“Of course,” I said smoothly, going around the car before sliding into the driver’s seat. “Your wish is my command.”
But inside, I was determined to have a good time. Why not? It’s not like my living was on the line. Escorting is a thing I do for fun, and if Southern Charm fired me tomorrow? No biggie. It’s not the money that motivates me, it’s the excitement.
Plus, this felt good, to be honest. It felt really nice to be squiring Jennie about, ushering her into my fancy car. It felt right with her by my side in the low slung seats, her creamy thighs crossed tantalizingly as I revved the Lamborghini and pulled it onto the road. Maybe it felt too right, but I was going to go with it. No sense in questioning a good thing.
I drove the car quickly, and fortunately, her hotel wasn’t too far from the reunion location. We pulled into the circular drive, a bunch of other cars already parked there.
“Go ahead and go in,” I rumbled. “I’ll catch up with you.”
“Oh sure,” she said quickly, grabbing her purse. “See you inside.”
But Jennie had forgotten one thing. Because as she made to exit the car, I seized her chin again with one strong hand and pulled her close for a deep, meaningful kiss. Oh shit. Those lips were so plush and delicious, the girl absolutely delectable.
She pulled back, eyes wide and breathless. But I just grinned at her.
“Some of our classmates are right behind us,” I said, indicating the rearview mirror. “We want them to see, remember?”
The girl nodded, but the light in her eyes dimmed somewhat before she nodded determinedly.
“Of course,” she murmured. And then taking a deep breath, Jennie flashed that million-watt smile at me again.
“See you inside,” she breathed, clicking open the door. And with that, the female was gone. I watched as she swayed up to the hotel’s revolving doors, mouth watering as that big rump swung back and forth. Absolutely delectable. I didn’t even have to pretend I was hungry, Jennie was that sweet.
And with one more glance in my rearview mirror, I pulled the Lambo out of the circular driveway and turned it over to the valet.
“Thanks,” was my greeting. “I’ll be back in an hour or so.”
“Certainly sir,” the valet nodded, eyes already wide at the sleek curves of the car. “Will do.”
With that, I exited and made my way to the hotel ballroom. Man, the reunion committee hadn’t spared any expense. The Grand was a luxurious hotel and it must have cost a pretty penny to rent out a place this big. Plus, there was champagne service outside, where the welcoming committee awaited. I saw Jennie standing at a table nervously, looking for her nametag.
Oh shit. Because as I watched, Heather Evans from way back when approached my girl.
“My, aren’t you Jennie Lake?” the blonde cooed in a syrupy voice. “I’m Heather, just in case you’ve forgotten.”
Jennie spun tentatively on her heel with a smile on her face.
“Hi, yes, I’m Jennie, Class of 2007. It’s nice to see you again, Heather.”
“Oh I wouldn’t forget you,” purred other woman. “I remember we used to call you something else though. Wasn’t it Jennie-Bennie? Or Jennie-Banana? Or maybe it was Jennie the Melon.”
My girl colored but she handled it like a pro.
“There were a lot of names back then,” she said calmly. “But it was a long time ago. I did love eating fruit and I still do. So yes, if you’d like to call me that, it’s fine, but I prefer Jennie.”
“Of course,” said the other woman, batting her lashes. “The Melon. That’s it, I remember now. It was because you were shaped like a melon right? And not because you ate melons?”
Jennie colored again, swallowing hard. But still, she didn’t lose her cool.
“Like I mentioned, fruit is good for you. The sugars inside are good sugars, and not the bad kind that’s in candy. So no, I was never called “The Melon,” but even if I was, it’s fine. It’s in the past,” she said determinedly.
But I’d had enough of this. What the hell was up with this Heather person? Some people are as mean at twenty-eight as they are at eighteen. They’re still in the school playground, hurling barbs like junior high idiots.
So with long strides, I was at my girl’s side in a moment.
“Hey sweetheart,” I rumbled, pressing a kiss against her cheek. “Sorry, the valet was so impressed by the Lamborghini that he had some questions about the car. Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
Jennie colored and turned to me with grateful eyes, smiling with relief. But Heather was faster.
