Skylar let out one of her specialty indignant gasps. However, Hak-kan continued on before she could launch into a defensive temper tantrum.
“Since extreme loyalty doesn’t seem to be your speed, here’s your cover story,” he informed her with a flat look. “O and I have known each other for a while—over ten years. After her break-up, we ran into each other, and when I found out she was single, I pounced. Tell them I’d been crushing on her from afar for a decade, but the timing was never right. So we’ve only been together for a few weeks, but it’s serious—tell them that.”
I know it’s just make-believe, but sparks go off inside my stomach at his cover story. There’s something so weirdly thrilling about the thought of having a secret admirer I didn’t know about, even if it’s only make-believe.
“Okay,” Skylar said carefully. “That’s what I’ll say. I have a couple more questions, though. It might seem silly to you, but people will expect me to know about your family….”
“Parents are retired. Mom was a teacher beginning to end. And dad was in the import/export business.”
“I see,” Skylar answered, her tone wildly unimpressed. “And obviously, they’ll be curious about your job.”
Hak-kan smoothed a hand over his lapel. “Businessman.”
“What sort of business?”
“All sorts,” he answered. “Tell you what, if anyone has follow-up questions, you send them to me.”
“Okay then, Phantom.” Skylar gave him a cold, polite lift of the lips. I suppose you could call it a smile if you really used your imagination.
But Mom grinned broadly. “Oh, my, oh my. You’re making me jealous for the first time that I’m no longer invited to that insufferable party.”
Skylar just threw me a look. One I could easily translate as “are you sure about this?”
No, no, I wasn’t sure about this. Not at all.
Hak-kan led the charge into the party after telling one of the shocked executive assistants manning the Glendaver Castle doors that he was my plus one.
The fox hunt had started out as a full-on version of the English kind back in the forties with hunting officials, tweed jackets, hounds, trompe horns, and everything. But it had changed a lot over the last couple of decades under my father’s somewhat liberal management.
No animals were actually killed during the hunt anymore—just scared off in the cases of coyotes and wrangled into a cage on the rare occasion they were actually able to track down a fox. Also, with the addition of a hand full of women executives under my father’s tenure as the CEO/Owner of Glendaver Bourbon, the males-only rule had been scrapped.
However, though the hunt had adapted to keep up with changing attitudes in America, I couldn’t say the same for the party. As always, it took place in the castle’s great hall, a vast space filled with leather couches, Persian rugs, Impressionist artwork, and no less than four floor-to-ceiling hearth fireplaces, all overseen by a high wood-beam ceiling.
As usual, nearly all the men were gathered around the built-in bar, networking and setting up deals. Meanwhile, most of the women and grown progeny—children weren’t allowed at the party—filled up the rest of the room, mingling and gossiping in dresses and suits they’d bought especially for this exclusive event.
Dad stood front and center at the bar, holding court with Gerald Easton standing by his side as if they were already business partners.
And sure enough, I spotted Garrett and Leighton holding hands as they walked around the party, re-introducing themselves as a couple.
He wore a dark blue suit, and she sported a puffed sleeve dress close to the same color, which made her appear older—most likely on purpose to spackle over their fifteen-year age gap. In any case, they looked like American royalty with their ultra-traditional good looks and matchy-matchy outfits.
The other guests greeted them with good cheer. I’m sure they’d been prepped by Leighton’s mother beforehand. She wanted their engagement announcement to go off without a hitch.
Speaking of my stepmother, Muffy stood at the bottom of the steps—the perfect position to personally greet anyone who arrived at the fete while holding her own sort of court.
Each year’s party seemed to introduce even more trophy wives—usually younger, less pedigreed versions of the exact same wife the older execs had before. And Muffy got to be the queen of them all while the few remaining wives glared at them from a circle they’d formed in the farthest corner of the room.
However, all of the party’s usual suspects looked up when Hak-kan and I appeared at the top of the stone steps that led into the sunken hall.
The volume of conversation considerably lowered. And my father gaped at me—right before Gerald Easton grabbed him by the shoulder and started whispering in my father’s ear.
I was fairly certain all this attention wasn’t for the Audrey Hepburnesque raspberry-colored swing dress I’d scored last minute at Von Maur to match Hak-kan’s perfect suit. It did have pockets, but still…