by Nika Rhone
“Sorry about that,” Thea said, feeling bad that Des had gotten such a kick out of making Nick squirm. “Des can be…” She trailed off, at a loss. Des could be so many things.
“A pushy bitch.” Lillian grinned when Thea shot her a sour look. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“It’s okay, really,” Nick said. Although he did glance over his shoulder as if to reassure himself that Des hadn’t doubled back. “I guess I’ve been a little out of touch. I don’t seem to remember women being quite so…ah”—he cleared his throat—“up front about what they want. I wasn’t ready for it.”
“Nobody’s ever quite ready for Des,” Lillian said.
“Ain’t that the truth.” But Thea worried exactly how Nick would react when he realized that the woman who’d been so up front about her appraisal of his…up front was really a man. Would he be amazed at the seamless illusion Des managed? Offended? Another horrible possibility dawned on Thea. Would he think they’d set him up? That they were laughing at him, at his discomfort, watching Des drool over him like a hungry wolf?
She cringed at the thought. Nick might not inspire anything more than a mild like in her heart, but she’d already come to think of him as a friend in the making and she didn’t want him to think their evening out was some nasty joke at his expense.
More than ever she wished she’d just stayed home and sulked in her bedroom like she’d planned.
As a waitress materialized and took their drink orders, Thea took a quick look around. Her shadows had found a space along the wall. Thea gave a small smile in answer to Daryl’s nod of acknowledgement. Francine would be somewhere at his side, although her less than statuesque build kept her hidden by the crowd. That had been Doyle’s one condition to her outing. Two guards, one female, so she’d have both an inside and outside guard when she made a trip to the ladies’ room.
That had rankled. Perhaps, under normal circumstances, she would have even argued, in part because it was fun to spar with Doyle and see how far she could push him, even knowing she’d lose in the end. But now…now, she’d just accepted the bodyguards without a whimper because she simply didn’t care anymore. Let the whole damn security detail follow her into the toilet. What did it matter? What did anything matter anymore?
With a determined smile, Thea turned her attention back to Lillian and Nick and away from her maudlin pity party. It was Saturday night, she was out with her friends, and she was going to have a good time, even if it killed her. So what if Doyle didn’t want her? So what if he’d crushed all her girlish fantasies and womanly dreams? She’d survive.
It might take a few dozen boxes of handcrafted chocolates from Recchiuti’s, and a couple hundred gallons of Häagen-Dazs Rocky Road to do it, but she’d get over him and move on. Eventually. Even the almighty Doyle wasn’t worth wallowing over for the rest of her life. In the end, she’d get over him.
But oh, the pain until she got there was excruciating.
When the lights dimmed for the first act of the night, Thea had already inhaled one piña colada, and her second was quickly going the way of the first. Nick was still nursing his beer, and Lillian had a pitcher of iced tea to serve herself from, her usual drink of choice when she was driving. Having no such constraints, Thea took another healthy swallow, drawing so hard on the straw that it clogged with the half-frozen liquid.
“You’re going to give yourself brain freeze,” Nick said, leaning in close to whisper in the quiet that had settled over the room.
Even as he said the words, intense agony sliced through her forehead. “Too late.” She groaned, massaging the spot between her eyes that had borne the brunt of the cold-induced pain, eyes squeezed tight as she rode out the wave. A few long seconds later the pain began to ease, and she cautiously opened her eyes in a squint, thankful for the dim lighting that hid the mortified rush of embarrassment heating her cheeks.
The embarrassment only increased when she noticed that her drink had been replaced by a glass of Lillian’s iced tea. Duly chastised, she accepted the new drink without complaint.
As they turned their attention to watch the performer who had sashayed out onto the stage and started to sing, Thea cursed her stupidity. Getting drunk wouldn’t change anything. Come morning, the only difference would be that instead of being alone with her misery, she’d have the company of a wicked hangover to deal with. After spending the night praying to the porcelain god after the Dave Disaster, she’d decided that no man would ever be worth going through that again.
