“He certainly knows how to win over a crowd,” said his mother, walking up behind me.
I jumped slightly, knowing I was caught staring at her son.
“Sandy,” I said, putting my hand to my heart. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Oh, I’m just exploring the place. It’s beautiful. Is the event held here every year?” she asked, looking across the stone terrace to the large green beyond.
“It’s become tradition,” I said. “It’s the one charity event we hold that the location stays the same. It’s on one the of the best courses in New York, which keeps bringing back our celebrity guests and pros.”
“I can see why,” she said, clearly impressed.
“Do you golf any?” I asked.
She waved me off as she took a sip of wine. “I can’t even play putt-putt. I’m just here to support my son.” She laughed.
I smiled. “And Greg? Does he golf?” I looked around for him, but didn’t spot him.
“Oh no. It’s not really his thing. I think he just said he liked it to come support Chandler. He’s always looking for a way in with my son, but often fails,” said Sandy, somewhat sadly.
“Well, it was good of you both to come anyway,” I said warmly, thinking maybe Greg wasn’t as bad as Chandler painted him out to be.
They were clearly making an effort to support Chandler, even if he refused to see it. I couldn’t understand how such a kind woman had such a vile son. As I looked at her, I tried to find Chandler in her features, but her eyes were warm and her hair was light. I could see him in her smile though, of the rare times I saw him genuinely happy. He must have taken after his father.
“I’m proud of him, you know,” she said softly, looking out at Chandler who was still shmoozing.
“I’m sure he would love to hear that,” I said.
“Is there any food in this joint?” asked Greg, coming up behind us and rubbing his stomach.
I laughed. “Of course. The buffet is set up just on the other side of the terrace in the ballroom. I’ll take you there.”
I led the way, avoiding the cool look Chandler shot my way as he watched me lead his mother and Greg around. Someone had to do it. If he was going to ignore his guests, then I would have to step in. I shot him a look right back before giving an opposite look to Sandy and her partner.
We walked into the large ballroom where three long buffet tables were lined up with pressed white tablecloths and layered with platters of food. My stomach grumbled at the sight of thecroissants, French toast, and bacon. Lately, it felt like all I had been craving were carbs and greasy food.
“This is quite a spread,” said Greg, eagerly taking a plate.
“We have one of the best caterers on the East Coast, so enjoy,” I said with an encouraging nod.
I let the two of them go ahead of me, grabbing a plate and following behind. I perused the spread, plucking up an almond croissant, a small bowl of mixed berries, a piece of the brioche French toast that I drenched in syrup, and a few slices of bacon. I steered clear of the impressive charcuterie spread that was filled with things I was instructed not to eat, according to what I read online about pregnancy.
I met Sandy at the mimosa station where she was making her own concoction of champagne, orange juice, a splash of pineapple juice, and two raspberries. I would be lying if I said it didn’t look good. I opted for a mocktail version, leaving out the champagne. Greg was nearby at the bloody Mary station, making a feast of garnishes for his spicy cocktail.
We walked out onto the terrace where round tables were set up on the smooth stone surface, warm from the summer day. We sat down at a table overlooking the course and made small talk about Harold Enterprises and what it was like growing up with my mother and father. Greg seemed impressed by my father’s small start, and working his way up in the dog eat dog realm of the business world.
“I assume his business sense rubbed off on you?” he asked, popping an olive in his mouth.
“Definitely. I didn’t realize I had a passion for it until later in life, but now I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Or doing anything else,” I said.
“How has it been with Chandler?” he asked, prying slightly from the small smirk on his face.
“It’s been…” I tried to search for the word without telling them what an asshole he really was. “Different.” I laughed softly.
Greg let out a chuckle and a knowing look. His mother looked at me sympathetically.
“He’s a tough one to crack,” she said, reaching over and patting my hand.
“You could say that again.” I looked out to the course to try and spot him, only noticing his mother’s gaze on me when I turned back to the table. She had a look in her eye that I couldn’t quite read.
