Damage Control

by M. S. Parker

  “You still look stunning,” the stranger said with a grin.

  I pointed the fork at him and didn’t smile back. “Go away.” Turning to Miles, I cocked my head. “I’ll wait in the office.”

  I used the loop on my hand to tug my skirt up. A sequined scallop remained on the ground, and I looked up to see my would-be admirer still hovering.

  Miles coughed to cover up his chuckle as he bent to pick up the mangled part of my costume’s tail. He tucked it into my hand and stepped in front of me, giving me a chance to move away with some dignity. Or at least as much dignity as a twenty-three-year-old dressed as a mermaid could have.

  “Sir, if I may… I don’t believe now is a good time to socialize with the lady. She’s somewhat hot-tempered and might well stab you with that fork.”

  I disappeared around the corner as the guy started to laugh.

  I paused to hear Miles’ response. “You think I’m joking. I assure you, I’m not. Trust me, you would not want to be forced to explain to a doctor why a lady felt the need to impale you with a kitchen utensil.”

  I made a mental note to send Miles a bottle of his favorite pinot noir for Christmas. Two, since he’d managed to say it all without laughing.

  I started walking again, still fuming despite my momentary amusement. I couldn’t believe the jerk had torn my tail. I’d spent forever working on this mermaid costume, and he’d gone and messed part of it up before I even had a chance to show Piety.

  Sighing, I took another hall, nodding at the security personnel monitoring it. They’d been working at Van Allen events for years. We weren’t friends, but we smiled and joked whenever we happened to see each other.

  “I have to go mend my skirt,” I announced with a regal tone. “Some toad stepped on it.”

  “You need an escort, little mermaid,” the one on the left said, winking at me. “I’d offer, but I’m already tied up for the night.”

  “Your boyfriend would kill us both.” Laughing, I waved and continued on down to the office Congressman Silas Van Allen used when he wasn’t working in Washington.

  Shutting the door behind me, I made my way over to the desk and went to grab the tail.

  Immediately, several problems presented themselves.

  Part of my costume was a nude-tone underbust corset. While an underbust was nowhere near as constrictive on movement as a full-length corset, it definitely didn’t give to bending and twisting. Also, there was another scalloped edge of the tail that had been ripped off.

  “Hell.” Catching sight of my reflection in the darkened window, I said, “This is going to be fun.”

  I went over and caught the cord, drawing the drapes then moved back to the desk. I wasn’t giving a show to anyone who happened by. I didn’t think Miles would be too pleased if I flashed my tits at him either, but I still had on a bra – with sea-shells attached. Appliqued, of course. Real seashells couldn’t be comfortable.

  I was only halfway finished unlacing myself from the corset when Miles knocked.

  “Come on in,” I shouted.

  He caught sight of me as soon as he opened the door, eyebrows shooting up.

  Seeing the humor spark in his eyes, I said, “You try wearing a corset.”

  “I think I’ll pass, Miss Traore.” He approached and put the sewing kit on the edge of the desk. “Do you need help?”

  “No.” I shooed him off in the direction of the door. “I’m sure you’ve got a million things to do with the party going. The event planner has been praising your name. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to steal you away.”

  At that, his cheeks went pink, and he coughed into his hand. “Yes, well...I’ll be going now.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You…she offered you a job, didn’t she?”

  “Of course not. That would be most unprofessional.” But he didn’t look in my direction as he closed the door on the sound of my laughter.

  “Scheming event planner,” I muttered as I wrestled the underbust the rest of the way off. I dumped it on the desk and eyed the kit. Then I turned and went to the drink service on the other side of the room.

  I was supposed to be chowing down on canapes and sipping champagne, talking up donors and dancing, not fixing a tail I’d already spent probably eighty hours on. Some rich kids would simply buy a costume or have one made for them by a professional. Not me. I’d always loved making my own.

  But I’d definitely learned one thing.

  “I will never hand-sew crystals on like this again. Never.” Splashing some bourbon into a glass, I took a sip and tipped my head back, trying to ease the tense muscles in my neck as the liquor burned a hot, smooth path down my throat.

  After a few more sips, I topped myself off and returned to the desk with a sigh.

  The zipper and the waistband were one of the main reasons I’d decided to wear the corset. Things like waistbands and zippers needed more patience than I had. Well, they were boring, mostly. I’d be fine with the crystals because I’d played with the patterns doing them, but there’s nothing fun or interesting about the other construction. So I’d rushed both of them, and they looked a bit messier than I wanted.

  The underbust covered the area on the top where the zipper got messy, and it completely hid the awful waistband.

  Biting the tip of my tongue, I eased the zipper down. “Thank you,” I whispered as it held.

  Stepping out of my mermaid skirt, I stood in the middle of the room, wearing my shell-bra and nude panties, studying the damage to my skirt-tail.

  “Not too bad.” Still irritated, I went behind the desk and laid the skirt down, then put the scallop into place, smoothing the other torn one down as well.

  Once I was happy with how they looked, I flipped open Miles’ sewing kit.

  “Dude,” I muttered. It was like a MacGyver kit for seamstresses.

