by Brynne Asher
“Ma’am, your martini.”
I turn to the bartender and hand him my Andrew Jackson. “Thank you. And keep the rest.”
He winks at me right before his eyes lower to my never-ending neckline. “Let me know when you need a refill. From the looks of it, you’ll need it to get through this downer.”
I raise my martini glass. “Don’t I know it.”
Randolph chuckles and I’ve never heard anything more bogus in my life. “If the party needs me, I’ll step up.”
“Dammit, Charles. We need your vote so others will follow suit.”
“Good luck, Jack. I’m not sure I’ll be in town the day of your vote. You know how things go during a campaign. I need to get down to Florida to spend time with my people.”
And just like that, Randolph has efficiently dismissed the poor bloke.
The Senator starts to turn to the bar but his eyes land on me. Without looking away, he brusquely orders a vodka tonic without a please or a thank you.
An arse with no manners to boot.
“I’m not sure we’ve met and I know a lot of people here.” He extends his hand and I take it, at the same time my insides roil for what I know he’s done to me. “Charles Randolph, Senator from Florida. And you are?”
“Kim Cartwright. The pleasure is mine. I’ve never met a Senator before.”
“Kim. And I disagree—the pleasure is in my court.” He gives my hand a squeeze before releasing me and stepping in closer. “What brings you here tonight? Nature conservationist or just a love for sea turtles?”
Charles Randolph is a handsome man—as much hatred that flows through my veins for him, even I can’t deny it. I knew this from studying him. But actually meeting him in person? He’s all JFK plus ten years. Tall-ish. Salting at the temples enough to add fake character and false wisdom. A tan that tells me he often travels home to the Sunshine State. I can see how someone like him, who carries the power and prestige in combination with his all-American-man aura, would win over the ladies he’s rumored to leave in his wake.
I know this because the all-American-man look definitely gets my British blood pumping.
However, I’m smart enough to look deeper. And deeper on the senior Senator from Florida is not good.
His wandering eyes give credence to the rumors his wife of twenty-two years does, in fact, have the right to live her separate life in their second home in Nassau.
The poor woman. I hope she’s busy spending all his money while shagging the pool boy. She deserves it for putting up with this wanker.
I pick up my martini and pretend to take a sip. “My boss purchased a seat but something came up at the last minute. He begged me to change my plans and fill in.”
Nodding, he bows his head like some regal gentleman from a romance novel. Idiotic and full of himself. “Well, I am the keynote tonight. I hope I don’t disappoint you.”
I run the tip of my finger around the rim of my glass. “My hopes are high, Senator.”
“Vodka tonic, sir.”
Again, no manners from the lying, cheating American, so I turn to the young bartender. “Thank you.”
Randolph picks up the highball but doesn’t take his eyes off me. “No need for formalities. It’s Charles—I insist.”
I smile before pulling my bottom lip between the tips of my teeth, pausing. His response is to lean into the bar and run a fingertip down my forearm.
Lord have mercy, anyone who falls for this must have rocks banging around their skulls.
“Charles, it is,” I agree.
“Who do you work for? I might know your boss.”
Before I have a chance to think up a quick answer, I hear a familiar gruff voice behind me. “Hey, man. I’ll take a whiskey. Neat. Whatever you’ve got will do.”
What in the hell?
This is not having eyes on me from across the ballroom.
The friendly bartender reaches for a bottle. “Bad day?”
I can’t see him but I can feel him—heat radiating off his classic tux. He proceeds to slap his hand on the bar, with a bill, no doubt. “It’s been an interesting couple of weeks, that’s for sure.”
I ignore my American who has a lack of understanding for boundaries in any way, shape, or form, because I’ve lost the senator’s attention. He’s zeroed in on something over my shoulder.
“Charles—”
He takes an aggressive gulp of his cocktail and his demeanor changes when his eyes land back on me. “Kim, I’d love to hear about your job, but unfortunately, I see someone I need to speak with. Trust me, if it weren’t urgent, I’d never leave. Please find me after my speech. I want to get your contact information so we can continue our conversation very soon.”
“Of course.” I smile and do my best to allow my assets to speak for themselves because I need his attention to have any chance at getting close to him. “Break a leg. Or is that only said in Hollywood?”
His expression relaxes a bit and he leans so his lips brush my wig next to my ear. “You can say whatever you want, honey.”
I giggle because it seems to be what females with marbles for brains would do when a married man calls them honey. “All of a sudden, I’m very interested in sea turtles. I’ll see you at the end of the evening, Charles.”
He touches me again, this time across my midriff, right below the plunge of my neckline. Then he disappears into the room of black tuxes and smart cocktail dresses that are nothing like the gown I’m donning.
“Make it a double,” Cole demands from behind me where it’s getting hotter by the nanosecond.
