So he would sit here and endure her exploratory fondling and suggestive glances until he got what they came for. The only way he could survive the evening, though, was by imagining that it was Liv next to him instead.
“As are you, Nicola,” he said.
“I always hold back a few tickets for my fundraisers.” She studied him from the corner of her eye. “For last-minute special guests.”
Zeke raised a brow. “Is that an invitation?”
“It depends.” Her expression transformed from playful to shrewd. “The price per ticket is far above the average person’s means.”
He swallowed back a surge of bile and hit the fastball as hard as he could. Lowering his voice to an intimate whisper, he said, “Have I given you reason to believe that I am in any way average?”
Heat pulsed in her eyes as they tracked their way down his body, pausing on his lap before meeting his gaze. “My assistant will be in touch.”
With that, she turned to Phin and began a lively discussion about the weather.
The triumph Zeke had expected to feel upon securing entrée to the St. Martins’ fundraiser never came. Instead, he felt as if someone had dumped a truckload of foul-smelling sludge on his chest.
A sound to his left shifted his attention from his cooling plate of food to Regina Thornton. The woman wore a murderous expression, and it was directed at him.
When he looked at Liv in confusion, he found her chair empty.