  I could have practically made a costume with everything in there. The creative little brat in me was tempted to sit down in the corner and see what all I could do with the ribbons and doo-dads, but I had work to do, so I selected thread that was nearly identical to my skirt and got a needle.

  I was in the process of threading it when my phone rang.

  Forced to dig it out of the small pocket I’d worked into the design of the skirt, I barely got it before the call went to voice mail. “Hey!”

  Piety’s voice was all but lost in the roar.

  “Where are you?” she demanded. “If you’re flaking out on me…”

  “I’m in your dad’s office. Chill out.” Putting the phone back down, I put the call on speaker and went back to threading the needle.

  “Why are you in my dad’s office?”

  With one scalloped tail fin in hand, I got to work. “I’m having a quickie with Miles. You know how crazy I am about him.”

  “You’re so damn crazy.” She laughed. “But even if I were to believe the two of you were going for a May/December thing, Miles is in here, dealing with a minor catastrophe.”

  “What catastrophe is that?” Knowing the kind of people who showed up at parties, it could be anything from the ludicrous to the borderline career-ruining.

  “One of the staffers who used to work for my dad has apparently been sleeping with the rep she now works for. The rep’s wife got suspicious. Wife ordered a mai-tai at the bar and threw it the staffer’s face – and the staffer is allergic to just about every tropical fruit known to man. She’s having a crazy reaction. My mom and dad had to escort the rep and his wife to another room.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Rolling my eyes, I paused a moment as I thought that through. “Did the wife know the woman was allergic?”

  “Yep. They worked together on campaigns before, it sounds like. So it was intentional. Miles just gave her a shot from an epi-pen in our first aid kit. Those are–”

  “My mom has one,” I interrupted. Mom had an allergy to shellfish. And here I was dressed up as a mermaid with a shell-bra.

  A psychologist would have a field day with th
at, I knew.

  “She going to be okay?” I asked.

  “I think so. I called the ambulance before I called you and one of the catering staff is outside to bring them in. But you’re missing all the fun drama. So I ask again, why are you in my dad’s office? And don’t tell me you’re having a quickie with my dad. I’m not in the mood for that kind of joke.”

  “Very funny. I’ll have you know that Miles is the only silver fox who’ll ever steal my heart.” Huffing out a breath, I feigned mock indignation as I finished fixing my fin.

  “I don’t know if you’d ever let anybody steal your heart, darling. You don’t trust anyone enough.”

  “Only you, PS.” I sighed. “Anyway, I was just coming inside and stopped to talk to Miles. Some jackass stepped on part of my costume, and it ripped. I’m in here fixing it.”

  “It ripped,” she said slowly.

  “Yep.”

  Seconds ticked by, quiet save for the cacophony raging around Piety and echoing through on my end of the phone. After a few more moments, she cleared her throat and asked, “Were you naked? I’m almost positive Miles loves you enough that he would have covered that up.”

  “No.” I laughed, delighted at the thought. Nothing scandalized Miles, but I knew he loved me and could totally see him covering my ass – literally and figuratively – if my costume had totally ripped off. “Enough of a tear that I needed to fix it, but not so much that it couldn’t be mended.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” She sounded relieved.

  “Afraid that me parading around in panties and my bra might be bad press?” I teased. “You’re turning into a stick in the mud, PS.”

  “Bite me,” she said dryly. “And hurry up, okay?”

  She didn’t wait for a response, and as the call disconnected, I settled back in the seat and continued to sew. I wasn’t about to hurry this any more than I’d normally do.

  The silence of the room was lessened only slightly by the muted noise of the party. I could smell the food though, and I was starving. That might have hurried me up, but I didn’t let it. The tail fin that had been ripped off had actual rips in it, too, as well as a dirty scuff mark from a shoe.

  “Asshat,” I muttered.

  After pinning the tail in place, I held the skirt up as best as I could to see how it would lay once I was wearing it. And the stupid scuff mark was completely visible.

  “Dammit!”

  The bathroom attached to Silas’ office was small, but thanks to a hanger I found on the back door, I was able to hang the skirt up. I set about dabbing at the dirt mark with a damp rag, breathing out a sigh of relief as it slowly started to come up.

  Ten more minutes of that, and it was finally almost invisible.

  Another ten minutes and I managed to secure the tail fin back into place. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t pretty, but the small, irregular seams wouldn’t stand out unless somebody got down on their knees and started inspecting each fin one by one. I didn’t exactly plan on making people start kneeling at my feet, so I figured I was good.

  “Finally.”

  Putting the skirt down on the desk, I reached for my drink and tossed the rest of it back. Just as I lowered the glass, I heard a noise.

  The door.

  “Piety, for crying out loud, I’m almost done.”

  A few seconds passed.

  Then there was the sound of a throat being cleared.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not Piety.”

  Spinning around, I found myself gaping at a tall, utterly bitable man.

  And he was staring at me too.

  Staring at me as I stood there…in my shell-bra and a pair of skimpy nude panties that barely covered the essentials.

  Heat suffused my skin, although it wasn’t because I was embarrassed. He dragged his eyes up to meet mine and lust exploded through me, turning what had simply been heat before into burning, scorching lava.

