Claire says. “He knows his way around a fire.” I clear my throat. “I mean, barbecue.” “Why’s that guy Max hanging around? You didn’t invite him to dinner, did you?” Chase asks. “He’s going to help me play bouncer. In case anyone wants to crash the gate.” Lying has become so easy for me. I feel utterly soiled, but I haven’t taken my eyes off of Claire’s drink. “The band’s setting up. Should we get this party started?” Chase asks, shaking his booty with what I can only describe as white-boy disease. Which, an hour ago, I might have thought cute, but now I’m left disappointed by his moves. Claire stands up, looking the part of Upper East Side socialite. She’s beautiful and, like her mother, knows the way around a hostess table. She’s a natural. “I want to talk to Daisy first.” She pulls me roughly into the house and stops at the foyer. “Send Max home and cut this out. You’ve been like a wet dishrag all night. If you can’t go through with the party and defy your parents, go home.