“Oh my god, Jason Morgan!” she squealed. “It’s been ages! We weren’t sure if you were coming! I thought you lived in LA now.”
The series of exclamation points got to me, but I smiled at her coolly.
“Yeah, I wasn’t going to come but when Jennie was able to clear out her schedule, I didn’t want to miss it. After all, anything for my best girl,” I said pointedly, looking at a smile with the brunette. “I’d do anything for her.”
Maybe that was laying it on thick, but you have to do that sometimes with people as dumb as Heather. Because the blonde’s eyes went wide, and she let out a loud gasp.
“Are you dating?” she said in a wavery voice. “Oh my god, oh my god! The hot quarterback and … you?” she asked, turning back to Jennie with disbelief. “Oh my god, this is unbelievable.”
But before my girl could say anything, I stepped in again.
“Yeah, believe it,” was my low grunt. “Anything can happen in ten years, and you know what? Look at how amazing she is,” I said, running one big hand over the curve of Jennie’s waist before caressing her hip. “Have you ever seen someone so beautiful? Trust me, I work with actresses and models in LA, and there’s no one out there like this. Jennie’s real you know,” I said, lowering my voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “All those other girls are plastic,” I said with a wink.
Heather’s hand flew to her mouth then, covering her gasp.
“Oh my god,” she said. “Has Demi Moore had work done?” she asked. “I’ve always wanted to know. I see her in the tabloids all the time, and she looks amazing. If you know her surgeon, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you Jason? As old friends,” she wheedled.
I could hardly stop myself from rolling my eyes, this woman was so shallow. Was she actually asking me for a recommendation for a plastic surgeon? But I managed to keep my smile in place.
“You know I’ll never tell,” I said casually. “As an industry insider, we don’t trade in secrets. But twenty-seven is a little young for surgery,” I said. “Nothing against it, if that’s what you want, but hey,” I said with a shrug. “Maybe natural is better. Think about it.”
And with that, I swept Jennie away, leaving Heather gasping in our wake.
“You okay hun?” I asked in a low voice once we were inside the ballroom and off to the side near a wall. “That was kind of a rough start to the reunion. I’m sorry you had to experience that.”
My girl took a deep breath before shooting a watery smile my way. But then she straightened her shoulders.
“It was rough,” she acknowledged. “Charleston society isn’t exactly subtle. The jabs have sharp barbs and they hurt, even ten years later,” she said with a rueful smile. “But I can handle it. After all, that’s what I’m here to do, and I’m going to make this work. Do you want some punch? I’ll get you a glass,” she said with a smile.
And as I watched, the curvy brunette straightened her shoulders once more and walked towards the punch stand. My heart swelled in response because who was this girl who wouldn’t back down, even though we’d been thrown into the fire right away? She wasn’t a quitter for sure, and I had to respect her for that. Jennie Lake was innocent yet tough at once, and I loved the combination.
Fortunately, the rest of the reunion wasn’t too bad. We milled about for another hour or so, casually chatting with acquaintances.
“Morgan!” crowed one of my old buddies from way b
ack when. “Good to see you, bro.”
He clapped me on the back and it was almost enough to knock me over despite the fact that I’m a big guy. Because Biggie Smith used to be refrigerator sized and played offensive tackle. But he’s a victim of an athletic career gone sour. Dude could never get his grades up and so he was kicked off his college team after one semester. But he kept eating despite the fact that he wasn’t working out anymore, so now, Biggie’s more than a size large. He’s XXXXL, if you get my drift.
“Hey,” I said with a grin. “What’s going on?”
“Not much,” he said. “Same as always. Long time no see, dude! How are things with you?”
“Good, good,” I said casually. “Have I introduced you to my girlfriend Jennie?” I asked, turning to include the brunette. “Jennie, this is Biggie. Or maybe I should say Darren.”
But Biggie grinned magnanimously.
“Heya. Everyone still calls me Biggie,” he said. “Look at me! Plus, it works. I’m Santa come December, and the kids love it.”