So why had she been sucking down the coladas like they were chocolate milk?
Simple. This wasn’t about just any man. This was about Doyle.
Simple? No, nothing about this mess with Doyle was simple. In fact, it was as complicated and confusing as hell.
Her budding buzz evaporated, leaving a suffocating sense of hopelessness. Mortified to feel the press of tears at the back of her eyes, she excused herself and wended her way to the ladies’ room at the back of the club.
As rude as it was to leave in the middle of the show, it meant the bathroom was empty. Knowing she would have only a minute, maybe less, before losing any chance at privacy, Thea wet a paper towel and pressed it first to her eyes and then her cheeks, which were flushed with a combination of alcohol and jagged emotion. Then finally she lifted her hair and draped the cool towel across the back of her neck.
The door pushed open. “Everything okay?”
Thea sighed and nodded, removing the towel and scrunching it into a tight ball before dropping it into the waste can. “Yeah, Francine, everything’s fine. I just…need a minute, okay?”
With a look rife with sympathy, the bodyguard gave a quick look around, verifying the room was empty. Thankfully, Francine refrained from pointing out that Thea should have waited for her to have done that before coming in alone. With a quick nod, she retreated into the hall. As the door shut behind her, Thea had the awful feeling that Francine knew exactly what was wrong, and she stifled a groan.
“I’m pathetic.” She rummaged in her bag, repaired her makeup as best she could, and gave herself a stern stare in the mirror. “You will go back out there, you will have a good time, and you will get Doyle out of your mind once and for all.”
But even as she pulled the door open and let the sounds of Lady Gaga into the tiled room, she knew that while she could handle the first two orders, the third would be practically impossible.
Chapter Sixteen
Thea waited until the applause signaled the end of the first act before she exited her refuge and twisted her way through the miniscule space between tables. She was so intent on getting back to her seat before the next performer took the stage that she never saw the person coming in the other direction until it was too late. With no room to sidestep, the collision was inevitable.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking…”
“Wow, sorry. The lights are so low that…”
Even as she tried to step back from the unexpected contact, hands that came up to steady her tightened on her upper arms. A quick frisson of unease blasted through her. For a second, she had the terrible thought that Seth had somehow tracked her down. Then the fingers holding her disappeared, and the man they belonged to chuckled.
“When I’d hoped I’d run into you here, I wasn’t thinking quite so literal.”
The familiar voice brought her head up and she managed to make out the smiling face in the dim light. A small laugh of relief puffed through her lips. “Oliver. Hi.” She started to ask what he meant about hoping to run into her, but the rise in music warned that the next act was about to begin. “Do you have a table?”
It was Oliver’s turn to laugh. “Are you kidding? I was lucky to get a seat at the bar. Which is most likely gone by now.”
“Come on. We have a table over here.” She squeezed past him and led the way, wondering why she’d extended the impulsive invitation. She liked Oliver well enough, and he’d proven a helpful ally when it came to smuggling wedding plans out of
the War Room, but she’d never associated with him in a social setting aside from several of Mrs. Westlake’s interminable dinner parties. He was always either dogging Charles’s steps with an electronic tablet taking notes and rattling off information, or on the phone making one of the seemingly endless calls and contacts necessary when an up-and-coming senator-in-the-making was in town to do the rounds.
Somehow, she never pictured Charles’s personal assistant as someone who enjoyed the type of entertainment Platinum provided. He was just as buttoned-up and starchy as his boss. At least he’d always seemed that way. Maybe there was a wilder side to Oliver Pratt he just didn’t show the world.
Thea considered the possibility for all of a second. Nah.
They made it to the table just as the next act started.
“Look who I found.” Thea slid into her seat. Oliver’s small hesitation before he took the open chair next to Lillian and nodded a stiff hello to Nick reminded her too late that Lil didn’t think Oliver liked her very much. Thea thought it was more a case of diametrically opposed personalities head-butting each other rather than actual dislike, but still, it made for an awkward seating arrangement.
