Page 18 of Acquiring Ainsley
I took no less than two unsteady steps away from him before my heel broke. With a resounding crack, it snapped in two, sending me teetering backward. “Oh, my god!” I cried out, and the rest of the well-dressed crowd turned to me, all of them watching with stricken faces as I wavered dangerously close to the edge of the gleaming water.
Trevor grabbed my arm. “I’ve got you. You’re fine. I’ve got you.” He pulled me back from the edge of the pool. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and rotated toward the now quiet crowd. “See? Don’t worry about it. Disaster averted.”
A few of the party guests murmured to each other before they returned to their watered-down drinks and miniature quiches. Every single one of them had a disapproving, haughty expression on their face. This was going to spread, and I knew it. Palm Beach’s socialites finally had a story to tell about me, and they wouldn’t miss the opportunity. If they only knew the real secret about the Ross family.
Oh, well. Screw it.
“T-thanks.” I limped away from the pool deck on the broken heel and ripped off my shoes. “You saved my life, my dress, and my cellphone.” I waved my beaded clutch at him. “But don’t think I’m going to start being nice to you.”
“I’m not asking for that.” He lifted his chin. “But I think you’re drunk, Ainsley. Let me take you home.”
“I’m not drunk.” I picked up an abandoned wineglass from the nearest cocktail table. It was still at least half full of red wine. With a shrug, I finished off what remained. Alcohol killed germs, didn’t it? “At least, I’m notnearlydrunk enough.”
“You’re blitzed. You’re drinking other people’s cocktails, for god’s sake.”
“So?” I held up the empty wine glass. “Can’t let good wine go to waste. At least they didn’t scrimp on decent booze at this event, like they do at so many others.”
Trevor narrowed his eyes. “I want you to give me your car keys.” He closed the space between us. “Because you’re worse off than you think.”
“Don’t worry.” I giggled and waved a hand in the direction of the rest of the party. “And I can call a car whenever I want.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re drunk,” he murmured. “And your behavior is telling everyone else here that you are.”
“Pfft. No. If there is one thing I can handle, it’s my liquor.”
He took the drink from my hand and gave it to a passing waiter. “Let me drive you home. You’ve had enough.”
“Nope.”
“Yes.” He tightened his jaw. “If you stick around much longer, you’re going to start embarrassing yourself.”
I shook my head at him. “I’m not leaving yet.” Then I turned my attention to another round of champagne flutes making their way through the party on a silver tray held by a uniformed staffer. I needed one, or perhaps two, at the most. Maybe drinking them would finally make me black out so I could forget the disaster my life was becoming—which had only been further highlighted in the last ten minutes.
His hand caught the other end of my purse, and he pulled his body almost flush with mine. “Yes, you are,” he growled. His gaze locked with mine, and I couldn’t have pulled myself away even if I had tried. “I’m taking you home—now—before you make more of a fool of yourself.”
His eyes were steely and firm, his chin had a hard line, and unspoken demands coated his voice. No sense in arguing with this guy.
“Okay, fine,” I said after a deep breath. “You win.”
When the valet arrived at the front of The Beachcomber Club with my rented Alfa Romeo 4C Spider, I ushered Ainsley into the front passenger seat, gave the attendant fifty bucks, and sped away from the party as fast as I could. Part of me wanted to save her from herself. Part of me wanted to leave the event. And part of me wanted to get her alone.
Getting her alone also meant a chance to convince her to take my offer.
“Where do you live?” I asked as I drove the car a few blocks down S. County Road.
“Palm Beach Towers.” Her words slurred. “Don’t you remember? Dad bought that condo like thirty years ago. He got it because your father wanted it first.”
“I didn’t think you all still owned it.” My hands tightened on the wheel. “But I guess I’m not surprised.”
“The Rosses are creatures of habit. Remember? Habits… habits… ha…” She pressed the automatic window release on the passenger-door console and rolled the window all the way down. “Whew,” she said into the passing wind. “That feels good. Soooooo good.”
Forcing her to leave the party had been a fantastic judgment call on my part. She must have weighed about 135 pounds soaking wet; the alcohol had made quick work of her.
“Just try not to throw up in my car,” I warned. “It’s a rental.”
“Of course, it is.”
“What does that mean?”
