“Tell me about Tamsen,” I say, sitting cross-legged on my vanity as Trick applies my makeup for tonight’s fundraising gala.
His lip twitches. “Look up,” he commands with complete focus.
“She’s beautiful.”
Another twitch. “Don’t blink.”
“I talked to Grady about her yesterday while you were in the shower, but he was on his way out again so I didn’t get much from him. He said she’s a paramedic in New York City and she’s not gay nor does she pretend to be.”
Trick chuckles which is very uncharacteristic of him when he’s working.
“Are she and Grady originally from Chicago?”
Trick pauses and looks into my eyes for a moment as if my question is … odd? He shakes his head and continues.
“Does she have a boyfriend?”
He lifts his shoulders. Typical man, of course he doesn’t know.
I test the next question in my head a few times and decide it’s appropriate if I can keep a nonchalant tone to my voice. “Have you two … been together?”
Trick raises one brow.
I sigh. “Have you … made love?”
He bites my lower lip, dragging it between his teeth for a slow release. “I’ve made love to you.”
I roll my eyes at his semantics. “Have you had sex with her, fucked her?” So much for my attempt to use tact.
He blots along my lips that are wet from him and starts to line them. “No. Would it matter?”
“Of course not. It’s just you have such an unhealthy attitude toward women, you know … the despising them and everything … so I’m curious how she ranks so high with you.”
“I don’t despise you.” He glosses my lips.
“Well that’s a relief.” I grab his waistband and start to unfasten his pants.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
“Who says I can’t finish?”
“I’ll ruin your hair and then Gemmie will be pissed. And then there’s your makeup …” He steps back and puts all the makeup and supplies away.
I hop off the vanity and shrug, wearing nothing but my nude strapless bra and panties. “Are you telling me no, Mr. Roth?”
He fastens his pants and leans against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. “You are truly beautiful.”
I look in the mirror. Gemmie has a knack for creating the impossible with my natural waves making them look tamed and free at the same time. And Trick always finds the right shades of eye shadow and liner to bring out a hint of vibrant blue in my eyes. “I’m just a product of some very talented people.”
Trick moves behind me so he’s looking over my shoulder at our reflection in the mirror. “Darby Carmichael, you are beautiful. Gemmie gets a gorgeous head of hair to play with, and I get a perfect canvas.” He kisses my neck and my eyelids grow heavy from his touch. “But honestly, my alluring beauty, marking your perfect skin feels sacrilegious.”
“Trick … touch me,” I whisper with my eyes closed and a fog enveloping my brain.
“If I touch you, neither one of us will be making it to our respective engagements tonight.”
My eyes flutter open. “I’m fine with that.” I reach behind and grab his hands, placing them on my bare stomach.
He pinches my sides eliciting a squeal and a jump. “That’s because your gala is going to be stuffy and boring.”
I grab my newest Rachel Hart green dress and step into it. “That’s because you’re not coming with me.”
He zips my dress. “If Tamsen weren’t leaving tomorrow, I would be going with you.”
“Who’s going to sneak off with me to some private corner and remind me how sexy I look tonight?”
He kisses the skin exposed from the plunging back of my dress. “Only someone with a death wish.”
I close my eyes, trying to shake the memory of Trick holding that gun like it was an extension of himself—confident, controlled, and deadly serious.
“My driver is probably here.” I open my eyes and slip into my heels.
After grabbing my wrap and clutch, Trick escorts me to the car my father sent for me.
He kisses my neck, being careful not to mess up my makeup. “Call me if you need help getting out of your dress later,” he whispers in my ear as the driver holds the door open.
He’s so mean. “Tell Tamsen goodbye for me.”
He nods as I duck into the back of the car.
*
Entering the grand ball room, I recognize the same wealthy crowd. Everything reeks of money and greed. The team of young wannabe politicians that my father sends door to door asking for votes aren’t instructed to invite the average citizens of Illinois to these galas and fundraisers. Why is that?
Senator Calvin Carmichael flaunts his “relatable” qualities on TV ads, reminding the public that he grew up the son of a hotel parking attendant and social worker. The ads don’t mention that he basically disowned his parents after he married my mom and started his first company. My grandma Carmichael died of lung cancer a few years ago, and I love that the decor at Rogue Seduction reminds me of her attic and the many hours I spent listening to her stories of each “collector’s” piece she owned. But my grandpa is still alive. Just after my grandma died, he moved to a small house in Watseka, Illinois where he grew up. We weren’t that close because he was always working, but I still visit him several times a year.