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  I run the palm of my hand over my hair to make sure it’s still bone straight. It is. But it’s best to indulge her, or I’ll never hear the end of it.

  “I’ll go freshen up right now.”

  “Oh my goodness, dear, I almost forgot. Your father and I just ran into Gregory while we were checking on the boat.”

  “Such a nice young man,” my father chimes into the conversation as he prepares mimosas for their brunch.

  “So charming,” my mother agrees. “He was positively delighted to hear you and Andrew had finally arrived.”

  Great. Gregory Chase. My ex.

  “That’s nice,” I offer while thinking the exact opposite.

  “He was so happy to hear you would be joining him and your brother in New Haven this fall that I suggested you two should get together to discuss being a new student. I’m positive he can offer you insight on how to navigate the social landscape from the very first day.” She acts like I’m not privy to that information, from say, my brother who will be a senior this year, unlike Gregory, who will only be a sophomore, but she digresses. “And maybe you two can rekindle your romance from last summer?” she says in a sing-songy tone.

  And there it is. Her real agenda.

  That. Is. Never. Going. To. Happen.

  “Your mother’s right, it is never too early to start networking,” my dad interjects. Because of course school isn’t solely about learning, it’s also a networking opportunity and according to my mother a place to fill your social calendar. I stop myself from rolling my eyes. Whoever thought to attend Yale just to learn? To better their future? Silly me.

  “I’ll be sure to talk to him at the club tonight,” I say with a smile, trying to placate them.

  “Oh no, sweetie, I meant at the club this afternoon for lunch,” my mother clarifies. “Hurry, hurry. I told him you would be there in less than an hour.”

  “Mother.”

  “What, dear?” she says wide eyed and completely unaware of how little I want to have lunch with Greg. “You two make the cutest couple.”

  “Made, Mother. We made a cute couple, but we broke up. Remember?”

  “Now, Ashley, that was the gentlemanly thing for him to do. He needed to keep his focus at school instead of trying to divide his attentions and risk letting you down,” my father says like that’s the real reason Gregory and I broke up. “So, let’s not fault him for that, shall we.”

  Right. I’d like to tell them the gentlemanly thing to do would’ve been for Gregory to treat me more like a girlfriend and less like a prop. Or for him to stop trying to constantly pressure me to sleep with him all summer long. Or that the truth was I broke up with him. I shake my head. What’s the point in attempting to explain the vast many reasons Gregory and I would never work out? The list would be far too long, and I’m not sure my parents would believe Gregory Chase possible of doing wrong in the first place.

  “Fine,” I sigh, the dutiful daughter as always. How bad could it be? It’s just lunch.

  …

  I pull around the circular driveway of the Boat House Country Club and let a handsome valet in his early twenties open my car door and help me out before handing me my valet ticket. I tuck the ticket into my purse then step out of the summer heat and into the air conditioned lobby of the clubhouse where I’m immediately greeted by Mr. Billings, the club manager.

  “Why, Miss Whitmore, you look absolutely lovely today. Welcome back,” he says bending slightly at the waist, a full body nod.

  “Mr. Billings, how are you?” I ask, admiring the nautically themed room decorated for the summer kickoff party later tonight. “Everything looks beautiful.”

  “Thank you, miss, it should be a wonderful evening. I do hope you’ll enjoy yourself.”

  “I’m sure I will,” I say, even though the party itself is more suited for my parents, professionals at working a room after all the years of campaigning for my father’s Senate career.

  My brother and I typically stay for an hour or two, catch up with our friends and their parents then take off, only to meet back up on the beach for a more age appropriate party. The kind with red solo cups.

  “Mr. Chase is in the dining room waiting for you.” Mr. Billings gestures to a pretty blonde standing behind a podium at the entrance of the club restaurant. “Madison will be happy to show you right in. Enjoy.”

  The girl, who looks about my age, ushers me into the dining room where Gregory sits at a table overlooking the ninth hole. Despite our past, even I’m capable of admitting he’s a very good looking guy and by the smile on the hostess’ face, she agrees.

