Not You It's Me

by Julie Johnson

  Friends?

  I can’t speak — mostly because I’m struggling not to spit my mouthful of wine all over her as her words rattle around my skull.

  It doesn’t seem to bother her that I don’t respond; she just grins wider and leans closer, her voice dropping low. “I never would’ve come, if Brett hadn’t invited me. I didn’t think he knew I existed, until he called earlier. I mean, our mothers ran in the same society circles, and we’ve crossed paths a few times at functions like this, but he’s never even looked my way — until today. I don’t know what changed, but I wasn’t about to say no — these Croft boys are hot. Mega hot. Burn your freaking tongue hot.”

  God, she even sounds like me when she talks.

  I swallow hard. “Tell me about it.”

  “So, you and Chase are—”

  I never get to hear the rest of her question because suddenly, the boys are back. There’s a careful distance between them, when they appear at our sides, and neither of them looks particularly happy. But considering no one is on the floor bleeding, I’m thinking that’s pretty much par for the course, with them.

  Chase squeezes my hand and I turn to look at him, instantly troubled by the darkness in his eyes.

  “Dinner’s about to start. Let’s go find our table, sunshine.”

  I tighten my fingers, squeezing to let him know I’ve heard him.

  “Great! I’m starved.” Brett smiles that oily smile of his. Unfortunately, it does very little to diminish his attractiveness. “It seems there was a mix up with the tables – Phoebe and I were originally seated in the back, instead of with the rest of the family.”

  “How odd,” Chase says flatly.

  Brett’s grin never wavers. “As luck would have it, I spoke to the wait-staff and they were able to move around some seats, so we could all sit together on the stage. One big, happy family, right, ‘cuz?”

  Chase’s jaw clenches tight. “Perfect.”

  Brett’s eyes move to mine and I tense at the look in them.

  “Gemma, did I mention? I had the pleasure of meeting a close friend of yours today. Ralph. Great guy — and he told me the most interesting stories about you! I’m sure my date would be fascinated to hear them, don’t you agree?”

  “If we’re trading stories, I’m sure there are plenty Chase could tell the table about you.” Fake smile fixed to my lips, I turn to the man by my side, who’s barely keeping his anger in check. “Let’s go find our table, love.”

  Chase nods, slips his arm around my waist, and starts to lead me away. I glance back at Phoebe, who’s still smiling happily, having totally missed the strained words I’ve just traded with her date, and wave goodbye. She seems so young, standing there next to Brett, and far too sweet for him. But as much as I’d like to grab her by the arm and scream run for the hills, while you still can! I don’t. I can’t. Not without revealing why.

  And, as nice as she is, that is seriously not an option.

  I push thoughts of her away and turn my attention to Chase.

  “You okay?”

  He nods. “You?”

  I nod, too.

  We’re both lying, but neither of us calls the other out on it.

  He glances at me. “She’s nice.”

  I nod again, this time in earnest. “Yeah.”

  “Seemed like you two hit it off.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “She liked you, Gemma.”

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter, does it? I have a distinct feeling, if she ever finds out I’m the glaring product of her father’s infidelity… she won’t like me very much at all. In fact, she’ll probably hate me, for ruining her life.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  I snort.

  “Maybe she’ll never find out.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” I roll my eyes. “This is Brett, we’re talking about. Brett. You seriously think, if he has a weapon he knows will hurt me — and you, by proxy — he won’t use it? That he’ll just shrug and say ‘bygones, cuz’ and let it slide? Come on, Chase.”

  “I’m sorry, sunshine. I thought I’d be able to protect you from this. I thought I’d stopped the story.”

  “You did stop it.” My hand tightens on his. “Neither of us could’ve predicted that Rat-Bastard Ralph would team up with Bat-Shit Brett.”

  “I’m just sorry you’re in the middle of it.”

  “Don’t be,” I say, my voice soft. “Because if I wasn’t in the middle of this, I wouldn’t be next to you. And right now, that’s the only place I want to be.”

