SAMANTHA
The party wasn’t what I expected. I’d assumed to see boozing, beer pong, chugging contests, and half-naked chicks running around the lawn. When I pulled past the opened gate at the end of the driveway, I felt like I was driving into the Fallen Crest Country Club.
Maseratis, Corvettes, Ferraris, BMWs, Rolls-Royces—those were among the cars in the parking lot. As an attendant waved me to the house, I saw there was valet parking.
Well, s**t.
Park Sebastian really did own his own country club.
“Ma’am.” The attendant held his hand out, looking younger than me.
I sighed and handed over the keys. My little Corolla had been with me since the beginning. I patted the front as I rounded the car and said, “Be nice to her. She’s revved up for the evening. She might be a little tense.”
H
