Drawn to You

by Jillian Anselmi

  At the bar, I place my empty glass of champagne down, which is replaced with a full one. So far, I haven’t been able to locate Chase. I scan the room, still dazzled by all of this extravagance.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Chase walk toward the bar from the main dining room. He is glancing nervously around the room. Looking toward the bar, his eyes lock on mine. His concerned look now gone, his mouth lifts into a slow sexy smile that makes my breath hitch. My mouth dries. He looks stunning in a black dinner jacket with a black bow tie. Again, my limbs betray me; I am cemented to the floor. That electric charge is back, I can feel it running through me.

  Moving through the crowded club, he makes his way toward me. “You look stunning,” he whispers, veneration in his voice. “That dress is perfect on you.”

  “Yes, about the dress,” I start to say. He cuts me off as he leans in and kisses me. I am lost for a moment in his kiss. After what seems like an eternity, he breaks free. “How did you know my size?” I ask breathless.

  “I spent enough time with you to be able to judge your size,” he says.

  “And the shoes?” I take a large sip of champagne.

  “That night on the beach, you took your shoes off. I saw what size you were then,” he says, his head cocked to one side.

  Clever bastard.

  “This is all too much, I can’t keep this dress or the shoes. They must have cost a fortune.”

  “Please, it was my pleasure. I was more than happy to do it,” he insists. “Besides, they were made for you.” I flush scarlet. His sexy smile makes me feel like I’m on fire. I am too hot and bothered to argue about this now, but after the party, we will talk about this.

  Waiters in white dinner coats move effortlessly through the throng of elegant guests. They are in stealth mode, refilling my champagne as they pass. We stand in the center of the room closest to the bar.

  “Come, let’s find out what table we’re at,” Chase says, escorting me into the dining room.

  Once in the main dining room we find a table covered with fancy cards written in calligraphy. Chase locates his card, which reads Mr. Chase Remington III and guest, Table One.

  “We’re sitting at the head table with my father and brother,” he says, not thrilled with this development. “Like I said, these functions are a total bore, but having you here will ease the pain.” Snaking his arm around my waist, he leads me through the crowd toward our table.

  “Ready to meet my family?” he asks.

  Oh fuck, I didn’t think about that.

  The table is set for eight. Chase and I, his father and stepmother, his brother with his date, and another couple we’ve yet to see. Seated at the table is an older well-dressed gentleman with a very young brunette, also dressed to kill. The gentleman stands as we approach.

  “Olivia, this is my father Chase Remington the second and my stepmother Tiffani.”

  Wow, she looks young.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” his dad says with a smile. I can see where Junior gets his good looks from. Chase Senior is tall and handsome. He looks young for his age. He could pass for his late forties. His stepmother finishes her glass of wine essentially ignoring us. She is draped with expensive jewelry and is wearing way too much make-up.

  “Chase darling, I need a refill,” she demands waving her empty glass around.

  “Yes, dear,” Chase Senior murmurs. He waves down a waiter and asks for another glass. Chase rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He glances over at me with a look of contempt.

  “Please, take a seat.” His dad motions toward the table. Ever the gentleman, Chase pulls out my chair. Once I’m seated, he sits down to my right. Waiters are walking around with bottles of champagne topping off glasses as they go. I look around the room admiring all the fancy dresses and expensive suits. The amount of money in this room could easily pay off the national debt.

  Chase’s father is chatting with several men who wandered over from another table about property in Italy. Tiffani is conversing with some socialites, perhaps the wives of the men Senior is chatting with. Chase clasps my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. His smile is dazzling. He motions to the plethora of plates in front of me. Underneath my eloquently folded napkin and on top of the appetizer plate is a hand written menu.