  His eyes thaw, going soft as I watch, and he bends to press a kiss against my forehead.

  “Sunshine,” he whispers.

  And just that one word, in his deep, rumbling voice, warms me straight to my soul.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Always

  It doesn’t take long to find our table.

  At the far side of the massive ballroom, where several dozen large, round tables have been set up with white linen clothes, towering floral centerpieces, and a full china dinner-service, there’s a long, rectangular table, slightly elevated on a platform, where the Croft family is seated.

  Several people are already there — Brett’s mother, a dark-haired woman with ice-blue eyes; a set of cousins nobody talks to except at family shareholder meetings, and several members of the executive board. Chase leads me to the empty seats at the middle of the table, so we’re literally center-stage for all to see, and pulls out my chair.

  “Just breathe,” he whispers against my hair as he settles into the seat next to mine. “Three courses. One hour. Then we’re out of here.”

  It’ll be fine. I made it through five courses of canapés at Chrissy’s baby shower last month, surrounded by seventeen married women who repeatedly tried to set me up with every eligible bachelor in their phone books.

  This is child’s play.

  Except, that’s not really true. Because as soon as Brett and Phoebe arrive at the table, taking the two seats directly across from me and Chase… well, I’d take three hours of fending off set-ups any day of the week. My half-sister keeps smiling at me, her sociopathic date keeps letting his eyes roam from my face to my chest — come on, dude, I don’t even have cleavage in this dress — and Chase is getting tenser by the minute.

  I’m starting to think it can’t get any worse, when a man walks through the ballroom doors and begins making his way toward the stage, stopping briefly to speak with several attendees along the way. His expensive suit and distinguished appearance do nothing to distract from the fact that he’s a very sick man — his skin has an unnatural pallor, there are deep circles beneath his eyes, and he’s much too thin.

  I know instantly that this is Jameson Croft, even before he arrives at our table and takes the seat next to Chase. But, as he gets closer and I spot the fading blond in his gray hair, as I catch sight of his eyes, hard and green, I’m even more started by another thought. A thought so surprising, it catches me off guard.

  He looks nothing like his son, Brett, who’s a spitting image of his mother.

  In fact… he looks an awful lot like his nephew.

  ***

  The air at our table is tense, to say the least.

  Phoebe keeps catching my eye, looking more confused by the minute, and I can’t exactly blame her. I’m pretty confused, myself.

  Chase’s jaw is clenched so tight, I’m worried his teeth are going to break. He hasn’t taken a single bite of his dinner, and he’s sipping his glass of soda water like he wishes it were something a helluva lot stronger.

  Brett, for once, doesn’t look gloating or gleeful — he looks pissed. He’s gulping down glasses of scotch like he’s actively trying to end up under the table, a dark expression on his face as he looks from me to Chase to the man next to him.

  Jameson.

  Who, I might add, is the reason for all the tension.

  He arrived at the table, gave a stiff nod to Chase, another to Brett
, and settled into his seat without bothering to introduce himself to me or Phoebe. Even his wife got little more than a murmured hello. Mere seconds after he sat, a waiter appeared at his elbow with a short-stacked tumbler of clear liquid on ice — which he’s been sipping steadily for the past ten minutes.

  If the fact that the family patriarch, who just so happens to be dying of liver cirrhosis, is gulping down vodka shocks anyone at the table, they certainly don’t say as much. They don’t even look surprised — their expressions range from resigned (Brett’s mother) to enraged (Chase) to regretful (the cousins at the far ends, who no one seems to be speaking to).

  We eat in total silence, picking at arugula salads with sweet-roasted pecans and pretending it’s not odd that our dinner table is quieter than a monastery. For all I know, it’s not odd, for the Crofts. Maybe every dinner they eat is shrouded in silence and strained conversation. Somehow, I doubt they’re the kind of family who share stories about their days or bicker over the last bread roll in the basket.

  Phoebe’s eyes meet mine across the table and she widens them to the extreme in an unmistakable what-the-hell-is-happening-here expression. I shrug my shoulders up in a slight hell-if-I-know movement. She grins and returns her eyes to her plate.

