Page 5 of Claiming Candy

“Well that’s not good,” he laughs. “You’re not enjoying your party?”

“You know I’m not,” I reply through gritted teeth as I yank him into the kitchen.

There are staff members milling around, and I have half a mind to tell them to get out. I decide against it. If I kick them out, my maid will have even more to do. I’ll let them finish their duties. Besides, it’s not like it matters if they hear this conversation.

“So, what’s so important that you had to pull me in here?” Ron asks when we stop moving, leaning back against the counter and effectively getting in the staff’s way.

“You made the guest list, right?”

“That I did,” he confirms with a grin. “Why, did you meet a lady?”

“I did,” I say, my face hard. “But she left before I could get any of her information.”

“Well, what’s her name?” he asks, happily pulling up his cell. “I can check our list and get you her number.”

“Candy,” I say. “But I don’t have her last name.”

“Not a problem,” he replies, tapping away. His brow furrows after a moment. Then, he’s tapping even more furiously.

“What is it?” I say, a sinking feeling in my stomach. What if I fell for a party crasher?

“Nothing, it’s just…” he chuckles self-consciously, looking at me like he’s worried I’m going to yell at him. “The only Candy I have on the list is a volunteer from the homeless shelter.”

“And that’s a problem?” I ask.

It’s not surprising she’s a volunteer. Her clothes told a story of someone from a different class than me. Still, that doesn’t bother me. That just means I’ll get to show her the world, give her everything she had to scrimp and save for with a snap of my fingers. I might not be a good man, but I’m glad to spoil a good woman.

“I mean…. Not necessarily,” Ron says, still obviously skirting around the point.

“Just tell me what you want to say,” I demand, not having time for his nonsense. Every moment I don’t have with Candy is killing me, and his insolence is really pissing me off.

“Well, when I say she’s a volunteer from the homeless shelter, I mean she’sfromthe homeless shelter,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Like, she lives there. She’s homeless, Ethan.”

“So?” I ask, instantly realizing that I don’t give a fuck about her background.

Ron clicks his tongue, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. I wait for him to continue, to give me one good reason I shouldn’t want the girl of my dreams. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he just keeps his gaze on me like there’s something wrong with me.

“You don’t think you could do any better?” he says finally. “There are plenty of more… appropriate options here right now. I could introduce you to Michelle, her father owns–”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about Michelle,” I snap, not wanting to hear this. How dare he say I could do better than Candy. I couldn’t. What I should be worried about is Candy finding someone better than me. “I want Candy. I don’t care if you think I could do better. I know what I want.”

“Touchy, touchy,” he says, holding his hands up in mock-surrender. “I’m just looking out for your public image. I mean, wasn’t that the whole point in throwing this Christmas party? A charity event that benefits the homeless? All of us know you don’t give a shit about them. This is all for show. You don’t have to go and marry one of them.”

“Would you shut your damn mouth?” I ask, grinding my teeth together. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. I asked you to find Candy. Save the fucking commentary and give me her phone number. I need to make sure that she got back to the shelter safely.”

He gives me a once-over, apparently looking for cracks in my facade. When he doesn’t find any, he nods. I can tell he’s got another quip on the edge of his tongue; but, he values his job, so he holds off.

“There isn’t a phone number on file,” he sighs, glancing around the area – probably in search of another drink. “We don’t have phone numbers for any of the shelter volunteers, only the shelter director’s email.”

“Well, fuck,” I say, looking up at the ceiling and cursing myself for being such a fucking idiot. My lack of tact might have lost me the best thing to have ever happened to me. “I’m going to have to go there and make sure she’s safe.”

“Probably not the best idea,” Ron says, pocketing his cellphone and stretching. “There’s a snowstorm blowing in. Anyway, I’m going to head back out there and get some more champagne. I just got a text from Erin saying this is wrapping up. Good luck with your homeless wife, buddy.”

With that, he leaves, basically running away from me before I can chastise him for his quip. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I go through my options. If there’s a snowstorm coming, my driver is going to raise hell about the trip. The homeless shelter is on the other side of Snowbrook.

I just won’t drag him into it, I decide. It’s not like I don’t know how to drive. Plus, I might be a dick, but I don’t think that it’s a wise idea to show up with a driver. An excessive display of wealth is in poor taste.

So, my mind made up, I hustle to the garage. I grab the keys to my SUV from the hook and climb inside. Then, without a second thought, I pull out onto the driveway, smiling to myself when I see that my guests are starting to clear out. I make a mental note to thank Erin for her efficiency.

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