CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
The limo hits a bump and Grant’s champagne swirls around his glass. “Of course it is. Now that you’ve decided we’re dating you’ll be seeing a lot of these people. It’s good to get to know them.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
It’s surreal. I’m riding in a limo drinking champagne on the way to a ten-thousand-dollar-per-plate dinner. Honestly the whole thing is a bit disgusting. At first I refused when Grant told me how much each plate cost, but he talked me into it by promising he’d already paid. Plus the money is going to charity. But it still feels wrong… like I don’t belong here. I haven’t run the math, but I could eat for years on what he spent on one plate, charity or not.
There’s also no guarantee I won’t freak out in the middle of dinner and have a Britney Spears circa 2007 breakdown while calling out the rich people. I warned Grant of this possibility, but he said he’d take the risk.
“You should have let me buy you a new dress,” Grant says adjusting one of the cufflinks to his three-piece suit. I’ve never noticed how the third piece in a suit sets it apart from other suits, but it does. That little vest is enough to make me consider taking him back home later. People can make all the penguin jokes they want. Grant looks hot in black and white.
I pull on the top of the green sparkly dress, the same one I wore for the charity gambling event we held in April to raise money for the center. “Do you not like this one?”
“No, I love it. It brings back good memories. But it’s a new event, so you should have a new outfit.”
His reasoning sounds like something his mother concocted to get his dad to spend more money on clothes. No one who lives in the real world buys a new dress every time they go to a party. Of course, most of my party experience is sitting around a game room with beer and a sports game.
Even the charity event in April was more fun and laid back than the night I’m expecting now. Grant fussed over every little detail. It’s obvious he’s nervous about tonight and wants me to make a good impression. What he doesn’t understand is that’s never going to happen. They will spot me as poor a mile away.
The limo slows and stops. Grant finishes his champagne in one large gulp. I’d finished mine within the first three minutes of our ride. Let’s hope there’s more inside.
“Will Aspen and Finn be here?” I ask. A friendly face beside me would be nice.
“No.” The door opens from the other side and Grant steps out.
He waits for me to release a deep breath and silently promise it will be over soon before I allow him to guide me to the front doors like a proper gentleman. Tonight’s swanky event is happening in one of the city’s mansions.
We make it halfway across the marble entryway before someone calls Grant’s name. He’s a man about Grant’s age dressed in a black suit with his hair gelled back perfectly and a deep blue tie. It’s like he stepped off a GQ cover.
“Grant, it’s so good to see you. I heard you bought Del Fray, but you must make more time to get out of the office. You haven’t stepped foot in the club in weeks.”
My ears perk up at the mention of Grant belonging to a club. I can’t imagine he means the dance club. We are in a busy city based on a peninsula. Where are the people hiding a country club? It’s probably hidden away on top of a tall building since they like heights so much.
“You’re involved in Del Fray?” I ask before Grant has a chance to answer the other man’s questions.
He gives me a questioning look and pats me on the hand. “Yes, we bought it.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“You’ve never been interested.” Grant does this weird condescending chuckle and turns back to his conversation like he’s done with me.
The man standing across from us tracks me from head to toe with his eyes and then shakes his head. “Or is it you’ve been busy with other things?”
My mouth drops open. Can he not see I’m standing right here?
Fifty minutes pass… or three. I’m not sure. But a long damn time goes by before Grant turns to me. “This is Clare. She runs the city youth center.”
Grant’s friend reaches out to shake my hand. “It’s so good to meet you. It’s always nice to meet someone who’s devoted their life to giving back to the needy.” It’s said with a lilt on the words that leads me to believe he doesn’t mean any of it.
“Yes, some of us find that important.”
Grant tugs on my hands a fraction, but it’s enough to make me see red. Rather than tell him and the whole room off like I want, I stand quietly beside him with a small smile even though it practically kills me.
When he turns back to me he has his stupid goofy grin I normally find cute plastered all over his face. He’s clueless he’s done anything wrong. He wraps his arm back around mine like we’re now attached to one another. “Clare, this is Jeffrey. We went to school together.”
Probably a rich stuck-up prep school. I can’t see good old Jeffrey surviving San Francisco public.
Grant and Jeffrey — I’ll never be able to think of the name Jeffrey without a snotty sneer again — exchange a few more pleasantries. The two minutes go by overwhelmingly slowly. Armageddon will take less time to kill us all, but Jeffrey eventually sees someone more interesting and makes his way to them.