  Appetizer

  Stuffed Portabella Mushroom Filled with Artichokes & Asiago Cheese

  over a Fire Roasted Tomato Coulis

  *

  Salad

  Baby Greens with Bartlett Pears, Red Onions and Gorgonzola Cheese tossed in a Lemon White Balsamic Vinaigrette

  *

  Entrée

  Pan-Seared Chicken Breast Filled with Herbs and Mushroom Ragout Served with a Root Vegetable Demi with Bundles of Steamed Asparagus Tied with Carrot Ribbons

  or

  Herb Crusted Chilean Sea Bass served with a Champagne Beurre Blanc over Long Grain Rice with Vegetable Confetti

  or

  Porcini Crusted Petit Filet Mignon with a Wild Mushroom Demi Glaze with Mashed Yukon Gold Potatoes with Truffle Oil and Julienne of Zucchini, Carrots & Summer Squash

  *

  Espresso, Coffee, Tea-Petit Fours and Pastries

  Wow, the menu is extensive. Everything sounds delicious. I’m having a hard time deciding what I want. A group of waiters stroll over to our table with a selection of hors d’oeuvres on doily lined trays. I am starving and choose a scallop wrapped in bacon and smoked salmon with lemon dill sauce on a pumpernickel triangle.

  As we pick on our hors d’oeuvres, another couple makes their way over to our table. Both Chases’ stand to greet them. Not wanting to be rude, I stand as well.

  “Olivia, this is my brother Preston and his girlfriend Gabriella.”

  “Hi,” I greet politely. Preston extends his hand out to shake. I give him mine, but he swoops it up to his mouth and places a kiss on the back of my hand.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he smiles.

  Chase shakes his head, amused. “Ease up little bro.” Preston gives his brother a wink and a smile.

  Preston looks handsome just like his brother in his designer tuxedo. His hair is lighter than Chase’s, and he is slightly shorter. His physique looks the same, but it’s hard to tell underneath his suit. Gabriella has long dirty blonde hair that has a subtle wave to it. She is wearing a gorgeous strapless ruffle-back fishtail gown in a dark charcoal grey. She looks amazing.

  “That dress is gorgeous.” I compliment.

  “Thank you. I’m a fashion designer for Oscar De La Renta, and this is one of my creations,” she says proudly.

  Wow.

  The last couple to arrive are friends of his father, Richard and Evelyn. Richard is the head of some law firm on the Upper East Side. Introductions all around and everyone takes their seats. Chase Senior stands with a champagne glass, clinking the side with a knife to get everyone’s attention. The bandleader quiets the orchestra.

  “Welcome ladies and gentlemen. I would like to thank you all for coming to my annual summertime dinner party. The waiters will be around to collect your entrée orders. There is plenty to eat and drink so please enjoy yourselves.” Polite applause erupts throughout the ballroom.

  Chase squeezes my hand. “Do you know what you want?” he asks.

  “I don’t know, everything sounds so good.”

  “You better choose, here comes the waiter.” At that, the waiter makes his way around to our side of the table. They both look at me. “I’ll have the fish,” I decide.

  “I’ll have the filet, medium rare please,” Chase says. Once everyone has their order in, he withdraws into the kitchen.

  The table erupts into conversation. Chase and Preston are discussing some new account. Chase Senior and his friend Richard are also discussing work. Tiffani is discussing shoes with Richard’s wife Margaret. That leaves Gabriella and I. She almost looks as uncomfortable as I feel.

  “So Olivia, how did you and Chase meet?” she inquires, but with minimal interest.


  “Please, call me Liv,” I say. “We met at the beach. I have a summer house on Davis.”

  “Where is Davis?”

  “Davis Park. It’s one of the eastern most beaches on Fire Island before you get to the Hamptons.”

  “He went there instead of Bridgehampton?” She is surprised.

  “He was there with some of his friends.” I start to feel uncomfortable.

  “Oh. Must have been the boys he went to college with,” she murmurs almost to herself.

  What a stuck up snobby bitch.

  Lucky for me, we are interrupted by multiple waiters coming to remove our top plates, leaving only the fancy chargers underneath. They make sure the napkins won’t be in the way of the appetizer plates. Once finished, they place down our appetizer. I have never had artichokes before and just stare at it. Chase notices my reticence. “It’s good,” he whispers so only I can hear him. I keep staring at it. “Try it,” he urges. I slice into the mushroom, a piece just big enough to fit on my fork, and take a tentative bite.