Short of being obvious and swapping seats with her friend, there wasn’t anything she could do about it now, so instead she focused her attention on the stage, where one of Des’s best friends was launching into a spot-on rendition of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin.” If Thea hadn’t seen the transformation herself once, she’d be hard-pressed to believe that “Madonna” was really a tax accountant named Harold who was going bald on top and tended to stutter when he was nervous.
Being on-stage in his other persona, he was vibrant, charismatic, and sure of both himself and the hold he had on his audience. Seeing the utter joy on his face, Thea could understand why Des had fought so hard for part ownership of the club. In doing so, he’d ensured that no matter what other acts were brought in, the drag burlesque would always remain. This wasn’t just work for these performers. This was a part of who they were.
During the applause at the end of Harold’s act—which included a sassy encore of “Material Girl”—Thea leaned in and made the introductions between Nick and Oliver. The two shook hands, but there was almost no time for further conversation before the next singer took the stage.
Finally, there was a short intermission, and the house lights rose, allowing the waitresses to swarm the tables and fill drink orders before the second half of the show began.
“So, Oliver”—Lillian shifted in her seat to look at him with a raised brow—“fancy meeting you here.”
Thea winced inwardly at the tone and was relieved when Oliver didn’t rise to the obvious bait.
“What, I can’t just be here to have a good time?”
Lillian gave it all of a half second’s thought. “Yeah, no. Not a chance.”
Oliver’s lips pinched a bit. “When Charles decided to take Amelia out to dinner instead of going over some changes to his speech for the engagement party, I was left at something of a loose end. Since Amelia mentioned your plans for a little girls’ night out, I thought I’d come and check the place out for myself.”
And suddenly Oliver’s presence made sense. Thea opened her mouth but heard her own question coming out of Lillian’s mouth as a sharp accusation instead. “Charles told you to check the place out, didn’t he?”
“Of course not.” But Thea could tell by the way he stiffened his spine he was lying. Or, at least, not telling the entire truth.
“But he might have mentioned that he was concerned about what kind of club Platinum was,” Thea said, trying not to let her anger at Charles’s heavy-handed tactics come through in her tone. “And maybe he hinted that you could come and take a look, since you were suddenly free for the night?”
Free because Charles had launched a preemptive strike and asked his fiancée out to dinner. Not because he wanted to spend some time alone with her, as Amelia rather giddily assumed, but to prevent her from going someplace that the arrogant son of a bitch hadn’t yet had vetted as being suitable for the future Mrs. Senator to be seen attending.
“It might have come up in conversation.” Oliver shot Lillian a dark glare when she muttered something under her breath that was too low for Thea to hear, but evidently he did. “Charles has every right to be concerned with what his fiancée does. Her actions reflect directly on him. One misstep, one indiscretion, and his entire campaign can implode before he even sets foot in D.C.”
“As if Mellie would ever do anything to hurt him,” Lillian said, her chin coming up in preparation for battle on their friend’s behalf.
“Oliver,” Thea said, hoping to steer away from outright warfare, “Amelia’s grown up with the dos and don’ts of living under the political microscope. She would never do anything to hurt Charles’s campaign.”
“Not intentionally, no,” Oliver conceded, “but the senator was concerned about her adamant refusal to withdraw from the exhibition going on here next month. She’s been very stubborn about it.”
“First off, buster, that ‘exhibition’ is a fashion show, put on every year to raise money for charity, and no one said boo when Mellie signed up to do the catwalk, which her dad—you know, the other senator—would have been the first to pull the plug on if he’d thought it was even the teensiest bit questionable.”
“Hey, Lil,” Thea said, seeing the tidal wave that was about to roll over the unsuspecting man, “maybe you should, you know, pull it back a notch?” Plus, it wasn’t exactly true that Senator Westlake approved of his daughter’s participation in this year’s fashion show. He just hadn’t been informed of it at the time.
