“Really?” She frowned at his fist. “We’re going to fist bump, like men? Maybe this is why you can’t find the right woman.” She rolled her eyes, but fist bumped him anyway. “Okay. Your first assignment is to try to act like a gentleman tonight. No burping, scratching, or anything Neanderthal-like. Got it?”
“Got it.” Relief rushed through him. That had been too close a call. He still needed to figure out how she ran her business and couldn’t afford to screw up again. Luckily, his mother hadn’t raised an ape. After his father left, his mother never missed an opportunity to point out how to treat a lady.
Shelby pulled out her phone, ignoring him the rest of the way to the club. Clearly she still didn’t like him enough to make the effort at simple small talk, even though he was doing her a favor. He’d just have to show Shelby Marx how wrong she was about “guys like him.”
The accident on the freeway delayed them, but because he’d been early, they arrived at the party only a few minutes late. Nick gave the valet his keys, then slipped his hand around Shelby’s slender waist and led her up the steps of Denver’s most exclusive country club. Maybe if things went well, he might even be able to snag a few new, rich clients. Could be a productive evening.
When they entered the ballroom, an elderly man dressed in a black suit with the county club’s crest on the pocket smiled at Shelby. “Good evening, Ms. Marx. Your aunt and uncle await your arrival at the front of the ballroom. May I show you the way?”
Shelby leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed the man’s cheek. “Nice to see you, Arthur. This is my . . . date, Nick.”
Arthur tilted his head. “A pleasure, sir.”
Shelby’s date? Not her escort or companion? Maybe he was growing on her already.
As Arthur led them through the opulent ballroom, weaving around small groups of Denver’s elite, Shelby whispered, “My uncle can be a bit . . . intimidating. And my aunt? Well, you’ll see for yourself. Don’t let them get to you.”
He threw his arm around her shoulder. “I’m not easily intimidated, Shelby. Relax.”
As they approached the raised dais in the front of the ballroom, he spotted the man who’d broken his mother’s heart, and pulled up short.
Shelby glanced up at him. “What?”
“That’s my father over there, talking to the bimbo who’s obviously had one too many plastic surgeries. Not surprising, that’s his type.”
Shelby laughed as she tucked her arm through his and pulled him forward. “Well, since that bimbo is my aunt Victoria, we should probably join them.”
Great. That wasn’t going to help get rid of her urge to dump him from her client list.
“Sorry. I was commenting on my father—”
Ignoring his babbling explanation she said, “No, you’re right. My aunt has had one too many procedures. But after the few cryptic things you’ve said about your father, I’m curious to meet him.”
Shelby tugged him closer to his father, a top divorce lawyer—a destroyer of families. These people were his type of clients. Of course he’d not want to miss an opportunity to pick up some new business.
It could be a long night.
When they joined them, Shelby’s aunt turned her overly botoxed face their way and said, “You’re late, dear.” Only her tone betrayed her annoyance. Her face was so shot up with poison, not a muscle moved.
“Accident on I-25,” Shelby replied and then pushed Nick closer. “And this is your companion’s son, Nick Caldwell.”
When her aunt’s eyes lit with pleasure, his stomach took a dive.
“I see Shelby’s taste in men has finally improved. You look just like your handsome father, Nick. Pleasure to meet you.”
He hated when women who refused to accept their fading beauty looked at him like he was the last éclair in the box. Let her beam that scary smile at someone her own age, like his dad.
Steeling himself, he held out his hand to receive her handshake. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Marx.” Then he lowered his hand to his side and greeted his father. “Dad. This is Shelby.”
His father said, “Hello, Son,” but couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Shelby. His father’s gaze ran up and down the length of Shelby’s tight, low-cut dress. “A delight to meet you, Shelby. Are all the Marx women as beautiful as you and your aunt?”
Shelby reached out and shook his father’s hand, then it looked as though his father was going to pull her hand to his mouth for a kiss.
Frickin’ pervert!
He’d never know for sure because Shelby’s hand quickly slid from his grasp and she said, “What a charming thing to say. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Caldwell.”