” I give him my coolest stare. “I’m aware. But I don’t want to spend one more second with you than I have to.”

With that, he lets me go. Where I’m going, I’m not sure, but the room is spacious and I’d like to give myself some space from Barrett. The bar seems like a good idea but I don’t even make it that far before a waiter with a tray of champagne offers one to me.

A glass of champagne and a few passed hors-d’oeuvres later and I’m feeling less feisty. I’ve lost track of Barrett but a chilly breeze from my two o’clock tells me he’s not far.

I don’t recognize anyone. Why would I? This is Barrett’s social circle. I’m a loner chugging her champagne but that’s better than being around Barrett’s grumpy ass. If he’s my lifeline at this event, I’d rather drown.

“There you are,” a woman says behind me.

I turn around to find a gorgeous brunette dressed in a pretty bubble gum pink gown. She looks familiar but I’m uncertain why she would be looking for me.

“I’m Emma, Barrett’s cousin.” She smiles radiantly at me. “We met in passing at one of Aunt Jo’s book launches.”

“Oh, that’s right. I knew you looked familiar.” I stick out my hand. “Chloe Anderson.”

“I know who you are, silly.” She pulls me into a hug. “And what you are.”

“What’s that?” I ask nervously.

“Barrett’s girlfriend. I had to see it with my own eyes.”

She looks around, probably expecting Barrett to be nearby. She’ll be disappointed I ran him off.

“Oh. Right.”

“You are tiny,” she says, then her eyes widen with alarm. “Sorry, I hope that’s not rude. People always think I’m short. My mother’s a runway model, former runway model. She’s sixty now so the eye cream campaigns keep her busy. Honestly, she doesn’t look a day over forty.” Emma pauses, likely retracing the point she’s trying to make. I recognize this because I do it a lot, too. “My point being, people wonder why I didn’t get her height. I blame my dad. It’s the quintessential leggy model falls for short photographer,” she waves at herself, “therefore producing less than average height offspring.”

She takes a sip of her champagne.

“Sorry. I talk a lot. It’s genetic.”

“Then you can’t be related to Barrett.”

That earns me a laugh.

“Our mothers are sisters so it might just be a Smith girl thing.”

“Your dress is gorgeous.” She looks me over again. “Your ass looks amazing in it.”

“Thank you.” I smile. Her compliment gives me reassurance. What I didn’t get from Barrett.

My mind returns to earlier and Barrett’s lack of interest in my appearance. Nothing worse than putting in the effort and nobody bothers to acknowledge it. I could have been wearing a potato sack and he probably wouldn’t have noticed. I make a mental note to try that at our next event.

“I was just going to say the same thing about your dress.” I recall what JoAnna has told me about her niece. “You’re a dress designer, right?”

“Bridal gowns mostly, but I play around with my own cocktail attire, too. The perk of making your own dresses is you can play up your assets,” she does a little shimmy of her ass, “and find the most flattering form for what you don’t have.” She slides a hand under her slight bust.

“Well, you look amazing.”

“Thank you.” A brilliant smile lifts the corners of her mouth. It’s like looking in a mirror. Something tells me that might be the first time she’s heard that tonight, too.

“Where is Barrett?” she asks. “I can’t imagine he’s far. He wouldn’t want you to get snapped up by a smooth talking, Golden Retriever lover.

I shrug. “He was going to make the rounds. Business.” It’s not really a lie, I imagine that’s exactly what he’s doing. That’s all he seems to do.

“Ugh. That guy works too much. I work too much and I still have time for a social life. Barrett’s work ethic is right up there with Ebenezer Scrooge. His mood, too.”

I laugh, knowing I’ve had similar thoughts about him.

“Are you two close?” I ask, curious to get more information about Barrett without having to ask the man himself.

“We’re both only children, and with our mothers being sisters, we grew up together. He’s always been the older brother I never had.”

“I’m the oldest of five and always wished I had an older sibling.”

“How old are you?” she asks.