When we’re alone, I decide there’s no better time than the present to get the answers to my questions. “Why didn’t you tell me you bought Del Fray?”
“Why would I? You’ve never taken a real interest. Are you planning a career change?”
“It seems like a big thing.”
Grant shakes his head. “Well it’s not. I buy businesses all a time. It’s what my family does.”
“You told me you made credit card machines.” With his arm in mine, Grant leads me from the middle of the lobby back to a small, out of the way collection of tables. Each one is covered in a white tablecloth with a multitude of various glasses and small plates perfectly arranged on top.
“Del Fray makes credit card machines?” I ask when we stop in front of a table.
Grant pulls out a chair. “No, they made one of the chips that go inside the credit card machines. The technology is light years ahead of what many companies offer. Our ability to get this chip at manufacturer costs will save us millions of dollars over the next ten years.”
“Oh.” I understand enough of what he said, and I get saving millions of dollars is a good thing. “Oh that’s good then. A lot of the kids who visit the center have parents who work for Del Fray.”
Grant nods his head twice, but his eyes search the distance behind me. “What are you looking for?” I ask.
“My grandparents. They’re sharing a table with us,” he’s silent for a few beats, “and your dad.”
“What?”
Grant rubs my shoulder. It’s the only thing keeping me at the table. “Don’t worry. He’s not coming. I double checked this morning. He’s out of town.”
“Then why do you look worried? And he’s not my dad.” I throw in at the end.
I thought we were over this whole father business? I made it clear to Grant I didn’t want to hear about him. And I definitely don’t want anyone calling him my dad.
“Don’t worry.” Grant stares at me and for a moment I get lost in his eyes. “I told you I’ll handle it and I am.”
I’m not sure how hiding me from William for the next five years is handling it. Or how he’ll accomplish it if we try out the whole dating thing. Which I would like stated I’m still on the fence about.
“Oh, here they are.” Grant stops with the fidgety eyes and focuses on one location in the back of the room.
The two people who look strikingly alike. Like one of those Facebook links where the owner resembles the dog. It’s possible they’ve been together so long they’ve started to mold into one similar-looking person. Both are short, the husband a few inches taller, but both have greying white hair cut in short styles. Grant’s grandma wears hers spikey in the back and it instantly makes me like her already. Her long floor length blue dress sparkles in the lights along with her husband’s matching tie.
They approach the table and my stomach does a little topsy-turvy. What am I supposed to do in this situation?
Stand up and shake their hands?
Stand up and do cheek kisses?
Who knows what the rich do at fancy parties? If I don’t make a decision soon the only option left will include making a fool of myself in indecision.
If I get through tonight, I will give up the idea of making Drew get a kitten.
The couple gets closer and I don’t move, my eyes widening and giving credence to the saying deer in headlights. With courage I force myself to stand when they’re a few paces away, my knees wobble. Grant’s smile brightens. It’s obvious he adores his grandparents.
“Grandma. Grandpa.” The couple circles the table stopping to give out hugs before their attention turns to me. His grandmother’s eyebrows flinch up for a moment, but I notice. “This is Clare, the girl I told you about. And, Clare, these are my grandparents, Grant and Maureen.”
I lean past Grant holding a hand out to both of them, which thank heavens they shake and act like it’s not the wrong move. “It’s so nice to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Moore.”
“Oh, Clare, we’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to put a face to your name,” his grandmother says patting the top of my hand as she does so. “I get to sit next to Clare tonight. I don’t care what you boys do.” She brushes them both off with a hand and promptly takes a seat in the one Grant stands behind.
Grant pushes her chair in and then looks at me, but I’m still frozen. The handshake and introduction went smoothly. I can’t believe it. Now he wants me to sit down and have a conversation with her? Has he gone mad?
“Sit, dear,” she says nodding toward the empty chair, but my legs still won’t move. “We’ll chat while the boys get us a drink. Right?”
“Of course, Grandma.” Grant pats her on the shoulder and turns around leaving me to make civil conversation. Has he forgotten who I am?
“Oh, Grant,” she calls and they both stop and turn back. “None of that cheap white wine. Get me something with vodka in it.”
I smile but quickly pin my lips together so she doesn’t see.
“There’s no point in coming to these functions if they don’t serve the good stuff.” Her attention returns to the table while I work to perfect my posture in the chair. “All right, now that the men are gone we can girl talk.”
Great. Just what I was afraid of happening. I hope they bring me back something with vodka in it as well.
“Grant has told me much about you, but I want to hear more. How is the center?”