  “Wow,” I murmur in surprise. “This is delicious.” Chase gives me an I-told-you-so smile that makes me giggle.

  We finish our appetizers, and the waiters clear the plates in unison. Chase drapes his left arm around my back, his fingers strumming my shoulder and arm. His touch sends shivers down my spine. I take a large unladylike gulp of champagne. “Would you like another glass?” Chase purrs.

  “Yes, please,” I manage to sputter out.

  “I’ll go. I need to stretch my legs.” He gives me a conspiratorial wink. He takes my glass and heads over to the bar. It’s at this time the waiters decide to deliver our next course. I wait for Chase to return with our drinks before I start to nibble at my salad.

  I look around at all of the extravagance. All of these people with their glamorous gowns and expensive suits. I certainly don’t fit in with this crowd. I feel out of place, even more so than when we went to Bobby Vans. I feel Chase behind me before I can see him. He puts my glass down in front of me.

  “Thanks,” I breathe looking up at him.

  “Anything for you,” he whispers darkly. He sits down and starts to pick at his salad.

  Without me noticing, he slides one hand over to my thigh and strokes the inside of my leg through the slit in my dress. I gasp and shoot him a glare. He has a wicked smile on his lips. I reach for my champagne and practically inhale it.

  “My, aren’t we thirsty,” he teases. He knows what he’s doing, the bastard. Taking his hand off my thigh, he stands up. “Let’s take a walk.”

  “Sure,” I murmur. He pulls out my chair, takes my hand, and we head toward the bar.

  Chase stops to talk to several people on the way, never letting go of my hand. Once at the crowded bar, Chase hands my glass as well as his own to the bartender, who comes to our aid right away with a fresh glass and a full bottle of Clicquot. He opens the bottle with a flourish and fills my flute. He brings Chase a glass of single malt scotch. Chase whispers something to the bartender. Nodding, the bartender finds a champagne bucket. Filling it with ice, he places the bottle of champagne in the bucket and on the bar off to the side just close enough for Chase to reach it if he desired.

  “I thought we’d stay here for a bit, if you don’t mind,” he says.

  “No, not at all.”

  “My stepmother and I don’t get along.”

  “She doesn’t seem so bad.” I try for the polite route.

  He looks at me. “She’s a bitch, nothing but a fake money hungry whore.”

  Wow.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I moved out when she moved in a few years ago. I only see her at parties.”

  “Does your dad know how you feel?”

  “Yes. He says I’m overreacting but respects my opinion.”

  I sip on my champagne. “My mom is still mourning the death of my dad. I couldn’t imagine dealing with a step parent that I couldn’t stand.” That would be horrible.

  “Tiffani is on her third marriage. My father doesn’t see what’s right in front of him I guess.”

  “What happened to the other two?” I ponder aloud.

  “She divorced them, acquired half of their worth.” He frowns into his glass.

  “I see,” is all I can manage to say.

  “At least my father isn’t as imbecilic as the other two. He made her sign a prenup.” He finishes his glass and waves the bartender over. Chase reaches for the champagne bottle and tops off my glass while he waits for his scotch.

  “So why don’t you get along with your stepmother?” I regret asking as soon as the words come out of my mouth.

  “My parents weren’t getting along well toward the end of their marriage. I don’t want to say that Tiffani was the antagonist, but she was around before the ink was dry on their divorce papers.” His tone is bitter.

  I reach for my glass and take another large sip. “Where are you living if you aren’t living with your dad?”

  “I have an apartment here in Manhattan close to the office.”

  “Do you see your mom often?”

  “She lives in the same building as I do. I stop by quite often. She’d like you,” he adds with a smile. “Did I tell you how fantastic you look in that dress?” he purrs, stroking a finger down my cheek. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s trying to change the subject. Clever boy.

  “I didn’t have anything in my closet that would have come close to any of these dresses,” I say, motioning to the crowd.

