Page 19 of Easy Come

"Georgie," he started in a much gentler tone, "I'm sorry. I hadn't meant to be so harsh. It's just that I—"

"Take me back to the marina," I said sharply. "Right now."

Chapter Sixteen

Trey

Chase was polishedlike a damn sparkling chandelier when he reached my front door. "You ready? I booked a block of suites at the hotel. I figured we were going to be too wasted to drive home tonight." He stepped inside. "In fact I could use a drink before we even hit the road." He raced past me to the wet bar. "Zane mentioned that things haven't gone too well with that magazine reporter." He stood behind the bar and lifted out a bottle of gin.

"Hey, mix me one of those too, and lace mine with something that will put me in a coma for the night."

"Uh oh, so it's going coma bad. I'll put in an extra shot of gin, but I'm all out of coma inducing pills." Chase poured the drinks. He had his black hair slicked back, but he'd decided not to shave, a look that always made the women at a party cling to him.

Normally, I looked forward to a Plaything party, lots of friends and plenty of beautiful women. But tonight, I would have preferred to stay home alone and wallow in my own arrogant stupidity.

I stood at the front picture window and stared down at the million dollar view. Sometimes I questioned that phrase ‘million dollar view’. It was a blanket of pretty lights stretched out to the sea but worth a million? Growing up, the bedroom I shared with my brother had a view of the neighbor's house. Kate Brindle, the neighbor girl, was five years older than me and she had a smile that could melt a ten-year-old boy's heart. My bedroom overlooked our postage stamp yard. From my top bunk, on just the right night, when everything fell into place and Kate's blinds were open, I could watch her brush her hair or dance in front of her mirror.Thatwas a million dollar view. We were always so quick to place a monetary value on life's pleasures when the real pleasures in life had no quantitative value. They were priceless. After our day on the water ended with Georgie making it perfectly clear that she never wanted to see my face again, I realized I'd lost something that I could never put a price on.

Chase walked over and handed me a drink. "Here, this will get you out of that sulky mood. I hate it when you pout."

"Fuck off." I shot back the drink. "This is all your fault. If you'd be a little more selective about the women you date, I wouldn't be in this sulky mood."

Chase laughed. "Talk about a convoluted guilt plan. How the hell do I have anything to do with what was going on between you and the reporter? All I did was drop her off at your office. The rest is on you, my friend. If things went south, I guess we can expect some article that makes us all sound like rich assholes who run a lewd company." He shrugged. "Guess that sounds about right."

I walked over and put down the drink. "I have no idea what she'll write about us but fuck it. Let's go to this damn party. I need to get drunk off my ass and laid. It's the only way I'm going to get my mind off this."

Chapter Seventeen

Georgie

It wasa Doris Day marathon and, frankly, coupling that with a batch of cut and bake chocolate chip cookies almost brought me out of my terrible, rotten mood. I plunked down on the couch with my plate of cookies, glass of milk and the remote. Tiger curled up at my feet, also content with the idea of fresh cookies and Doris Day.

I was only a half hour into "Pillow Talk" where Rock Hudson plays a, yes, notorious playboy, when I started reevaluating everything that had happened in the last few days. I'd started a story about my own sexual revolution, a story prompted by a man well versed in women and sexuality. In the whirlwind of unusual events that followed, I'd somehow fallen for that same man. And, all the while, he had insisted I was going to discover a lot about myself in the process. Well, I had. I was still capable of having a school girl crush on the most popular boy in school, the boy who was only interested in using me for my math notes, or in Trey's case, free publicity for his company.

That day in the restaurant he had alluded to the fact that I tried to cover up my looks so as to attract less attention. He might have been right in his assessment, but he sure as heck changed his tune when I walked out in front of the other men in my bikini. Talk about a double standard.

I spent the entire trip back to the marina sitting alone at the bow, not giving him even a glance or a word. He had stood at his helm, dark and brooding, like an angry pirate. A handsome pirate, but an angry one.

I was relieved to get back in my car and drive away from him, but as I sat on the couch watching Rock Hudson act like a cad and never giving any apologies for it, I suddenly decided that I needed that. I needed an apology. I'd done nothing wrong, and I left feeling so humiliated that those few steps forward I'd taken to find myself had now been erased with some giant steps backward.

I got up and walked to the beach bag that I'd dropped by the door. I rummaged through it for the invitation. The party was being held in one of the posh hotels downtown, about a thirty minute drive. I'd drive to the party, march straight up to Trey and let him know he was a jerk and that I needed an apology because I didn't do anything wrong. Then I'd march back out and drive home.

But first, I needed to find something to wear, something that would leave him speechless. That way I could get my scolding in before he had a chance to say anything.

Tiger lifted his round head from the couch and squinted at me as I walked toward the bedroom. "You'll have to hold the couch down without me, Tiger."

Chapter Eighteen

Georgie

Idroveinto the parking lot of the hotel and had to quickly pull on my high heels before the valet reached my car. I opted for the black cocktail dress I'd bought for a reporter's award dinner. The tight black jersey bodice was sleeveless with a scooped neckline. The pleated black skirt ended a good six inches above my knees, and it flounced just enough to be flirty when I walked. I'd pinned two long strands of hair back in a rhinestone clip and added my fake diamond earrings to top the look off. It all came together pretty nicely, and I was feeling quite the thing until, on my way up the steps to the hotel’s front door, three women brushed past me looking as if they'd just left a Victoria’s Secret catalog shoot. They were so spectacular, the doorman nearly fell over with a stroke as they approached the glass doors. He also nearly dropped the damn door on me as I shuffled in behind in their glittery shadow.

I stood in the vast hotel lobby, feeling suddenly very deflated. A hiccough wracked my stomach. I took a deep breath and held it, watching as the trio of spectacular women disappeared around the corner to the ballroom. I pulled out my invitation and was staring at it, thinking I should probably just toss it in the trash and head back home, when a deep voice jarred me from my thoughts.

"The party is right around the corner." The man looked to be close in age to Trey, but he was slightly smaller with thick dark copper hair and brown eyes. His black and blue sweater hugged what looked like an impressive chest and pair of arms. His hand shot out. "I'm Zane Bostwick, part owner of Plaything. You're a fresh new face. Are you one of the swimsuit models?"

"Hi, Georgie Dempsey. No. I'm not a model."

His brows were just a few shades darker than his hair. He was one of those gingers who was anything but ginger. His skin was almost a golden brown, with a few light freckles showing through. "Georgie, why does that sound familiar?" He pointed at me. "You're the reporter that Trey was talking to." He dropped his gaze to my legs and back up. "This explains a lot. Follow me inside, Trey has been in a funk all night. He'll be happy to see you."

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