Read Online Second Chance Love by Shawn Inmon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Shawn Inmon
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people milling around, the cold air from outside meeting the overheated air inside, and the aroma of hundreds of different perfumes and colognes, Elizabeth felt a touch of claustrophobia. Steve kept his arm around her, guiding her through small islands of staring people who all seemed to know him. Elizabeth looked at the way all the other women were dressed, in off-the-runway fashions and the latest accessories, and remembered that her own clothing was secondhand. No wonder they're all staring. I must stand out like a bodice-ripper in the Self-Help section.
Steve said, “I’m going to check my overcoat. Would you like me to take your wrap?”
Elizabeth considered, then said “No, thank you, I’ll keep it in case it gets cold later on.
Steve nodded and disappeared into the throng of tuxedos and stick-thin women in aggressively plunging necklines. Elizabeth shifted from one foot to another and tried to think about the J.D. Robb book she had started the day before.
“Well, hello. Who are you, waltzing in on the arm of our Steve, the most eligible bachelor in town?”
It was a tall, lithe, blonde woman, smiling to show perfect teeth. She was tanned, dressed, augmented and aerobicized into social perfection. Before Elizabeth could reply, the new arrival continued: “But, where are my manners? I’m Chelsea Stanton, an old friend of Steve’s…”
Elizabeth took a breath to answer when she felt Steve’s arm once again slide around her waist.
“Hello, Chelsea. Elizabeth, this is Chelsea Stanton. Chelsea, Elizabeth Coleman. I know that Lizzie looks young, but she’s a very old friend. In fact, you might remember that she was my best friend when we were growing up and all through high school.”
“Oh. Lizzie, is it?” Chelsea asked.
“Steve is the only person that’s ever called me that. Elizabeth is fine.”
“Fine. Elizabeth it is then…”
The amplified voice of the local NBC-affiliate weatherman came over the loudspeakers above them. “Good evening, folks, this is Thom Goodson, everybody’s favorite precipitation prognosticator. The cocktail hour is almost over, and the live auction will begin in just a few minutes, so let’s start making our way to our seats.”
“Goodbye, Chelsea, we’re going in.”
"Such a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth," said Chelsea in a voice that managed to be both perky and silky.
The grand ballroom was better designed than the entryway, with a higher ceiling and better air circulation. At one end of the ballroom, an elevated stage held a seven-piece orchestra that was tuning up. Before the stage was a podium, with room set aside for a dance floor. Tables around the sides and back of the room held various items and envelopes. The ballroom's interior was full of round tables with white linen cloths, each with eight chairs. Some brain trust had sprinkled bright confetti onto each table, topping each with a floral centerpiece and a sign saying, "Let's help those who can't...Read!"
A tall, florid, overweight man waving to them from a table in the middle of the room. Steve leaned in, just loud enough to be heard over the band's warm-up cacophony. “That’s Jim Scott. I committed to buying a whole table’s worth of seats, so I invited him and his wife to sit with us. Jim’s one of my field agents. In fact, he gave me the lead that brought me to that Christmas tree lot. If it wasn’t for him, I might have never found you again. Except for some odd ideas about property values, he's a good guy. His wife is very down-to-earth.”
“Who else is sitting with us?”
“Oh, no one else, just Jim and his wife.”
“But you bought the whole table?”
“Yep, it’s the price of admission. It’s for a good cause.”
“How much was it to reserve a table?” Elizabeth asked.
“$500 per seat, but it all goes to the charity. I could have invited some other people from the company, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you with having to remember everyone’s names. Don’t worry,
Steve said, “I’m going to check my overcoat. Would you like me to take your wrap?”
Elizabeth considered, then said “No, thank you, I’ll keep it in case it gets cold later on.
Steve nodded and disappeared into the throng of tuxedos and stick-thin women in aggressively plunging necklines. Elizabeth shifted from one foot to another and tried to think about the J.D. Robb book she had started the day before.
“Well, hello. Who are you, waltzing in on the arm of our Steve, the most eligible bachelor in town?”
It was a tall, lithe, blonde woman, smiling to show perfect teeth. She was tanned, dressed, augmented and aerobicized into social perfection. Before Elizabeth could reply, the new arrival continued: “But, where are my manners? I’m Chelsea Stanton, an old friend of Steve’s…”
Elizabeth took a breath to answer when she felt Steve’s arm once again slide around her waist.
“Hello, Chelsea. Elizabeth, this is Chelsea Stanton. Chelsea, Elizabeth Coleman. I know that Lizzie looks young, but she’s a very old friend. In fact, you might remember that she was my best friend when we were growing up and all through high school.”
“Oh. Lizzie, is it?” Chelsea asked.
“Steve is the only person that’s ever called me that. Elizabeth is fine.”
“Fine. Elizabeth it is then…”
The amplified voice of the local NBC-affiliate weatherman came over the loudspeakers above them. “Good evening, folks, this is Thom Goodson, everybody’s favorite precipitation prognosticator. The cocktail hour is almost over, and the live auction will begin in just a few minutes, so let’s start making our way to our seats.”
“Goodbye, Chelsea, we’re going in.”
"Such a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth," said Chelsea in a voice that managed to be both perky and silky.
The grand ballroom was better designed than the entryway, with a higher ceiling and better air circulation. At one end of the ballroom, an elevated stage held a seven-piece orchestra that was tuning up. Before the stage was a podium, with room set aside for a dance floor. Tables around the sides and back of the room held various items and envelopes. The ballroom's interior was full of round tables with white linen cloths, each with eight chairs. Some brain trust had sprinkled bright confetti onto each table, topping each with a floral centerpiece and a sign saying, "Let's help those who can't...Read!"
A tall, florid, overweight man waving to them from a table in the middle of the room. Steve leaned in, just loud enough to be heard over the band's warm-up cacophony. “That’s Jim Scott. I committed to buying a whole table’s worth of seats, so I invited him and his wife to sit with us. Jim’s one of my field agents. In fact, he gave me the lead that brought me to that Christmas tree lot. If it wasn’t for him, I might have never found you again. Except for some odd ideas about property values, he's a good guy. His wife is very down-to-earth.”
“Who else is sitting with us?”
“Oh, no one else, just Jim and his wife.”
“But you bought the whole table?”
“Yep, it’s the price of admission. It’s for a good cause.”
“How much was it to reserve a table?” Elizabeth asked.
“$500 per seat, but it all goes to the charity. I could have invited some other people from the company, but I didn’t want to overwhelm you with having to remember everyone’s names. Don’t worry,
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