“Umm… it’s good.” Super, Clare. Really great. Way to show off your impressive vocabulary.
Thankfully she doesn’t notice and keeps the conversation going on her own. “Grant and I donated every year to the city, but when Mr. Dunbar took over we couldn’t stand him and instead started sending the money to PBS. But now you’re the director we should look into it again.”
Mr. Dunbar hasn’t worked for the city since the 1990s, but all evidence supports his horribleness. His legacy lives in infamy to this day. Tales of his behavior and bad policies are passed down like camp fire ghost horror stories.
“We have a new overhead director now. Her name is Shelley Peters. She’s great and gave most of the day-to-day control back to each facility.”
“Yes, but it must make a lot of work for those of you running a place by yourselves.”
“It can at times, but I rely heavily on volunteers. And after the big fundraising event this year I hired help. There are so many kids impacted. It’s worth it.”
“And I’ve heard you’ve gotten Grant volunteering, which we both find refreshing. Grant is slated to take over the family business, and we hate for him to lose sight of the community he lives in. It’s something his father struggles with…” Her words trail off for a moment. “Well, he’s struggled with it since primary school. It’s the reason we decided to skip over him and pass the reins on to Grant.”
“I had no idea.”
Grant doesn’t talk about his father much. My mind races to remember any mention.
Grant doesn’t talk about his father at all.
I’ve worked so hard to make sure he didn’t ask about mine I never stopped to realize he’s never mentioned his. Grant has daddy issues of his own.
“No, you probably didn’t. The two of them are oil and water. Little Grant spent years looking for a dad in his father, but he was only interested in the next shiny new toy.”
A father that is physically present but mentally unavailable sounds as bad or worse than no father.
“His mother tried to be both parents, but a little boy wants his dad.” She taps the table twice and her words pick up. “Enough sad talk. Tell me how you feel about my grandson.”
“Um….” I was doing so well with the conversation.
She laughs. “Don’t worry.” She pats my hand a few times — in support, I guess. “I already know.”
“You do?” That’s news to me.
“Yes. I see the way you look at each other. It’s love.”
“What?” My eyes bug out, highlighting my shock. “No. We just met.”
She smiles, wrinkles creasing around her lips from a lifetime of happy memories. “You’ll both get there… eventually. Just don’t take the long way. I want great-grandchildren before I kick the bucket.”
“Great-grandchildren?” I ask, no less than horrified. I’m still on the fence about the kitten.
A hand falls on my shoulder, the grip tight. “Why does Clare look like she’s seen a ghost? What were you talking about?” Grant asks taking a seat on the other side of me.
“Us?” I play coy and gather my wits. Now is not the time to throw Grant’s grandmother under the bus. “Girl talk. You know.”
The overly happy smile I plaster on appeases him and the conversation changes topic. There is much discussion on whether the chicken will be overcooked. Tonight’s edition of Rich People Gossip revolves around how last time they left the chicken on the warming racks too long. It was scandalous in everyone’s eyes.
It’s the most boring conversation I’ve ever heard in my life, and it doesn’t take me long to zone out of the entire thing. My mind wanders to the woman who should be my grandmother. If she wasn’t a frigid bitch who talked her own son into denying me, would we have gotten along? If I had the right blood for her, would she have been a kind and caring grandma? I wonder if her own grandchildren like her or find her to be a nag?
I’ve never met a grandmother who bakes chocolate chip cookies — my experience in grandmotherly figures comes from TV — but as a kid my dreams were filled with them. They’d bring me warm chocolate chip cookies and do the stuff grandmothers were supposed to enjoy. I didn’t know what any of those activities were, but I remember being fairly certain grandmas all over the world were doing special things for their grandchildren. And I missed out.
A cool Grandma Cunningham would call me once a week to discuss the price of gas. I’ve heard that becomes more important as you get older. Neither Drew nor I were able to experience a relationship with a grandparent-type person. You don’t age out of the San Francisco foster care program if you have any relatives, anywhere, to take you in.
“We should go down to the center and volunteer with Clare,” Maureen says speaking to her husband.
“That would be great,” Grant answers for me.
“We’d have to run your checks.” Even if they’re rich and old, I still have laws to follow.
Maureen’s face falls a fraction. “Oh… I didn’t know. What about Grant’s arrest back in the seventies?”
I sputter, thankful I wasn’t taking a drink. The table would be soaked. I shouldn’t ask but I do. “You’ve been arrested?”
