Page 16 of Bad Reputation

My mother inclines her head and leads me onward. We walk down a walkway that divides the game room and dining room, and head into the living room. There are tons of brown leather couches artfully arranged here and there, with cream shag rugs and a small library against one wall.

My father is there, leaning on the library ladder, a beautiful leather-bound volume in one hand. He’s taller than most of the men who are circled around him, listening to him… well, he’s orating, if I were to be honest.

Standing in a circle in their tuxes, they resemble nothing so much as a bunch of confused penguins. I stifle a grin.

I notice that the men he has chosen to surround himself with are much younger, the sons of oil executives and foreign shipping barons. My eyes narrow; Alan Alderisi normally wouldn’t have anything to do with a bunch of young guys like this.

Before I can put two and two together, my mother calls to my father. “Alan, dear, look who has finally come down!”

Eight sets of eyes turn to me. Suddenly, I’m in a spotlight of my parents’ creation. I want to turn and run, but my mother’s hand lands on my forearm. Her grip is as firm as steel.

“Emma,” my father says, urging me to step forward. “I was just telling some of your contemporaries here a story about when I was their age. Come, come meet the gentlemen…”

I have never felt like such a piece of meat as I do now, with seven strange men staring at me, expectation evident in their eyes. I move forward into the opening of the circle, trying to keep a smile on my face. I am red as a beet, I’m sure of it.

“Hi,” I say, folding my hands together. “Nice to meet you all, I’m sure.”

They introduce themselves, their names going right over my head. The final guy is a tall, lanky blond in an expensive-looking tuxedo. He elbows aside the suitors on either side of himself, eager to make an impression. I look at him, all swagger and no actual grit, and I instantly dislike him.

He grabs my hand, pressing it in his clammy grip. “Emma, I’m Rich. May I just say how beautiful you are?”

I want to rip my hand back, but I don’t. Instead I just give him a vague smile and incline my head. It’s a page straight out of my mother’s playbook.

Rich seems unaware of how weird it is. Not that I really want to talk to any of them, but what about the six guys left staring at me? He pulls my hand into the crook of his arm, turning his back on the whole group. “I think we should take a walk.”

I turn too, in an effort not to let him crush my hand. I throw an alarmed look over my shoulder to my father, but he’s already wandered off.

“If you don’t mind—” I start.

“Come on, let’s go outside,” Rich says, undeterred. I’m honestly not sure whether my reaction even registers with him. “Your father says you’re in law school. That must be difficult.”

“Uhhh… yes?” is all I can come up with.

He steers me out of the living room, past the broad terrace doors, and down the brick steps toward the expansive gardens. The sun is still out, which is the only reason why I’m even letting this happen.

When the sun goes down, I had damn well better be back inside. I scowl, but Rich is so self-involved that he doesn’t even notice.

“I thought about going to law school, but I decided to get my MBA instead. I went to Wharton, of course. And Harvard before that…”

He launches into his entire life history, really taking the time to explain his pedigree to me. His story is long, winding, and dead boring. I lose interest in it pretty quickly. I focus on the flowers in bloom as we walk along the garden path.

As we walk, Rich gesticulates to emphasize what he is saying. His hand catches my eye, and I realize that he has a manicure. And not a subtle one, either… he actually has a coat of clear polish on his nails.

While I try not to judge, that detail emphasizes to me how ridiculous letting my parents set me up is. Asher and Jameson wouldhateRich for being so foppish, that’s for sure.

If I’m honest, this is all starting to feel very much like a long lost plot arc of Pride and Prejudice. I imagine myself dressed in period costume, walking in the gardens with one of my many suitors. Yeah, it’s a little too much like real life for my tastes.

“So what about you?” Rich asks.

Oh, he’s asking me a question. I flush, because I have not been paying enough attention to answer.

“Er… what do you mean?” I ask.

He looks down his nose at me, squeezing my arm pityingly. “I mean, you’re a dazzling girl. But I want to know all of your schools, your history, etc. You can’t hope to just get a husband by merit of your parents name, I would think.”

I arch my brows. “I wasn’t aware that I was trying to get a husband.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “We’re all looking to partner up. I just want to make the best possible match for myself, which is why I ask about your background.”

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