  “You’d look fantastic in a paper bag,” he says, his eyes glowing. I blush and take another swig of champagne. He calls over the bartender and mutters something to him. He then grabs my hand. “We should eat. I don’t want you passing out on me later.” His smile is lascivious.

  Oh boy.

  We make our way back over to our table. When we arrive, there is a fresh scotch and a bottle of Clicquot in a champagne bucket on a stand waiting for us. As we sit, a waiter fills my new glass and places the bottle back in the bucket. Our timing couldn’t have been better since our entrées are being served as we sit.

  All of the entrees look delicious, plated to look as appetizing as possible. I could take a picture of my entrée and use it for the cover of Bon Appétit. I take a tentative bite into my Chilean sea bass. Mmm. It tastes as good as it looks. Moist and juicy like good sea bass should. I look over at Chase as he digs into his filet.

  A mischievous look in his eye, he whispers, “Bite?” He waves his fork with a sliced piece of filet in the air. How can he make that sound so sexy? He leans over and brings the fork to my mouth. As the filet passes my lips, I hum in pleasure. Chase closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, his dark blue eyes are blazing. “I never thought I would be jealous of a fork.” Flushed, I finish chewing and take a long sip of champagne.

  The conversation at the table ebbs and flows. The men are all talking about the Yankees and how they’ll win the pennant this year. Tiffani is carrying on to Margaret about some new fashion designer that has Gabriella in a tizzy. I sit there eating my dinner, fascinated by all of the largesse.

  Chase squeezes my hand and brings me back to the here and now. “You okay?” I nod and smile. “I told you these events were boring.”

  “No, I’m having a great time.”

  “Are you sure? We can go anytime.”

  “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve never been to such a fancy event.”

  ‘They’re all the same. Same boring people, same boring conversation.” His mouth quirks up into a smile. “You are the highlight of my evening.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and places gentle kisses across my knuckles. His eyes are burning with an intensity I haven’t yet seen. He takes my breath away.

  The waiters all swoop down onto the table to clear our entrées as one unified front. There is nothing left on the table once they are done. Another round of waiters resets the table for coffee and dessert. It’s amazing how fast they turned a dirty table into one that looks as if i
t had never been used.

  The head waiter brings a selection of expensive brandy’s and other cordials and places them in the center of the table. Chase reaches for the 150 year old Grand Marnier Cuvée du Cent Cinquentenaire. I never was a big fan of orange brandy. He turns to me. “What would you like?”

  “I’m fine with this,” I murmur. Although I’m feeling a bit light headed, coffee might be a good idea. “Maybe I’ll have a Sambuca Romano with an espresso.”

  He motions the waiter and orders us both an espresso. I am definitely feeling the effects of the champagne as my head starts to spin. The waiter brings us both a double espresso from the dessert table and places the cups down in front of us. Chase reaches for the Sambuca and pours it into my aperitif glass. He raises his Grand Marnier in a private toast. Looking at me in adoration, he toasts just loud enough for me to hear him. “To a beautiful evening with an even more beautiful woman. Cheers.” His toast makes me smile. We clink glasses and take sips of our drinks.

  I down the espresso, feeling I need to sober up. He looks over, an amused look on his face. He shakes his head and sips on his aperitif.

  “I see you’re a lightweight,” he chuckles.

  “I don’t normally drink champagne,” I profess.

  “Neither do I. It’s too girly.”

  “Girly?” I giggle.

  “Yes, girly.”

  “Is girly even a word?”

  He scratches his chin deep in thought, a smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know. It sounds appropriate though,” he teases. I can’t help but laugh at his playfulness.

  “I prefer white wine or a light beer. Hard liquor gives me an awful headache the next day.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.”

  Taking a sip of my aperitif, I notice that the orchestra has begun playing again.

  “Dance with me,” he says his voice husky.

  Not a great idea. “I can’t dance.”

  He stands up and offers me his hand. I take it, and he leads me through the crowd to the dance floor. The band is playing a tune I have heard before, I think. It sounds familiar. There is a young gentleman with a soft smooth voice singing along with the music.