I glace at Grant’s grandfather again, longer this time. Maybe I missed something the first time. I’m the first person to tell you not to judge a book by its cover, but someone in Grant’s family having any arrest record at all is unexpected.
Older Grant laughs like it’s no big deal he’s spent time in the back of a police car. “It was the seventies, and I was best friends with Roland Ashwood. It would’ve been odder had I not been arrested.”
Oh… well then. “It would depend if you were convicted and of what.”
“Oh we were convicted.” He laughs, his eyes searching a far corner of the room lost in a memory.
Now it’s Maureen’s turn to laugh. “Grant’s father was so angry he refused to hire him an attorney. The public defender negotiated the charge down to disorderly conduct with six months’ community service.”
“A few years later I hired him and now he’s the director of the law department with Moore Investing. Rupert got me out of a serious charge. The least I could do was give the man a job.”
My Grant leans into the conversation. “You always told me it was a misunderstanding, and you weren’t even there.”
His grandfather hits him on the back. “Of course I did. That’s what you tell your grandchildren, but you’re old enough to learn the truth now.”
“Older, but not prepared.”
“It was the seventies,” he defends himself.
“I’m honestly not sure what a forty-year-old disorderly conduct charge would return, but if you’re interested in volunteering we can get you started in the process,” I blurt out. Someone had to say something before family drama broke out.
**
“You know what we should do?” I ask as Grant leads me out the front doors of the mansion.
“What?” He takes my arm, helping me down the marble steps.
“Have sex in the limo,” I whisper.
“Shhhhhh.” By the way he shushes me I gather my whisper wasn’t much of a whisper. He tips his head to two men on the side of the steps and I giggle at the laugh they give us. “Goodnight, Teddy.” Grant tilts his head at the man.
“No, you have a great night, Grant,” Teddy responds.
“Doesn’t it sound like a great idea?” I ask again in case Grant forgot already.
His grip on my arm increases as I stumble over a step. The warmth of his touch heats my exposed skin and my heart skips a beat. It’s nice to have someone to catch you. “It sounds like a great idea if you weren’t drunk.”
I stop walking in the middle of the sidewalk. “I am not drunk.”
“How many Long Island iced teas did you let my grandmother feed you?”
I think back on the night, but I’m not sure. The wait staff here are amazing. Every time my drink reached half full someone brought me a new one. Thank God there’s not a bar tab to pay. “Three,” I guess when he keeps looking at me.
“Three Long Island ice teas?” Grant asks skeptically.
“I think… maybe four.” They were tasty.
Grant stands with me in the middle of the walkway as people pass by us. The night started out shaky, but meeting his grandparents and hearing their stories helped me relax for the rest of the night. Maureen is a wealth of knowledge on the local gossip.
My head tilts toward Grant and I catch his eyes. The way he looks at me — his blue eyes, the color caught in the light from the full moon in the sky. His adorable and sexy as fuck little smirk that slides up on one side of his face. Grant Moore III is hot, and he’s standing beside me as my date tonight. A date where I ate a ten-thousand-dollar plate of food. Let’s not forget that part.
All the feelings I pushed to the side bolt to the surface and I stand straight and plaster a kiss right on his lips. I pull Grant closer by the sides of his jacket and slide my hands underneath, running open palms around his sides and back until he’s so close the wind doesn’t fit between us. I push my tongue between his lips, but Grant stops.
“Okay, let’s get you in the limo.”
“And seriously. I’m not drunk, Grant.” And I mean the words. I’m quite in control of my faculties. It isn’t the alcohol that has me high on life it’s … Life. It’s being here with Grant. For possibly the first time in my adult life I’m truly happy.
Who knew it would take an outrageously priced fundraising dinner to make me admit I have a case of feelings for Grant. With work it’s possible I can fit into his outrageous life. And maybe, just maybe, he’s laid back enough to fit into mine.
“Are you sure? Because you seem a little extra happy.”
“I’m sure. Tonight was great. So great. Thank you.” I lean up and give him another kiss, but this one much quicker and on the check. “Who knew I’d have fun?”
“Here’s a warning. It’s always fun when I’m around.” Grant laughs at his own joke.
If I’m finally admitting I want to do this, I need to do it all the way. Experience the sick PDA couple moments I used to make fun of people for. Now that I’m on this side I see the appeal.
“So your place or mine?” he asks as our black limo pulls up to the curb.
Well, I don’t know it’s our limo. They all look exactly the same to me, but Grant walks up to the back door waiting for it to be opened, so I guess it’s safe.
“Yours,” I call out to him before I get in. “You don’t have roommates.”