  I start to smile myself, until I feel the weight of eyes on my face. My gaze slides to the left, and I find Brett is watching me, a calculated gleam in his ice-blue irises. Instead of flinching and looking away, I meet his stare head-on, raising one eyebrow at him in a cool, composed, what-the-hell-do-you-think-you’re-looking-at gesture. The smug twist of his lips is the only answer I get in return, so I just stuff more arugula into my mouth and pray that the second course is almost ready. Anything, to get me away from this world of silent conversations and strained relationships.

  ***

  Dinner finally ends, but the night’s not nearly over. I’m pushing the remnants of my chocolate cake around my plate, half-listening to the first of many speeches we’ll be forced to endure before we can finally go home.

  One of the cousins is at the podium, giving a long-winded summary of the company’s many accomplishments from the previous year.

  “Chase.”

  He looks at me with eyes that have glazed over, raising his brows in question.

  “I have to pee,” I whisper.

  He grins. “Gemma, this isn’t kindergarten. You don’t need my permission to leave.”

  My cheeks flame in the beginnings of a blush.

  “Go,” he says softly, eyes warm on mine. “Just hurry back. I don’t know how long I’ll last without you, here.”

  I smile at his words, slide back my chair, and beeline for the doors. My grin falters when I catch sight of a familiar hulking frame at the back of the ballroom — it’s Brett’s personal Bruce Banner henchman, standing in the shadows in his ill-fitting suit, looking intimidating as ever with that wicked-looking scar on his neck. Our gazes meet for a fraction of a second as I walk past, and the darkness in his eyes sends such a chill through me, I’m still shivering as I cross into the empty atrium and enter the women’s room.

  As soon as I close the stall door behind me, a huge sigh of relief escapes — in part because I really, really had to go, but mostly because I needed a break from Brett’s sidelong glances, Chase’s too-tense muscles, Jameson’s rapidly-emptying tumbler, and even Phoebe and her funny facial expressions. Every time she catches my eye and grins, like we’re both in on the same joke — like she’s already a close friend — my heart clenches.

  How long until Brett tells her?

  How long until she hates me?

  After I’ve taken care of business — not an easy feat in a floor-length dress, by the way — I head out to the bank of sinks. With a full lounge, a towel attendant, and several baskets of complimentary toiletry supplies laid out on the countertops, the bathroom clearly caters to an elite crowd. I’m moisturizing my hands with one of the mini-bottles of almond-scented lotion, when the door swings open.

  As soon as I lock eyes with the blonde in the mirror, who’s scowling at me with more vehemence than the guy I once spilled a two-hundred degree cappuccino on at my old job, I go still as a deer in headlights.

  Vanessa.

  “Looting the supplies, huh?” Her eyes narrow on the bottle in my hands. “Not surprising. You probably can’t afford your own. And trashy, gold-digging home-wreckers have to seize every opportunity, I suppose.”

  “Why don’t you tell me?” I snap sweetly. “I mean, after all — you’re the one who worked Chase over for a big payoff.”

  She sneers and steps closer, her black, strapless sheathe gown glittering in the low light. “You’re going to pay, bitch.”

  “Would it surprise you to hear you’re not the first person to tell me that, this week?” I roll my eyes. “And, frankly, it’s not nearly as scary the second time around. Maybe I’m getting immune to threats. Oh! Or, maybe your threats just suck.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Did you really think you could just take him from me? That I wouldn’t put up a fight?”

  “I hate to break it to you, but he wasn’t yours to take. Chase has been trying to ditch you for years.”

  “He’s going to forgive me, eventually, and then you’ll be the one out on your ass.” Her eyes gleam as she steps even closer, causing me to press back against the bank of sinks. “We belong together — I know it and he knows it.”

  “Sorry, but by together do you mean sleeping with someone else behind his back? Or getting him fired from his job? Or, my personal favorite, hurting him so bad, he fled the freaking country for five years?” I shake my head. “Somehow, I think Chase will have different ideas about a reunion tour with you.”

