There was amusement in his eyes. “Don’t sweat it. I like having a token from that night, a little reminder of our good time.”
An erotic charge sparked inside of me. He was holding on to my little black panties, remembering the hot sex we’d had. Maybe he’d even touched himself while thinking of it…
I gulped and tried to push those thoughts from my mind before I spontaneously combusted right here in front of him. Or threw myself at him across the desk.
Get ahold of yourself.
“I had fun, but it can’t happen again. We come from different worlds,” I said, trying to remind myself why I’d left in the first place.
“What does that mean?”
“Just that I have certain expectations I have to live up to.”
“Ah, I see.” He nodded, his lips pursed together and a dark look in his eye. “You must come from money or something, and a strip club bouncer and biker doesn’t make you look good. Right?”
I’d offended him, and I felt terrible about it, but I couldn’t lie to him. My parents would go nuts if they caught sight of him in his leather jacket straddling a motorcycle. I’d never hear the end of it.
“I don’t think I’m better than you,” I said, and I meant it. We were just different. In some ways, I was jealous of his life. I didn’t know much about him, but I could see that he lived the way he wanted. I envied that freedom. I’d never had that. In fact, the closest I’d ever come was probably the night I spent with him.
“Sure.” He clearly didn’t believe me. I felt like I’d stuck my foot in my mouth with this conversation.
“How about we meet later this week to start planning the fundraiser?” I asked, changing the subject.
Butch let out a sigh but nodded.
“Fine.”
We arranged to get together in two days, meeting at the public library. There was a heaviness to the air between us as I showed him to the door. Between that and the sexual tension, I felt like I was twisted into knots. When he’d left, I leaned against the wall with my head kicked back and my eyes closed. I felt like such an asshole. I should’ve told him that I had more than a good time the night we met. He’d treated me the way I’d always dreamed of being treated. He’d been respectful of me, and not because I had an ancestor that spent two terms in the White House or because my father was an influential man. I’d never had that before, and it meant more to me than the earth-shattering orgasms.
Why couldn’t I have told him that, instead of making him feel like he wasn’t good enough for me?
Maybe it was because I was worried that it would change things, that he’d see me differently if he knew who my family was. I was trying to hold on to the feeling of being special because of my own merit, not just because I came from extraordinary people. But I’d blown it anyway. He wouldn’t look at me the same way again.
* * *
A few days later, I was getting ready for the dinner party. My mother had spent the whole morning running around like a madwoman, trying to make sure that everything went perfectly. I had heard her shout at the housekeeper, the caterer, and my father. So I did the smart thing and stayed out of her way. She had no reason to come into my room unless I was late, and I wouldn’t risk that.
The dress we had bought the day we went shopping was a deep blue color that complimented my skin tone. It came down to my knees in a flowy skirt, but the V-neckline showed just a tasteful hint of cleavage, so it wasn’t too conservative. I left my hair down, curling the natural waves so that I had a more polished look. Putting on a little mascara and red lipstick, I stepped back from the mirror and examined myself from head to toe.
I looked good. Respectable.Fake. I wasn’t comfortable in my own skin when I looked like this. Not a hair was out of place, but I didn’t feel like I really fit in.
Plastering a tight smile on my face, I went downstairs to join the party, which was well underway. My mother was in fine form, working the room with a gracious grin and making sure everyone’s cocktail was fresh.
The faces around me were familiar, but they were strangers, people that I saw at social functions. I even knew most of their names, but I was disconnected from them. The friendships my parents had with their guests weren’t like my relationship with Lacey. There was no trust or genuine caring here. Everything felt like a business transaction, even my engagement.
No sooner had that thought crossed my mind than I saw Hunter Albrecht II, the man I had agreed to spend the rest of my life with. He was on the other side of the room, looking perfectly at ease while in conversation with my father’s chief of staff.
I’d known Hunter my whole life, since we were little kids running around the backyard during these stuffy dinner parties, ruining nice clothing that we cared little about. Hunter was older than me by seven years, but he never acted like he didn’t want to hang out with me. We helped keep each other sane at the social events when we were dragged along.
Since then, Hunter had grown into a tall, classically handsome man. He had thick brown hair and a sharp jawline. His shoulders were broad, and I knew that underneath his suit, he had the body of an athlete. He looked like the living example of a Ken doll.
Any woman would be lucky to have him, but he wasn’t the one for me. I wished he was. Things would be so much easier if I loved the man, but I just didn’t. Maybe it was because we’d known each other so long that he felt almost like family to me. Or maybe it was because I was attracted to a different type of man. Specifically, a badass biker that made me weak in the knees.
God, I had to stop thinking of Butch like that.
I got the attention of one of the waitresses working for the catering company, ordering myself a gin and tonic. I wasn’t a heavy drinker, but I was going to need a little alcohol to get through the evening. She hurried away to get my cocktail.
“Sabrina, come meet Mr. Olson,” my father called out.