I almost laughed out loud then because Santa was a perfect job for Darren. The giant belly and merry look in his eyes was perfect for impersonating Kris Kringle.
“Hey,” said Jennie with a smile, holding out her hand. “I’m Jennie. I think we may have sort-of known each other back in high school, or at least had a class together. But it’s okay because not a lot of people remember me.”
Biggie pretend scrunched his brow in thought before bending to kiss the back of her hand.
“I would never forget someone as beautiful as you,” he declared. “You are one rockin’ Southern Belle.”
Jennie giggled then, blushing a little, but the good vibes immediately disappeared when a high-pitched voice burst our bubble.
“There you are, Jason,” purred Savannah. Shit, I’d remember that voice in my nightmares. The way she’d shrieked my name as I made her come will always haunt me. It wasn’t good, and I hated every second of it.
But this wasn’t the time to bring that up, so instead I turned with a cool smile on my face.
“Savvy,” I said in greeting. “So good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”
The blonde swanned over, so thin that she was like an x-ray.
“It’s so nice to see you,” she said with a hint of British accent. What the fuck? Why was she putting on airs? But I chose to ignore it. “Biggie,” she said in greeting. “And you are?” she asked without pausing to wait for an answer. “I’m Savannah. Like the city in Georgia, if you know where that is,” she said condescendingly to Jennie.
But before I could intervene, the brunette stood up for herself.
“Actually, I know Savannah because I’m from the South,” she said in a neutral voice. “I’m Jennie Lake. Remember? We had English and Algebra together.”
Savannah’s eyes narrowed, the green like a poisonous venom.
“Oh is that right?” she twittered. “Oh yes! I do remember now. You were so different back then,” she said, looking my girl up and down. “So different.”
“But in a good way I hope,” said Jennie calmly. “These past ten years have been wonderful, and I’ve had an amazing time up north.”
“Up north!” said Savannah, rolling her eyes while tossing that blonde hair back. Back in the day, the blonde used to be bright and golden, but her hair had faded. My guess was that she was turning prematurely grey, and was using dye to cover up the white strands. They were the texture of dry straw now.
“People up North always think there’s nothing going on down in sleepy old Charleston,” Savannah said with a sniff. “But then again, I kind of agree. I’ve moved to London and it’s fantastic,” she cooed. “I love big city life and everything it offers. Besides, where’s my husband? Reginald!” she called, looking around. “Reggie, come on over and meet my friends. Reg is a count, you know,” she said with a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s the reason why I moved to London. I never thought it’d be possible for a regular American girl like me to marry into nobility, but the moment Reg and I saw each other, poof! It was love at first sight,” she simpered.
I was about to ask more about Reginald’s lineage. I hear you can buy a title these days, and it has nothing to do with being earned or deserved. But at that moment, Reginald strode over, and even as a guy, I had to acknowledge that this man was good-looking. He had a patrician face with soft brown hair and a chiseled jaw. He was thin, but carried it well in a tweed brown suit.
“Hello sweetheart,” he said in a clipped tone, bending to kiss Savannah’s cheek. “Are these your friends from back in the day? Pleased to meet you. I’m Reginald the Fourth.”
I was dumbfounded because who in the world introduces themselves as Reginald the Fourth? He was too good to use his last name? And why would he throw “the Fourth” out there during our first meeting like it was an important part of his identity?
But Jennie smiled in a friendly manner and held out her hand.
“Hello,” she said pleasantly. “I’m Jennie, this is my boyfriend Jason, and this is Biggie. We were all in the same class as your wife.”
Reginald nodded politely, but he didn’t take Jennie’s hand, merely eyeing it before shaking his head.
“Nice to meet you,” he said in that stiff, upper-crust accent. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t shake hands. There’s just so many germs today, and I’m not convinced that the United States is very clean,” he said. “I heard there’s been an outbreak of typhoid in Minneapolis, you know,” he said conspiratorially, lowering his voice into a whisper. “You can’t be too careful.”