  His medium blonde hair is gelled perfectly into place, and his light brown eyes look like they’re up to no good. Which they typically are, so I’m still not sure how he has my parents so snowed over. None the less, behind his good looks is an air of superiority that has always turned me off, even when I let my sixteen year old self get swept up in the idea of him. The reality was not quite so swoon worthy.

  “Beautiful,” Gregory coos in greeting as I approach the table. He stands to pull my chair out for me, and I’m reminded why my father thinks he’s such a gentleman.

  “Hi Greg,” I say, brushing off his pet name. He calls girls ‘gorgeous’ or ‘sexy’ all the time, which I’m sure he thinks is charming, but I disagree.

  “The waiter will be right with you.” The hostess bats her eyelashes not so subtly at him, and I have to keep myself from rolling my eyes at how obvious she is.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” he says with a rakish grin, causing the girl to blush before she walks away, adding an extra swing in her hips that Gregory can’t help but watch.

  “I texted Andrew to meet us, but he’s playing the back nine before the party,” I explain casually, opening my menu and hoping it’s clear to Greg this is not a date by any stretch of the imagination.

  “Yes, I know. I spoke with him earlier today as well.” He grins like the Cheshire cat. “He mentioned he thought the rest of your family would be at the Marina this morning. Lucky for me, he was right. I ran into your mother and father and… well, here we are.”

  Lucky? By the look in his eye, I’m confident it was no coincidence he and my mother just happened to run into each other on the dock. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out they were in league with one another devising this little set up in the first place. Nothing would make my mother happier than me getting back together with Gregory.

  “Good afternoon and welcome to the Field House Grille. May I start you two off with drinks or an appetizer today?” The waiter’s voice startles me out of my conspiracy theories, and I resume perusing my menu.

  “Yes, I’ll have a long island ice tea and a white wine spritzer for the lady.” Gregory orders with confidence. He’s only a year shy of the legal drinking age so he may pass as old enough to get served, but it’s obvious I’m not old enough to drink yet. “And then we’ll have an order of the calamari to start and for our entrees she’ll have the sea bass, and I’ll have the filet.” He shuts his menu and hands it back to the waiter with bravado.

  “I’ll actually have a bottle of San Pellegrino please,” I say, staring at my menu, trying to avoid the embarrassment of being carded and then denied, or worse, my parents finding out I tried to order an alcoholic drink, at the club no less. “And what salad would you recommend?” I start to ask, but the words get caught in my throat when I finally look up and see the waiter.

  Whoa.

  He. Is. Gorgeous.

  “Well…our house mixed salad is very popular. It’s locally grown organic and is fresh picked daily. It comes with a light raspberry vinaigrette dressing that can be tossed on or left on the side,” he says, holding my gaze.

  “Oh. Yes. That sounds… yummy.” The words come out all breathy, and I’m immediately humiliated at the way I must have sounded.

  Yummy. Breathy. Seriously, Ashley?

  “Then on the side, miss?” the waiter asks, a faint smile playing on his lips.

 
; “Yes, thank you,” I say, feeling my face flush with warmth.

  Apparently Gregory Chase isn’t the only boy in town who can make a girl blush, and by the daggers Gregory’s shooting the poor guy with his eyes, he knows it too.

  Gregory clears his throat and pulls the attention of the waiter back on him. “Fine. We’ll have one house salad with dressing on the side and an order of calamari to start.” Then with a dismissive flick of his hand, “Now, go fetch our drinks.”

  Go fetch our drinks? Is he serious? How can he think it’s okay to speak to someone that way? But before I can say anything the cute waiter lets out an amused laugh that surprises me.

  “I’m sorry sir, but I’m gonna have to see an ID first.” The waiter looks not at all sorry to ask, which makes me have to hide a smile.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Gregory starts. “I left it in the men’s locker room,” he explains, but his confidence is shaken. No one ever challenges Gregory.

