“Found it under a Dixie cup?” Sherwood gave money they stole to charity, but there was no way he’d been legitimately invited. She shook free of his hand. “You do remember you don’t have to lie to me?”
He wheeled around and stepped in close. “I’m not lying to you. We have our own programs in developing nations. Health care, mostly. We’ve been supporting developments in places like Africa since before I was born.”
Over thirty years? That couldn’t possibly be true. “Sherwood isn’t part of this network.” She’d never heard the name bandied about in the forums or on the databases of registered not-for-profits who specialized in developing nations.
“What can I say? We like to fly under the radar.”
This was a room full of seriously wealthy people and their representatives. “I need a proper answer.”
He sighed and reached for both of her hands, and she let him take them. “We’re wealth redistributors, just like any charity, but a little more aggressive about it. We take from rich narcissists and assholes who don’t know how to respect their good fortune, and we give to people who’ve never had a chance and causes that are worthy. We make our own rules, and we don’t need the scrutiny that comes with being part of an industry. We wouldn’t be at an event like this unless there was a purpose.”
And Lenny had spied their purpose across the room with Princess Ketija by his side.
The Sherwoods fancied themselves as Robin Hoods for the new millennium. She’d never figured that for a literal truth, just good PR. To learn their whole business plan was to use crime to support charity obligations was a stunning reveal. It was strange to realize she owed him an apology for thinking only the worst.
“I’m sor—”
He stopped her words with a quick kiss. “Don’t. Nearly everything that comes out of my mouth from now on will be a lie.”
Right. Where was her head? Morality wasn’t supposed to be this confusing. You weren’t meant to have a father who lied to you your whole life and a fake boyfriend who broke the law in a way you could almost forgive.
Her crowd estimate was eight hundred, based on the number of circular tables set for ten. It was still a surprise when they were shown to one of the head tables. The one where Cookie Jar was taking his seat.
“This came from under a Dixie cup,” Halsey said close to her ear, making her shiver, as he pulled out her chair and she sat. “I didn’t want you to think I was coasting on past achievements.”
She didn’t have time to think anything because she had to remember her part, made significantly easier because she didn’t have to find a way to bump into Cookie Jar; he was across the table from her.
“Miss Lenore,” he said. “We meet again. It is always lovely at events like this to see familiar faces.”
“It’s good to see you again, too, Mr. Prime Minister,” she said. Her ability to fake warmth had been handed down from dear old Dad.
There was no need to invent more conversation, because Ketija arrived and instead of taking her seat beside Cookie Jar, she lifted the white tablecloth.
“Is something wrong, Princess?” Cookie Jar asked, half rising from his seat.
“Only if Miss Lenore is wearing more interesting shoes than mine,” Ketija said, making a good showing of peering under the table in Lenny’s direction.
Lenny did a little tap dance in her heels and Ketija laughed. “You don’t need to be worried that I will have you kidnapped for your footwear tonight.”
“I’m not sure if I should be insulted,” Lenny said and then raised the tablecloth and peeked beneath it to see Ketija was wearing almost identical shoes.
“I think it’s perhaps me who should be insulted,” Cookie Jar said. “You did not tell me your charity was such a high-profile friend of Ossovia.”
She smiled. The line she’d rehearsed to his statement was about how ambitious D4D was. She had a better line now. “It’s Halsey’s charity that got us invited tonight.”
Cookie Jar wagged his finger at her, jovially. “You did not tell me that, either.”
Lenny chanced a look at Halsey; he was leaning across the empty seat to his other side to listen to what another guest was saying, but he was conscious of her, reaching a hand back to graze her thigh. He’d explained he would not directly approach Cookie Jar, that their scam would only work if Cookie Jar wanted what Halsey appeared to have. It was a treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen strategy.
“Halsey’s family has a charitable foundation. I wasn’t aware until tonight how extensive their development funding is.” She shook her head. All this time she’d been so focused on the fact her date was a thief, she’d ignored that he did it for a good cause. “He could afford to boast a little, you know.”
“A modest man,” said Ketija. “How refreshing.”
Lenny’s breath snagged, because it was a bold thing to say, but Cookie Jar laughed. “You are quite right. To my discomfort, I admit modesty has never been one of my virtues. I am boastful and wicked,” he said wickedly with a virtual twinkle in his eye and the kind of confessional tone that was designed to be endearing. “I must make amends. I may need some instruction.” He turned to Ketija. “Perhaps the princess will indulge me and teach me better manners.”
Ketija smiled, but it was less dignified than it was predatory. “Prime Minister, I would be delighted to instruct you in reforming your, what do they call it, humble bragging, but I am a mere engineer who is more interested in building a power grid so Ossovians have adequate supplies of electricity.”
The prime minister’s laughter was loud and accompanied by rattling glassware as he shook the table. Lenny hated him all the more for how charismatic he was, but she admired Ketija’s attempts to keep his ego in check.