Rascal (Rascals Book 1)(40)

“I don’t mind,” I told him honestly. “Your mom seems nice.”

“She is,” he said.

“Do I need to wear anything special?” I asked, looking down at my suit.

“I think you look great,” he told me. “But my parents tend to be a little more . . . formal.”

I understood what he was saying. “Give me ten minutes.” I leaned over the bar and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

He turned his head and caught my lips with his. He kissed me for a while, until I forgot exactly what I was supposed to be doing.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to cancel?” he asked when we broke apart. “Because I’d much rather order takeout and do more of that, alone.”

I wanted that too. But I was also curious, and in that instance, it was my curiosity that won out.

“Ten minutes,” I promised, and hurried upstairs.



We were soon on the road, me in my trusty black wrap dress and Emerson wearing a jacket over his dark jeans and button up shirt. I had styled myself much like I would for a work function, fake diamond earrings in my ears, simple black pumps and a matching purse.

I was nervous, and only got more nervous the closer we got to River West, where his parents lived. It was the most expensive neighborhood in Chicago, and it showed. Each house we passed was more beautiful than the next, and I was beginning to feel way out of my league by the time we pulled up to a house where several cars were already parked.

“Dammit,” Emerson groaned as we pulled up in front of the house, where a valet was waiting for us.

A valet. At a private residence.

“I thought this was a family dinner,” I said with a gulp.

“My mom clearly forgot to mention they’re having one of their dinner parties,” Emerson sighed as we got out of the car. “I’m guessing it’s just the family—and a few dozen of Dad’s closest friends and business acquaintances.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry,” he told me. “It’s just like your work party, only more boring.”

I stifled a laugh, though I really wanted to throw up. I was completely out of my league with people like this—it was bad enough when I thought it was just going to be the Hayes family, but a party? The whole thing was nerve-wracking.

Thankfully, Emerson didn’t let go of my hand as we walked into the gorgeous old building. I was grateful for the support—both emotional and physical—because if I felt out of my league before, this was like showing up to the community pool and finding Michael Phelps swimming laps.

Emerson’s parents’ home was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen. It was like a magazine spread, walls covered in extraordinary pieces of art, the furniture ornate, and everything perfectly lit by the enormous chandeliers that extended from the ceilings. There were Persian rugs on the floor, Fabergé eggs on tables, and delicate crystal centerpieces filled with flowers on every other available surface. But more than all the expensive furniture was the attention to detail. The way things matched and contrasted – how someone had poured effort into making this a beautiful, welcoming space. This was a home, the kind I’d grown up dreaming about: somewhere safe and sturdy, not like the cheap apartments I’d shuffled between where someone was always banging on the walls to keep the noise down and the hot water ran out before nine a.m. Here, there were plush carpets and an amazing sense of calm, even with the buzz of activity from the party.

I couldn’t stop staring.

The Hayeses had also hired a full wait staff, who were currently weaving through the guests, offering hors d’oeuvres and champagne. Everyone was dressed in black, which made me feel a little less self-conscious, but only a little. Because I was pretty sure I was the only one whose jewelry didn’t have real diamonds in it. I untucked my hair from behind my ears carefully, hoping that no one would be able to tell that I was wearing fake jewels.

There was no sign of Hayley or Emerson’s mother anywhere, but everyone seemed to know Emerson, greeting him warmly as we wove through the crowd. He made introductions, but quickly extracted both of us from the conversation before anything more than small talk could occur. It was clear that most of the people in attendance worked with Emerson’s father. The room seemed to be filled with investment bankers and their society wives. I felt even more self-conscious about my own status—and my fake earrings—as it became clear that I was among the one percent of the one percent.

Netflix and chill was looking better by the minute.

But if there was one consolation, it was that Emerson seemed to be as out of place here as I felt. He seemed restless and tense, and he wouldn’t stay still, pulling us through the crowd, giving me the world’s fastest tour of the main rooms of the house.

“This place is amazing,” I told him, not sure what else to say.

He gave a wry grin. “I guess. Mom gets a bug and redesigns every couple of years, just so she can be featured in some magazine all over again.”

He pulled me over to the other side of the room where Hayley was standing with a glass of champagne and a spinach puff.

“Dinner? Really?” he asked his sister, who at least had the good sense to look guilty.

“I thought it would be better for you to be here while there’s a crowd,” she told him. “You and Dad don’t do well at small events, remember?”