  “I’m sorry sir, but without a valid ID I’m not gonna be able to serve you, but I’ll be happy to wait here while you go and get it.” The waiter gives Greg a fake smile and then me a real one. He clearly is enjoying himself.

  It’s evident Greg’s not going to get his way, so he finally concedes, but without an ounce of grace. “How about you take your eyes off my date, and go do your job.” He levels the waiter with his eyes. “And just bring me a damn coke while you’re at it.”

  “Will do, sir,” the waiter says with artificial politeness, giving Gregory an almost imperceptible bow before turning around and leaving.

  This time, I’m the one who gets caught watching one of the waitstaff walk away.

  Chapter 3

  Lane

  “What an ass.” I shove past the thick swinging doors and into the busy kitchen.

  “Qué pasó, my main man?” Mario, the Grille’s line cook asks as I punch the order into the system.

  “Dude, I just busted some richie-rich for trying to order drinks underage, and he had the nerve to yell at me for looking at his date. Too bad for him, she was looking right back,” I say with a cocky laugh before giving Mario a high five. “Man, it’s the jerks like that, that always get everything in life—the money, the power, the girl. Probably has some big fat trust fund to pay for college too.”

  “Sorry, man, but try not to let him get under your skin, amigo.”

  I know Mario’s right, I should just let it go, but I’m sick and tired of Stays treating us locals like we’re nothing. And who the hell tells someone to ‘go fetch’? What am I? A dog? What an ass.

  I drum my fingers against the metal counter at the pass until Mario rings the service bell with a grin and hands me their starters.

  “Here, orders up and good luck.”

  I give him a nod then try to shove my jealousy and anger down when I enter the dining room again, but I feel it hovering right on the surface. I take a deep breath before setting the calamari in the center of the table and the salad in front of the girl.

  “Is there anything else I can get you right now?” I ask, and it’s hard to keep my eyes off of her long dark hair, her light green eyes and her legs that go on for miles. Maybe that douche had a point.

  “No, I’m fine. Thank you,” she says politely, and I wonder why she’s on a date with such an ass-hat. Either way, girls like her don’t date boys like me. Unless they’re trying to piss off their parents, which is fine by me, but she doesn’t look like the rebellious type.

  I turn to face him, lifting my eyebrows. “And you?” I ask because it’s my job.

  “Yes, there is something you can do for me, how about you explain why my silverware is off of the floor.” He holds up his dinner fork, but I don’t understand what he’s talking about. Off the floor?

  “Excuse me?” I reach for the fork to examine it. I personally set this table less than an hour ago, and the silverware hadn’t touched the ground. Why would it? But right before I’m able to take the fork from him for a closer look he opens his thumb and pointer finger letting the fork fall to the hardwood floor with a loud ping that echoes through the dining room.

  “See.” He looks me right in the eyes, a smirk plastered across his smug face, challenging me.

  You have got to be kidding me. This guy picked the wrong day.

  I calmly pick the fork up off the ground, bring it to my mouth and spit on the tongs before lifting my apron and polishing it until it’s dry and shining. So much for not letting him get under my skin.

  “My apologies, sir.” I place the fork back on the table in front of him like I’d accidentally brought out the wrong appetizer instead of spitting all over the dude’s silverware. “If there’s anything else I can do for you please let me know, otherwise your entrees will be out shortly.”

  I watch his eyes go wide with shock before walking away looking cool, calm, and collected, even though on the inside I’m totally freaking out. This is not going to end well.

  “Lane!” Mr. Billings shouts several minutes later over the kitchen noise, his face beet red.

  Not. Good.

  “Did you or did you not just pick up a dirty fork from the restaurant floor, precede to spit on it then place it back on the table in front of Mr. Chase?” A large throbbing vein in his forehead protrudes at an unhealthy height while he waits for my answer, but it’s obvious he already knows exactly what happened.

  “In my defense, sir, saliva is cleaner than urine, which I had considered using.” I hope a little comic relief will help defuse the situation, but it doesn’t.

  “Lane,” he growls, not appreciating my humorous quip.

