“I’m more of a cocktail gal. But I like wine. Both drinks that aren’t served at places like this.”
“I saw a bar off the family room. We’d have to brave the stoners and lovers, but I’m willing if you are.”
I really should call it a night and go home. Yes, this guy was cute and nice, but I’d promised myself that this year I would solely focus on academics and my internship. I didn’t have time for guys.
But... I was here, and if I went home now, chances were good that I’d binge watch Netflix instead of studying.
“Sure.”
He smiled, and once again, it made my breath catch. It really should have been illegal to look the way he did. “I’m Sam. Sam Clarke.”
“Kate Wheatly.”
“As intheWheatly family?”
Uh-oh. It took me a while to figure out that it wasn’t my radiant personality that lured friends and potential boyfriends to me. It was my family’s money.
Of course, my grandfather was stingy with it, so I didn’t live as lavishly as people might think. I couldn’t wait until I got my trust and could finally be in control of my finances.
“Yes.”
He studied me again. “Why the glare?”
“Are you offering me a drink because of my family ties?”
He shook his head. “I don’t need your family ties. My uncle is Daniel Clarke. In New York.”
Both Daniel and Clarke were common names, but everyone knew Daniel Clarke from New York like everyone knew Bill Gates or Mark Zuckerberg, although instead of tech, the Clarke family was in real estate.
“That makes your aunt Briana Clarke.” I had a list of successful businesswomen that I studied. She was one. I admired her.
Maybe someday, I’d open my own club.
She owned a few now, but I knew the story about how she struggled to find her footing in her family’s business, so she said F-it and started her own.
He nodded. “It does. Say, are you accepting my drink offer because of my family ties?”
“Maybe.”
He laughed. “Good to know.”
“It doesn’t bother you that your good looks and money make you a magnet for fake friends?”
He shrugged. “It is what it is. Are you fake?”
“No.”
“Well then, how about that drink?”
We managed to get through the crowd and into the family room. The noise and activity were much less than in the living room and back yard, as a few stoned partiers discussed the meaning of life.
“What’s your poison?” Sam asked from behind the bar.
“You look like you know what you’re doing back there. What’s your specialty?”
“I make a killer martini. In fact, my aunt Bri taught me.” He pulled out the gin and vermouth and set to work. He found two martini glasses and poured us each one.
He held his drink up. “ToAlice in Wonderland.”