  “You don’t know anything! Anything. You’re just some little slut he’s interested in this week. A flavor of the month. A shiny new toy he’ll use until it’s thoroughly broken in. Until something newer and shinier comes along to replace you.”

  Her words hit me like a slap across the face. It takes effort to keep from showing any reaction.

  “You’re kidding yourself if you think this is going anywhere. He’s never going to settle down with a nobody like you — he said so himself, only days ago. On camera.” She laughs, a malicious sound designed to inflict pain. “We both know how this ends, Gemma. And it’s not with some happily-ever-after ride into the sunset.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from snapping back at her.

  “Chase is a Croft. He’ll fuck you and use you and when he’s done, he’ll toss you away.” She smiles, pleased with herself. “And when he does decide to settle down, it’ll be with someone good enough for him. Someone his family can be proud to be connected to. Someone like me.”

  My heart’s racing inside my chest, a mad tattoo of panicked beats I worry she’ll be able to hear across the five feet between us. I try to fight the truth in her words, try to tell myself she’s wrong. I know she’s exploiting my vulnerabilities, voicing my deepest fears of inadequacy and inferiority… but that doesn’t make it easier to dismiss her words.

  She steps closer, her voice dropping lower. “So, have your fun. Let him use you up, until you’re half in love with him. Let him take everything you have before he throws you away.” She grins. “Maybe you’ll even last the week. But six months from now, six years from now… do you really think you’ll be the one standing by his side?”

  I open my mouth, prepared to refute her words even if I worry they might be true, but I never get the chance. The sound of a stall door being thrown open, hard enough to rattle the hinges, makes me jump half-out of my skin. Vanessa and I turn at the same time to look at the brunette gliding from the stall, who’s clearly been eavesdropping on our conversation and, from the looks of it, isn’t at all sorry about it.

  “Vanessa.” Phoebe grins, but it’s got an edge I haven’t seen from her before. “Nice to see you again. I’m Phoebe West — remember me?”

  Vanessa’s face pinches with discomfort and goes suddenly pale.
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  “No?” Phoebe’s grin widens. “I’ll refresh your memory, then. I was the one at the Children’s Hospital Benefit last summer, who caught you and a certain married gentleman with his pants around his ankles in that back hallway. Very daring of you, considering his wife was in the next room, and all.”

  “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Vanessa snaps, though her voice lacks any real conviction.

  “Oh, I think you do. Flagrant infidelity in a public place isn’t the kind of thing a girl forgets!” Phoebe steps closer. “Then again, I suppose a classy, well-bred lady like yourself thought she was just doing her civic duties, since he was a city official, and all. Tell us, are your services factored into the state budget?”

  Vanessa huffs in outrage, turns to glare at me one last time, then stomps to the exit and disappears. My wide eyes move from the door to Phoebe, more than a little impressed that she managed to annihilate Vanessa with a few casual words.

  “That was way too much fun,” she says, stepping up to the sink beside mine, her eyes dancing with mirth. “I hate that girl. Always have. She bounces from one eligible bachelor to the next, trying to sink her claws in. The month she chose my older brother, Parker, as her target was one of the worst times of my entire life.”

  My world stills at the mention of her brother.

  My brother.

  She makes a disgusted sound. “She was like a leech. Following him everywhere. Showing up at the house. Swimming in our pool in a barely-there bikini, hanging all over him in front of me, calling him sweetheart and baby and boo-boo — blech! What self-respecting girl calls a man boo-boo?”

  “What self-respecting man lets her?”

  Phoebe grins. “Not Parker. He ditched her.”

  I hesitate a beat. “Is he… Is he dating anyone, now?”

  “Why?” Her eyebrows lift. “You interested? I thought you were with Chase.”

  “No!” I practically yell, uncomfortable at the suggestion that I’m incestuously interested in my half-brother. “I’m definitely with Chase. Just… wondering.”