“I’m not going to ask the president about his dog the first time I meet him.”
“Why not?” She blinks up at me, her eyes round. “People love talking about their animals. I’m going to ask him if I meet him tonight.”
“You do that.” I chuckle.
Harley gazes around the room again, catching eyes with someone and giving them a dazzling smile.
“Oh. There’s Kristen.”
I follow her eyes to the Head of National Security’s wife, who is smiling back at us.
“We got talking in the spa this afternoon,” Harley explains. “If I’d known these events could be so much fun, I would have dated New York’s Mayor years ago.”
“Dennis Vincent?”
Harley wrinkles her nose up at my mention of the previous New York Mayor, who left under suspicious circumstances amid allegations of pardoning a known drug lord following a covert raid. Rumors have it that he’s been aiding the head of the crime ring throughout his two terms in office. But conveniently, there hasn’t been enough evidence to make the shit stick.
“New York’s going to be so lucky to have you, Reed,” she says with a serious expression.
“Got to win it first.”
“You will.” She nods before sipping her champagne. “I have faith in you.”
Her choice of words renders me mute for a moment before she slides her other hand free of my arm and waves to Kristen, who is looking in our direction.
“Reed, I told Kristen I would talk about Bonsai trees with her. She’s having terrible trouble getting hers to settle since they moved house.”
“Go.” I smile, tipping my glass at her. “I’ll fend for myself.”
“Don’t you want to come?”
“And hear all about Bruce’s branch murdering scissors of doom? No, thank you. I still hear the snipping in my nightmares.”
Harley’s face erupts into a huge grin as she shakes her head at me. “Reed Walker, if I didn’t know better, I could have sworn I heard you talking to Bruce last night before you went to bed.”
“You’re hearing things.” I flatten my lips into a straight line to hide my smirk.
“Fine.” She reaches up and kisses me on the cheek. “I know the truth, plant lover,” she whispers in my ear before she turns and walks across the room.
The satin from her deep pink dress skims over the curve of her ass, flowing all the way down to the floor. She doesn’t wear her hair up often, but this dress calls for it. It has a high neckline at the front, finishing at her throat, but then the back is missing. There’s literally no fabric between the strap around her neck and the lowest point of her back. I can see the dip of her spine and the cinch of her waist, her smooth skin on full display. I glance around the room, heat building beneath my collar as at least four other pairs of eyes follow her.
Keep your eyes to yourselves, fuckers.
I spend some time moving around the room, talking to people, and am in deep in conversation with Harry Ellston, ribbing him about his dildo factory office again when the hairs rise on the back of my neck, the way they do when your body knows some shit is about to go down.
“Reed?”
I grit my teeth and give Harry an apologetic smile and nod as I turn my attention to the source of the voice.
“Bea. I thought I may see you here. Where’s Graham?” I ask, referring to my less than honorable opponent. I would much rather talk old dildos with Harry Ellston all night than entertain that sneaky bastard’s company for one second. And judging by the grunt Harry makes, I know I’m not alone in my preferences. The fact that Graham’s from the Republican party, the same as Dennis Vincent, further reduces his standing in my eyes. I’ve seen the two of them together, laughing and joking like old pals. And with men like them, that is never a good thing.
“Oh, he’s around. Networking.” Bea smiles, her deep red lipstick like a survival marking, a warning to predators that she’s poisonous when provoked. “He needs to get to know everyone for when he’s elected.”
My shoulders stiffen, and I bark out a humorless laugh. “Now, Bea. Don’t go ruining it for the rest of us. Let us think we at least have a chance.”
“Like the chance the president thinks he has with your girlfriend tonight?” She grins at me wickedly, flicking her eyes to the far end of the bar, where Harley is tucked away, almost hidden from view behind a pillar, masculine fingers stroking the bare skin on her back.
“Excuse me,” I snap, side-stepping Bea as she smirks, striding across the ballroom, avoiding eye contact with the people who try to catch my attention.