  “Hello there,” I said, my voice far huskier than it needed to be.

  He didn’t speak.

  Not a single word.

  Seven

  Dash

  Too many people.

  That was the only clear, lucid thought in my mind next to, Shit, I need to breathe.

  I’d gone to talk to Sondra again, or rather, she’d hunted me down, and we’d chatted for a while, then she’d gotten swept up into the crush of the party, and it was like somebody had hung a neon sign over my head.

  Fresh single man meat. Come get him.

  It was just as bad as it had been when I was in school.

  Too many people gathering around, staring at me, and although none of them were gaping because of my freakishly high IQ or because I was going to school with people three or four years older, I was still the target of intense scrutiny. It seemed like the quieter I was, the more curious they got. Or maybe they simply smelled more blood.

  In desperation, I blurted out, “Do you want to dance?” to the one who looked the least predatory. Seriously, some of them practically had on the prowl stamped on their foreheads.

  She looked caught off-guard, but when I held out a hand, she accepted, and I led her onto the floor just as a slow song started.

  Maybe I sucked at being social, but I was good at strategy.

  As my partner began to fill the silence with chatter about who was who at the party, I circled us around the dance floor to the French doors that had been thrown open to let the air in. Her name was Elle, and she was cute and smart and absolutely way too…happy. That kind of happiness was probably infectious, spreading to everybody around her, but it only served to make me aware of how not happy most of my life was. I tried to focus on the feel of the cool air on my face and keeping us near the doors.

  As she laughed at the ending of her story – I had no idea what it was – I timed my exit.

  “Wow. That was fun. You dance so well.” Her smile was flirtatious without being too cloying.

  If I’d been anyone else, I would’ve been flirting and laughing right back, but I wasn’t anyone else. I didn’t want to stand here and make small talk with a woman I was sure was just as delightful as she was sweet.

  “Thanks. Excuse me…” I broke away from her and moved quickly through the crowd to get to the doors.

  Yeah. It was pathetic, but I had to get outside.

  Once I stepped outside, I sucked in a breath.

  “Are you well, sir?”

  I caught sight of a suited man, one who eyed me with a mix of suspicion and amusement. I pegged him in a blink as security. Not a bodyguard, at least not right now. He might act the part when needed, and he definitely had the look, but right now, he was just keeping an eye on the lay of the land. Growing up the way I had, I knew professionals when I saw them.

  “Too many people,” I said, keeping my answer vague. “I usually tend to avoid them.”

  “So you came to a party at a congressman’s house?” He cracked a grin at me, one that lit up his dark face and even reached his eyes. “What did you expect?”

  “Exactly this,” I admitted. Shooting another look back at the house, I shook my head. “I’ll head to the garden for a while.”

  “A number of people have decided to escape the crush that way.” He laid a finger alongside his nose. “Most of them decided the garden was a great place for a few minutes alone.”

  I sighed. “Shit.”

  “That way.” He jerked a thumb in the other direction. “You’ll run into security, but as long as you’re just walking around, nobody will mind.”

  I gave him a nod and headed in the direction he’d indicated. The farther I moved away, the quieter it became. The cool night air managed to cool the sweat that had broken out along my neck over the past hour, and I welcomed it. Without any direction in mind, I roamed around, paying little attention to anything beyond making sure I didn’t walk into anybody or anything.

  I might have stayed out there for the rest of the night, but I was used to October in California. Not Pennsylvania. Vast differe
nce.

  After about a half an hour, I had to either go inside or freeze my ass off. Some guys acted like they were too macho to get cold. Not me. I got cold, and I did something about it.

  The front door loomed ahead, and I could see the people gathered on the wide, elegant stone stairway, smoking, and exchanging small talk. I ignored all of it and kept going, hoping to be able to hang out at the fringes of the crowd until it was late enough that a polite exit was possible.

  Then I almost walked right into what looked like a screeching cat fight.

  “You bitch!”

  That came from a tall, slender woman with hair that was going delicately gray at the temples. Her eyes were narrowed, and judging by the smell of alcohol wafting off her, blood-shot. She struggled against the arms of two men fighting to hold her back.

  “I hope you die!”

  There were two other men with the woman on the end of the attack. Her face was blotchy red and swollen, but her eyes spat fire.

  “I’m going to sue your miserable ass!” she shouted. “You tried to kill me! I’m going to have you arrested for assault!”

  More bodies rushed into the vestibule, and I had to dodge to get out of the way. That put me in a hall leading not where I wanted to go.

  Though after a few steps, I thought that maybe this was exactly where I wanted to go after all.

  It was blissfully quiet.

  One of the black-suited security guards rushed past me. He paused for a second. “Sir, you can’t be here.”

  “The hall…” I gestured. “It’s sort of blocked. Got shoved in here. How do I get to the ballroom?”

  He grunted then pointed down the hall, giving curt directions. “Go straight there. This leads to the personal wing and more security personnel are on those floors. Try to go up there, and you’ll be removed from the premises.”

  I had no doubt he was being honest. “Got it.”

  Still, once I rounded the corner, I didn’t go straight to the hall that would lead me back to the ballroom.

  Why in the hell would I?

  It was quiet back here.