Chasing Frost by Isabel Jolie
One
Chase
The mammoth diamond on her ring finger disperses rays of light, spinning magenta and yellow flecks of color across the marble ballroom floor. She alternates between patting and fondling my forearm, while her ring-bearing hand lifts the champagne glass unnaturally high. My bow tie constricts around my throat, and my feet ache in these stiff dress shoes. If I get my way, these overpriced oxfords will never be broken in.
I search the crowd for my boss, and the arm patter’s husband, Tom Bennett. My boss, the CEO of the accounting firm I work for, is the whole reason I’m here at this charity event. It’s a good cause, and I remind myself of that every time Tom buys several tables at these fundraising dinners and fills them up with BB&E employees.
Senator McLoughlin is his buddy. I get it. They went to college together. Someone McLoughlin loved died from cancer. I get all of it. Support your friends. But does every charity event require participants to dress like dolled-up penguins?
Bennett’s wife continues, pausing to adjust her dress before she has a wardrobe malfunction of the Janet Jackson variety. My buddy Cal looks over, and I raise my glass to him, sending silent pleas for him to rescue me.
This is cocktail hour. In an estimated ten minutes, the oversized oak banquet room doors will open, and I’ll get a chance to see how I’m faring in my boss’s eyes. Today, I’m hoping he’s thinking I’m doing a shit job and I get the table with the company peons. Bennett’s wife is too touchy-feely for my taste. I doubt he cares what she does, based on how he acts when he’s out with his buddies, and the fact he stands nowhere near her when I see them together, but there’s no reason to test his hypocrisy.
Cal joins us, and Bennett’s wife shines a commercial-worthy white smile his way. Multiple sparkling tennis bracelets slide down her arm as she reaches out for him. Thank fuck for the diversion. As Cal engages her in conversation, I tabulate the estimated value of the diamonds dripping on Mrs. Bennett. I know how much one of those tennis bracelets cost because my dad bought my mom one for their fortieth. She’s got large diamonds on her ears, around her neck, fingers, and wrists. For Tom’s sake, I hope some of that shit’s fake, ’cause if it isn’t, the dude’s either going broke or he’s into something illegal. But, then again, maybe our CEO fares better at bonus time than I realize.
If all that’s real, the woman must give a damn good blow job. Plump and glistening in gloss.
Mrs. Bennett lightly squeezes my bicep. “What do you think, Chase?”
I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. Cal saves me, and his shit-eating smirk tells me he knows he’s doing me a solid.
“Maitlin, didn’t you try the keto diet once? You weren’t a fan, were you?”
“Years ago. I tried it. Very difficult to keep up. But what are you talking to us about diets for?” I flash her my charming, but purposefully not flirty, smile. “You’re lovely. You keep eating healthy and exercising, as you obviously do, and you’ll keep making all the ladies jealous.” She smothers a giggle and tilts her head while batting her extremely long eyelashes, and the save is complete. But then she inches closer, and we have at least six more minutes before the doors open and the dinner portion of the evening begins, when the sentimental videos play and the tears and checkbooks follow.
“So, I’ve been asking all the men, doing my own sort of survey. Do you use those dating apps? It’s been so long since I’ve been single, and I’m so curious about the dating world these days.”
“Yeah, I use a few,” I dutifully answer. Cal smirks.
“Oh, can I see your profile? I’m so curious. I read about these apps, but I’ve never interacted.”
The answer to her question would be a hell-to-the-no, but I’m saved when Evan Mitchell, our CFO, walks up with a twenty-something femme fatale in a sleek, form-fitting gown. She is not his wife, and she just made this boring charity gala worth attending.
“Good evening.” I nod to Evan. I reach my hand out to the hot commodity at his side. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Chase Maitlin.”
Her slender fingers slip into mine, and hot damn. I’m not even sure where to look first. She’s all-natural, with glossy, pale pink lips and a rosy blush to her cheeks. Her glossy, dark hair is pulled back, revealing an elongated neck and demure solitaire diamond earrings. Her arms are lightly sculpted. Not in a weightlifter kind of way, but a way that says this girl can do some push-ups and pull-ups and probably run a marathon too. As a fellow gym rat, color me intrigued.
“Sydney Frost.” Her hand leaves mine, and her dark gaze sweeps over the others in our group. Frosty. I like it.
“Sydney will be joining our firm, filling Tad’s role.”
“Welcome.” I grin. Excellent. She’s gorgeous. Probably out of my league. But, as my main man Michael Jordan says, you lose one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. I’ll need to play it right. Working together will be a great opportunity to get to know her. Get in the best position for the free-throw line. Of course, these days, working together can also be a highly sensitive situation and makes it easier to foul.
Cal extends his hand. He’s got a gold ring on his finger, that omnipresent ball and chain, so he’s no competition, no matter how much Frosty here seems to prefer him right now. Evan excuses himself, saying something about needing to find his wife and to please introduce Sydney to any other BB&E employees we run across.
Unfortunately, when Evan leaves our little group, Mrs. Bennett takes a step closer, almost separating us from Cal and my newfound shiny object.
“So, your phone? Can I see?” she says softly as if the other two can’t hear her if she lowers her voice.
Frosty raises one dark, thick, perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“Mrs. Bennett is curious about the online dating scene,” I explain. “She’s taking a survey, trying to ascertain how today’s singles meet.”
“Oh, I’m sure someone like Sydney must have a boyfriend waiting in the wings.” Mrs. Bennett’s words are civil, but there’s something about her stance that’s reminiscent of a feral lioness.
“No.” A barely-there smile graces those pale pink, shapely lips. “No boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Bennett’s response has a hard edge to it.
Cal breaks the tension. “Can I get either of you ladies something to drink from the bar? We should be sitting soon.”
Both women smile graciously, declining his offer while sizing each other up.
“So, what about you, Sydney? Does a single woman like you resort to dating apps? Are you one of those girls desperately seeking a husband?”
Sydney’s shoulders shift back, and her breasts rise. Cal turns his head, seeming to scan the crowd for someone as the two women glare at each other like opponents before the whistle blows.
“A husband? No, I can’t say that’s something I want.”
“Probably for the best. So, no dating apps? No desire to meet a partner of any sort, for any activity?” Mrs. Bennett rests her fingers along my forearm and inches closer to me. My collar tightens when it hits me she’s insinuating some kind of activity with me.
“Me? No. If I want sex, then I have sex. No app required.”
I almost spit out my gin and tonic as Sydney twists and walks away, her tight ass swaying beneath her silk slip gown, sans panty lines.
It’s official. I’m in lust.