Gabriella watched on in pure entertainment, taking a sip of her champagne.
“Making it bigger and better,” I said assuredly.
“I like bigger and better,” said the woman, trailing her fingers up my arm.
I could have sworn Gabriella choked on her champagne. I shot her a look, and saw her eyes were watering and dancing with delight.
“Yes, well, Mr. Harold has built an empire that I intend to continue growing. I doubt I will ever fill his shoes, though.”
“Agreed,” said Gabriella under her breath, but no one seemed to hear. She had balls, I would give her that.
Before the woman made another move on me, her husband came to retrieve her, luring her away with another glass of wine she surely didn’t need.
“I thought she was going to eat me alive,” I said, pulling at the collar of my shirt.
“Too bad she didn’t,” said Gabriella before walking away. I watched her go, her bare back warm under the chandelier lights. She was making a bee-line for her father as if she had something urgent to say, and I had the urge to know what. I casually followed after her, giving nods and smiles to the rest of the partygoers who would stop and murmur to themselves. It was as if they were trying to assess me, figure out if I were right for the job.
“The band is great, Mr. Howard,” I said, as I stepped up beside Gabriella, who hadn’t gotten a word out yet.
She looked up at me, irritated.
“Gabriella actually found them,” he said, looking on at the band who was playing an upbeat number.
“You have a good ear,” said an elderly man I assumed was Mr. Rosenthrap.
“Thank you, Ronald,” said Gabriella warmly before smugly side-eyeing me.
“Mr. Rosenthrap, I don’t know if you’ve had the chance to meet the new man in charge,” said Mr. Harold, gesturing to me.
The old man eyed me speculatively like he was Mr. Monopoly looking through his monocle.
“Chandler White,” I said with a grin, holding out my hand.
He took it hesitantly and shook it limply. “You’re young,” he said.
“Not in here,” I said, tapping my head.
I heard a “pfft” come from Gabriella, but ignored her.
“Big shoes to fill, sonny. Big shoes.”
I nodded and was about to reassure him, but he turned back to Gabriella and her father. Old geezer. He continued talking with Gabriella, laughing at her jokes, and I could see how effortless it was for her. How easily these people trusted her and loved her. She had been a part of the company since birth, practically.
For once, I felt like the odd man out, and I didn’t like it. I felt like I had to work that much harder to make myself known, especially in the company of the ex-CEO’s daughter who showed up looking like that. I could see the eyes of the room follow her. I had to prove that I belonged here.
I shot back the rest of my whiskey before prowling for another from the bar. I wasn’t looking to get shit-faced, but I just needed to calm my growing nerves. I wasn’t sure if it was the tension between Gabriella and me, or the unfamiliar feeling of being an outsider for once. That old man had really gotten under my skin.
“Make it a double,” I told the bartender as I held up two fingers.
I swallowed the warm, amber liquid, and felt it burn down my throat. I turned away from the bar and scanned the room. I felt eyes on me, but they were from the women at the party. I knew what they were thinking, and I knew I could easily take one of them home tonight, but it wasn’t the sort of admiration I wanted right now. I wanted to be known for more, but Mr. Howard had proved I had big shoes to fill.
I joined Gabriella and Mr. Howard again, now surrounded by an entirely new group of people. I put my game face on. When I could, I threw in a few of my best charming quips, gaining somelaughs and the attention of the group. I could tell it was irritating the hell out of Gabriella as she looked at me with the familiar look of daggers in her eyes. It was a look I had come to know and love. Another thing I loved was how her chest would flush each time I interjected myself into a conversation. I was very pleased with myself for that fact.
The band’s song soon faded and a man in a white tuxedo stepped up the microphone to announce that dinner would be served now. Everyone began finding their table, looking at the little folded cards that sat atop the white linen tablecloths dancing under the flicker of the candlelight.
“We’re over here,” said Mr. Howard, gesturing for us to follow him to the head table sitting under one of the largest paintings in the room. It was an image of Ares, the God of war. It seemed fitting given the circumstances. I spotted my name in calligraphy and saw that the one next to it read “Gabriella Howard.”
Of course.
