Page 69 of Sweet Chaos
Scotch in hand, he came around from the back of the bar and stopped in front of me. As much as I tried to put on a brave face, my father still intimidated me. “Have you been eavesdropping again, Scarlett?”
If he’d wanted to conduct business behind closed doors, he should have made certain the door was closed.
“I just came to find you. And I didn’t want to interrupt.” I should have left it at that. Played dumb like I hadn’t heard a single word of his conversation. “Why are you going after him? Can’t you just let him have this? It’s really important to him.”
My father’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you defending that punk?”
Once again, I’d gone too far but as usual, I couldn’t stop myself. “I work for his sister, so I know why he wants The Surf Lodge. He just wants to do something good for the town.”
“Something good for the town,” he said with a harsh laugh. “I know what this town needs. And as for Dylan St. Clair, he’ll get what’s coming to him.”
“But why? What’s he ever done to you?”
“He’s a worthless little shit who tried and failed to drag your sister down to his level. As far as I’m concerned, he can crawl back into that gutter he came from.”
I opened my mouth to protest. He wasn’t a worthless little shit.
“Go back to the party, Scarlett. And try not to stir up any drama.”
I shut my mouth and walked out of the library.
It wasn’t my place to defend my sister’s ex-boyfriend to my father.
* * *
“What is this?” I asked the server, my hand shielding my mouth which was full of something that was not, in fact, chocolate mousse in a mini pie crust like I’d assumed.
“Chicken liver mousse,” he said before moving on to his next victim, silver tray balanced on the palm of his hand.
“No wonder it tastes like ass,” I said under my breath.
Trying to be as subtle as possible, I spit the chicken liver mousse into my cocktail napkin, crumpled it up, and hid the evidence next to a Ming vase filled with gold-dipped roses. Behind me, I heard a deep masculine laugh.
“Not a fan of eating ass?”
I mentally face-palmed myself and turned around to put a face to the voice. The guy had a devil-may-care look about him. Brown hair tousled to perfection, a wicked grin, and a gleam in his eye like he’d found a kindred spirit.
“You heard that?” I asked, trying to suppress my smile.
“Your secret’s safe with me.” He clinked his champagne flute against mine. “I’m Logan, Chase’s brother.”
“Oh right. I’m Scarlett, Sienna’s—”
“Younger sister. I know.” He loosened the collar of his white dress shirt, his eyes darting around the room like he was looking for an escape hatch. I knew the feeling. “Do you want to get some fresh air?”
“I’d love to.”
We weaved through the shiny, plastic people milling about sipping champagne and cocktails in their designer dresses and suits, smiles firmly in place. I’d never enjoyed these types of social gatherings. It all just seemed so fake and so, so dull. The laughter and small talk so contrived it made me want to scream. We passed two couples discussing yachts and another group talking about the best place to buy a second vacation home. Gag me.
Logan set his empty champagne glass on the mahogany sideboard as we passed through the dining room and we sidestepped members of the catering crew who had taken over the kitchen. Emerging from the French doors onto the back patio, I filled my lungs with cool night air. This was the first time I’d breathed properly since I arrived at this party.
“Do you have it too?” Logan asked, studying my face. He was handsome. Almosttoohandsome.
“Have what?” I fished the raspberry garnish out of my champagne and popped it into my mouth to rid it of the taste of chicken liver. Blech.
“Younger sibling syndrome. It’s a thing, you know. Prevalent in dysfunctional, rich families.”
I laughed. “I guess so. I have that and other things. I’m the family rebel,” I said with a sigh. “But I’m trying to be on my best behavior tonight.”
