glanced over at Chase, his shadowy profile completely focused on the road.
Honestly, what’s the worst that could happen? She’d put on her game face and be Vanessa the Socialite, Chase’s polished arm decoration for a few hours. Maybe she’d bump into an acquaintance or two and have to charm her way around the questions. Either way, she’d been doing this since she was eleven, so it wasn’t as if it was difficult.
Second nature. Easy as pie.
And she’d also have time to work her charm on Chase Harrington, although exactly how she’d get him to change his mind was a bit of a mystery at the moment. Despite her lack of planning, she wasn’t about to give up on that manuscript just yet.
She rolled her neck gently, feeling the familiar pull of shoulder and back muscles stretch and pop into position as Chase drove into the parking garage.
Game on.
* * *
She was a vision of aristocratic beauty and poise, Chase thought as they mounted the steps to the impressively lit Jefferson building. She’d done her hair into some kind of Elizabeth Tayloresque updo, the sleek style and halter neck emphasizing her bare shoulders. Her smooth, pale skin glowed, a welcome change from the endless array of tanned bodies. Her only jewelry was a pair of simple silver hoop earrings, and the understatement made her dress—a swirly orange confection—an eye-catcher.
They were nearly at the top of the second flight when her gaze met his and she gave him a small smile.
A smile that somehow made his blood beat a little faster.
And then, something happened. As they took the final stairs and light, warmth and sound hit, her entire demeanor changed.
It was like a curtain coming down: one instant she’d been smiling at him, the next, every single muscle had tightened, pulled taut into a facade of sickeningly familiar aloofness. When he blinked it had spread to her whole body, from her straightened shoulders to her tilted chin and firm posture.
The Perfect look. The superior, I-am-so-much-better-than-you sheen that made him stiffen in involuntary disgust.
He’d had a moment of uncharacteristic conscience-wrestling during the drive over, debating whether to confess he’d deliberately asked her out knowing a bunch of people from her former life would be here. But then he’d shrugged it off. She’d said yes, right? She was a smart girl: the thought must’ve occurred to her too.
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