Without Chase by Jo Frances

in bed, this was probably something she spent a lot of time studying. “I’m also getting too old to play someone in your age group. So instead of fighting it, Helene wants to highlight that, and transition me into the role of ‘the young mother’ or ‘the chick lit heroine’.”
    He shook his head, disagreeing. “I think you’re too young for those roles.”
    Ever so briefly, the mask dropped to reveal that he had touched her, and she looked at him gratefully as they got into the elevator. “Oh my god, thank you for saying that! But that’s kind of Helene’s strategy. I’ll be competing with older actresses for those roles, and one thing we know about Hollywood is, they always go with the younger actresses. So Helene asked me, ‘do you want to be young, or do you want to work?’ and here’s my answer.”
    That definitely sounded like a Helene Kehoe strategy. “So what’s in it for me? I mean, besides getting laid.” Chase wasn’t trying to be rude, but he didn’t particularly care if he were. This blunt, aggressive, kind of talk was something he usually saved for agents, lawyers and opponents on the court. But he realized that there was nothing personal between them, and it would save him a lot of trouble if he started acting like it.
    “What’s in it for you is that I’m giving you a stamp of acceptability and raising your profile. Before me, all people will know you for if basketball. After me, all people will know you for is being one of my ex-boyfriends.”
    Chase rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a great deal.”
    Amy paused as the elevator doors opened into the garage to look at him seriously. “Being famous is a great deal,” she said. “Being famous beats being just a basketball player because that lasts longer. And, as Helene would ask, do you want to be a basketball player or do you want to work?”
    Chase smiled fondly at Amy. No, she wasn’t going to be his real girlfriend. But she would be a good person to have at his side during this time and that was even better because unlike a girlfriend, he knew he wouldn’t have to pretend with her.
    They reached her car. “Good talk, coach.”
    Amy rewarded him with her mega watt smile. “Yeah, you too. Now let’s get out of here.”
    Forty five minutes later, they made their way to one of Brooklyn’s trendier neighborhoods, Amy behind the wheel of her SUV. She wouldn’t tell him who was going to be at the dinner, and once inside the five story historic brownstone, he could see why.
    It was a children’s birthday party.
    Liam Bettancourt, aged four, was the son of Rodrigo Betancourt and his wife Shelby. Amy had given him some background during their drive over. Rodrigo was the son of one of the wealthiest men in Spain, and a distant relative of the King. He met his American wife Shelby (whose family owned shipping lines) while they were both students at a tony prep school, and now they were considered one of the golden couples of New York. They were young, beautiful blue-bloods with an adorable son to match.
    None of this was obvious when Shelby greeted them at the door. She welcomed them as if she were just another young mother, but Chase could see the difference. She wasn’t gorgeous like Jamie, or even pretty like Amy. Instead, Shelby could be described as stunning, in that everything about her had been honed to perfection. Her perfect nose and perfect teeth, and her perfectly shaped face, framed by her perfectly natural blonde hair could only have come from the DNA pool of generations of rich men choosing beautiful women to bear their children. And now she herself had borne a beautiful child: Liam, who was staring at Chase in open mouthed awe.
    “Mommy! That’s Chase Reston!” Rodrigo was one step behind Liam. He, too, was casual and friendly, seemingly unaware that he was royalty. “Please excuse my son,” he said, shaking Chase’s hand warmly. “I’m Rodrigo, and you are obviously Chase Reston.” He spoke with a very slight