“Second of all, maybe, just maybe, if Charles would deign to spend a little more time with the woman he’s supposed to marry in, oh”—Lillian looked at her watch—“nine months, instead of following Daddy Dearest all over the country glad-handing the money people, he and his father wouldn’t have to worry quite so much about where she was spending all of that free time and with whom!”
“Um, Lil, really, you gotta bring it back to Earth.” Thea got the feeling that the evening was about to implode in a spectacular fashion.
“And thirdly.” Lillian turned far enough in her seat that she was almost nose-to-nose with Oliver.
“Oh, damn.” Thea sighed in defeat.
“If your boss thinks he’s going to manage Amelia like some stuffed poodle that doesn’t have a brain for herself, he’d better think again, pal, because Mellie might have a soft heart and a sweet-as-sugar disposition, but she’s nobody’s fool, and there’s no way she’s going to put up with it. She deserves to be treated with love and respect, not like a chess piece to be moved where she might do him the most good and pushed to the side when she isn’t needed.”
“As if you have any idea what it takes to make a successful career in politics,” Oliver replied, his voice heavy with derision. “Charles Davenport is going places, and he’s going to do important things. He needs someone at his side who’s going to be useful to him, not a hindrance. Amelia understands her place, even if you don’t.”
“Her place?” Lillian repeated disbelievingly. “Her place?”
Thea saw red. All thoughts of being the voice of reason were lost under the wave of rage on her friend’s behalf. “Her place is in a loving relationship.” She leaned forward on her forearms as she caught Oliver’s attention away from Lillian. “Half of a team, not just a minor player.”
Oliver looked at her as though shocked that she was siding with Lillian on this. “How can you not understand?” he asked. “There can only be one person leading the way. The other has to follow. Someone has to sacrifice their own wants and needs for the greater good. It’s the only way it can work.”
“And that someone has to be Amelia?”
“She knew what she was getting into when she agreed to the marriage.”
“I wonder about that,” Lillian muttered.
“You said it yourself. Her father was a senator,” Oliver sai
d.
There wasn’t anything either of them could say to that. It was the truth. Amelia knew all too well what a political marriage entailed as far as sacrifice. Thea just couldn’t stomach hearing her friend’s future described in such brutally callous terms.
Her distress must have been evident, because Nick, whom she’d almost forgotten about, put his hand over hers on the table and leaned in toward Oliver. “I think maybe here isn’t the place for this particular discussion.”
Whether it was the thread of steel that underlay Nick’s quiet voice, or the reminder that they were discussing a very private issue in a very public venue, Oliver closed his mouth with a surprised snap. “You’re right, of course.” His gaze bounced from Thea to Nick, looking distressed at the thought of what he’d been saying in front of a stranger. He ignored Lillian, which Thea thought was probably for the best.
Oliver’s gaze focused on Thea again, his expression earnest if still ill at ease. “I just wanted you to understand…” He grimaced when the house lights flashed, warning that the second half of the show was about to begin. Standing, he said in a rush, “You’ll see that I’m right. No matter what happens, you have to believe it’s all for the best.”
He disappeared into the crowd as the lights came down. Thea shook her head and offered Nick a weak grin. “Sorry about that. There was no excuse for him to be that—”
“Obnoxious?” Lillian snorted into her glass.
“No. Yes.” Thea corrected.
Oliver had been a bit of a shithead. But if she were to continue to be effective at smuggling wedding plans out of the War Room, she had to stay on his good side.
Nick gave her hand a quick squeeze and a pat before releasing it. “I won’t lie and say I have any idea what that was all about, but it didn’t seem like it was anything you or your friend would want overheard. It sounded pretty private.”
As appreciative as Thea was to Nick for defusing the situation, she didn’t feel comfortable discussing the whole Amelia/Charles problem with him. He was, after all, a virtual stranger for all that she liked him. Instead, she nodded and said, “It’s complicated and definitely private. So, thank you.”