I shared a dumbfounded glance with Jennie because what the hell was happening? Did this guy just waltz in and insult our country with his first sentence? And what the hell did a typhoid outbreak in Minneapolis have to do with Charleston? Minneapolis is a thousand miles away with its own problems.
But then again, Reginald was from a small country geographically, and maybe he just wasn’t used to the expansiveness of the United States. So I smiled and took it in a stride.
“No problem,” I said coolly. “We get it. You don’t shake hands. What else do they do in the United Kingdom?”
“Oh all sorts of things!” breathed Reg, fluttering his hands up and down. “We do fox-hunting and raise beagles. We also make a mean fish and chips,” he winked.
Okay, now this guy was coming off like a cliché. I mean, fox hunting and raising beagles? Eating fish and chips? Had this guy just read a tourist guidebook about the UK and was now parroting the contents like a clown?
Plus, his accent was sounding more and more fake to me. I’m not an expert when it comes to British accents, but I am a movie-maker, which means that I listen to audition tapes all the time. And this guy’s accent was beginning to sound like an American impersonating a British accent, and not the tried and true thing. But that couldn’t be right, right? Because according to Savannah, Reginald was minor nobility, which meant that his family was rooted in the UK. So what the hell was going on here? Had Reginald maybe grown up in the United States, causing his accent to sound weird? I had no idea, but the suspicious feeling was very real.
But at that moment, Savannah burst in.
“Oh Reginald, you’re so funny!” she said, slapping his wrist lightly in what was supposed to come off in a flirtatious manner. But instead, it came off slightly panicked, what with the tension in her tone. “You always know how to bring out the best in everyone.”
I shared another astonished glance with Jennie because Reginald brought out the best in no one. He’d just managed to insult us in a variety of ways, despite just meeting. But again, we were here to establish ourselves as a couple, so I slung an arm around Jennie’s waist, pulling her close.
“So Reg, what do you do?” I asked casually. “I’m a movie maker and my girlfriend,” I added pointedly, “is an editorial assistant. What keeps you busy on the other side of the ocean?”
Before Reg could say anything, Savannah practically fell over herself with the answer
.
“Reginald is nobility!” she simpered. “Didn’t you hear the fourth at the end of his name? He has great inherited wealth and doesn’t have to work!” she announced with a gleeful smile. “We are so fortunate, aren’t we, sweetheart?” she asked, placing two hands on Reginald’s chest and looking at him with a loving gaze. “Other people have to struggle, but we’re set for life.”
Was it my imagination, or had Reginald actually flinched a bit when Savannah touched him? This was getting weirder and weirder. But I pulled my brunette closed and pressed a kiss to her curls.
“You’re a lucky man,” I rumbled. “But there’s definitely satisfaction to be derived from working. Every time I watch a movie I made, I’m reminded of the blood, sweat, and tears that went into it, and sometimes it makes me feel good, you know? Like I really accomplished something.”
“Oh no,” cut in Savanah quickly. “Reginald doesn’t need to work and I just work for fun,” she added. “I’m a florist at a cute little floral shop down the street from our castle.”
“Down the street from your castle?” asked Jennie, her brows creasing with puzzlement. “Can a castle have something down the street from it?”
Savannah took it all in a stride, leaning against Reginald while waving a hand airily. I swear, Reginald was shrinking from the blonde like he wanted as little physical contact between them as possible.
“You know what I mean,” she cooed. “Just outside the castle grounds, down the street, it’s all the same. Because Reginald inherited a big, huge castle like just out of Disneyland, right? It’s wonderful,” she gushed. “You should come and visit sometime.”
“I will,” interjected Biggie, his eyes wide. I could tell my buddy was also suspicious of this whole interaction. Who wouldn’t be? Warning bells were going off like sirens, all of us caught into some weird farce that was just going weirder and weirder. I made to pull Jennie away because something told me that this this was about to go up in flames, and unfortunately, my sixth sense was right.
Unable to handle the physical contact with Savannah, Reginald pushed his wife back rather roughly, while stepping away.
Client No. 6: A Dial-A-Date Romance Page 6