  “Mr. Billings, I’m sorry. I have no excuse for my behavior. Well, I mean, I do. The guy was being a total jerk. He dropped that fork on the floor on purpose, I swear.” I take a deep breath and worry Mr. Billings isn’t breathing at all by the color of his face, which is now a dark shade of purple.

  What was I thinking? I guess I wasn’t, really. When the fork hit the ground, I just reacted. My regret is immediate when I consider what I’ve done. I needed to get more shifts at work, not lose my job, which by the looks of it, I was about to do.

  “Sir, I let him get to me, but it’ll never happen again, I promise. I’ll go apologize to him right now.” I start for the kitchen door.

  “Stop,” Mr. Billings orders. “You will do nothing of the sort. Lane, Mr. Chase and his family are very influential here at the club and in this community, not to mention the world. You cannot go around spitting on the silverware of the youngest son in the Chase banking family and not suffer the consequences.”

  “What…I mean…who…” I stammer. “You mean that Chase family?” My mouth falls open.

  “Precisely.”

  Oh crap.

  “Sir, please I had no idea, and I know that’s no excuse, but I got some bad news earlier today about my school loan, and I guess I just took it out on him. Please, I’m so sorry,” I beg.

  “Yale?” Mr. Billing’s tone softens and his shoulders drop as he gestures with his eyes for me to follow him into his office.

  “Yes, sir, I…I didn’t qualify for the financial aid I need,” I explain, once he’s shut the door, blocking out the kitchen noise. He knows how hard I’ve worked to get into Yale, and he also knows my family can’t manage to pay for it without the extra help. “It’s a long story, but I really can’t afford to lose this job. I was actually going to ask for some extra shifts so I could try and save enough money this summer to pay for it myself.”

  “Lane,” Mr. Billings says with equal parts disappointment and frustration in his tone. I keep my eyes on the floor and brace myself for what I know is coming. I’m gonna lose my job. “I can’t keep you on, you have to know that. Mr. Chase insists you be fired immediately, and I have to agree. If word got out that I allowed you to stay on in the dining room or if the health board found out about your little stunt, we’d both be fired.” He blows out a breath as he sits down behind his desk.

  He’s right, and ther
e’s no one to blame but me. “I’m sorry, sir. I completely understand. I’ll leave.” I untie my apron, too embarrassed to even make eye contact.

  “Wait.” Mr. Billings says, sounding more sympathetic than anything now. “Lane, I obviously can’t keep you on as a waiter, but maybe I can still keep you on as staff.”

  I jerk my head up. “Really?”

  “Look, Lane, you’re a good kid. Believe me, I know it’s not easy growing up here and having to deal with people like that Chase boy all the time. I get it. But you can’t act out on a whim like that.” He shakes his head clearly disappointed in me and I feel bad for letting him down. “You have to learn to let it go. How else do you think I’m able to deal with half the patrons of this club? Mr. Chase included.”

  I twist my hands around my apron. “I really am sorry, Mr. Billings. I’d do anything to stay on, I really need the work.”

  “Don’t make me regret this.” Mr. Billings tips his head back and takes a deep breath. “I’m moving you to dish washing. And you are not to be on the floor. Ever. You understand?”

  I have to keep myself from hugging him. I smile instead. “Yes, sir, I understand completely, sir.”

  “Now listen, it pays less than the waiter job, so how about I get you some extra shifts in the garage? But again, I need you to stay in the back and keep a low profile. Got it?”

  “That’d be perfect. I’m good with cars.”

  “Yes, I know,” he says. “Frank is always bragging about you when I run into him in town, tells me you two finally finished the restorations on that old Shelby. He’s pretty proud.”

  I nod, proud of what we built too. “Thank you so much, sir. I won’t let you down again. I promise.”

  “And, Lane, please try to stay out of trouble this time.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  …

  I feel right at home in the valet garage. The sound of metal clanking against metal and the smell of oil and grease in the air is a welcome change from the sound of wine glasses clinking and the smell of duck cooking. The absence of wealthy trust fund kids is an added bonus; I might not like them, but I love their cars.