“We should have dinner sometime. Tomorrow maybe,” she suggests.
“I’ve got a curriculum to prepare,” I reply. The golden head has disappeared through the ballroom doors into the lobby. I need to shake Julia off.
“School is on break.”
“A schoolteacher is never on break.” I give her a tight smile and pull her hand gently, but firmly, away from my arm. “I am not available, Julia. I haven’t been before and I’m not now. Don’t mistake my act of charity for anything else.”
Julia gasps. “When did you get so rude?”
“Born this way,” I tell her. Mom won’t be thrilled that I’ve pissed off a potential customer, but if I wait for another second, I’m going to miss Paislee. I take off, this time moving faster, pushing people a little harder. Why in the hell are there so many people at this damn fundraiser? By the time I get to the lobby, it’s empty. No golden-haired princess is anywhere to be seen. Outside, there are doormen and valets retrieving cars and hailing taxis.
I bust out of the door and grab the first white-gloved male that’s available. “Blond-haired bombshell, yea high”—I position my hand just below my shoulder—“wearing a pink frothy concoction.”
“Yeah?”
“Where is she?”
“Man, I don’t know. I just drive the cars to and from the garage.” He shrugs me off. I make the rounds, asking each one of the bellmen and valets in turn, but they all can’t remember.
Frustrated, I stand at the top of the stairs, glaring at the night traffic streaming in and out of the circular drive in front of the National Museum of Contemporary Art where the benefit was held. Like Cinderella, Paislee has fled the ball, but she’s left behind more than a shoe. I have her name, and with that there’s no place she can hide from me.
Chapter Eight
Paislee
“Grandma!” I rush through this giant house in search of her. I’m starting to learn my way around here, but I swear I find a new hallway every other day. I come to a sliding halt when I run into my father. I usually try to avoid him at all costs but know it’s inevitable that I’ll run into him occasionally.
The look on his face when he sees me makes it perfectly clear that he’s not too fond of the idea of running into me either.
“Hi?” I say, not sure what else to say. I don’t have any sort of relationship with him. He made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with me when I arrived.
“It wasn't enough that you came back here to try and ruin my family, but now you go and toss your existence into the news?” He scolds me like a child.
I actually do feel a touch bad about that. Not for my dad, but for his wife and kids. Me being here and in the public spotlight made it clear that my father cheated on his family. Even though my grandma has said that his wife is a bitch, I still feel bad for her. It can’t be fun for her to constantly be reminded of my father's indiscretions in the tabloids. You’ll never convince me that my mom knew he was married.
“I didn't know that would happen.” Never in a million years would I have thought people would be writing about me on a news site. They snapped some pictures too. It was why I was in search of my grandma.
The article wasn't the nicest. It gave a short rundown of who I am. Then it went on to post three pictures of me. Each of them featured me with a different man throughout the evening. The columnist guessing who my love interest might be. Another thing I never would have thought anyone would give a crap about. I was wrong.
“You don’t know because you don’t belong in this world,” he hisses out. I’d be lying if I said his words weren't a punch to my stomach. I’m unable to hide my flinch. “It doesn't help that you’re acting like a little—” He’s cut off by my grandma, who bursts into laughter.
“That’s rich coming from you,” she says while still laughing. “Glass houses and all.” She stops laughing. “If you’re not careful you won’t have a house for anyone to throw stones at. Choose your words more carefully when you’re speaking to my granddaughter, and don’t forget she’s your daughter.”
I can tell he wants to lash out at her but decides against it. I’m pretty sure she is the family's foundation. She calls all the shots here. I’m sure she could cut him off easily if she wanted to. From what I’ve learned about my father, I would bet he’s burned through whatever trust he might have had at one time. That’s only a guess, though.
“Father never would have—” The slap is loud. My mouth falls open in shock. Not only did she move fast but she landed a solid hit, putting my father in his place. Sometimes I wonder how the heck the two of them are even related with how much their personalities differ.