I turn to the bartender. “Please. I swear, men have no manners.” I turn to Cole for the first time since I’ve walked into the ballroom. His dark eyes have turned the color of smoldering coal about ready to burst into a pile of flames. “Tip him well—he deserves it for having to put up with demanding, thirsty imbeciles.”
With my martini in one hand and my loaded clutch in the other, I leave my tail where he belongs so I can do my job. I need to know what was so important that Randolph ignored his carnal desires and walked away from me.
Chapter 15
Rage
Cole
This is harder than I remember.
But it’s how Bella works. She could charm the rust off my dad’s garage sale lawn mower and is gorgeous enough to draw attention from three counties over. I knew how tonight was going to go, but damn. They say time makes the heart grow fonder but it’s not the case with me. Right now, I’m not feeling fond what-so-fucking-ever.
Rage.
It’s jackhammering in my chest and might be what does me in. Who knew years of working covert cases in the most militant areas of the world would be nothing compared to watching Bella work a room after all this time?
I’m obviously no romantic because time has only created a wrath inside me that’s itching to claw its way out, strangle a Senator, and throw a certain Brit over my shoulder to run away and fuck her brains out until she remembers nothing but me.
I’ll keep her there for the rest of time. If it’s against her will, so be it.
Pretty sure these are the things only madmen dream up and follow through on. The ones who get caught with their pants down end up in jail with docudramas made about them years later. If they’re lucky, they might get a whole Netflix series and FBI agents will spend careers psychoanalyzing them.
They might not be famous but they sure are infamous.
I don’t want to be either, so I need to get a handle on it. Watching a target barely lay a finger on Isabella Donnelly while she’s working shouldn’t send me into a murderous, angry-fuck mood.
But fighting a hard-on while she sashays her sweet ass away from me in that red dress, I’m thinking an angry fuck is just what the psycho ordered.
Whatever. If I’m the unbalanced one in this scenario, at least I know how to not get caught.
I pick up my double and follow my prey.
She glances at her ticket to find her seat before moving to
a table at the north end of the room. It’s next to the exit and this is not a coincidence. I’m sitting straight across from her at the same table of eight. If we need to get out fast, we can.
She takes out her phone and pretends to scroll but I follow her eyes and she’s focused on the fuckwad who just dug his own grave by daring to touch her. He’s standing off to the side in the shadows, now arguing with a petite blonde. I squint because she looks familiar but I can’t place her.
They’re mostly hidden by fake trees set to the side of the stage but their tension is tangible, even from here.
The woman might be small but she’s mighty—when she pokes a finger into his chest, he takes a step back. They’re halfway across the ballroom but I can still see he’s surprised.
Shaken.
Different than the smug ass who was trying to figure out how to MacGyver his way into Bella’s barely-there dress with only a chocolate bar and a paperclip.
What the hell?
He runs a hand down his face and checks his watch before manhandling her by the shoulders. His lips are running a million miles a minute, spewing shit I’d really like to know.
I knew I should have learned how to read lips, dammit.
The woman shrugs him off and whips around, but he fists her bicep with a fierceness I sense from across the room. He looks around to make sure no one is watching and my eyes shoot to Bella, who’s now chatting on her cell as her gaze wanders. My guess—she’s talking to Asa and Jarvis, but through her bracelet. Not sure who else she’d call other than Gracie Cain to give her another shopping list and she’d never do that at a moment like this.
The blonde tears out of his grasp and marches away in her skintight dress. She caught a break because Randolph is approached by another man with a clipboard and earpiece. Before I know it, elevator music—boring enough to shoot me into a coma—fills the room and the three enormous screens spring to life with sweeping videos of the Florida Everglades. Waiters march in rows, balancing enormous trays, reminding me of the musicals Abbott forces me to watch on the Disney channel.
But the most interesting thing going on in the room is the petite blonde heading straight for Bella.
Shit.
Thank fuck I arranged to sit at the same table. This should be interesting. I throw back the rest of my whiskey and make a beeline for my one-thousand-dollar meal.
When I get to my dinner companions for the evening, my bedmate is across from my seat with an older couple separating us. The blonde is even grumpier up close and I’m itching to know how I know her. Three other men are settling in, and by the sound of it, they’ve been here awhile—halfway to drunk and all the way to annoying.
I pull out my chair. “Ladies, gentleman. Honored to be eating this overpriced meal with you.”
The older couple frowns. One of the single guys says, “Our company bought our chairs. Sucks if you had to shell out your own dough for this.”
Bella rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her full martini she’s been pretending to drink. When she sets her glass down—even as salads start appearing in front of us—she wastes no time and shifts to the blonde, switching up her personality for her new target. “You look so familiar. Do we know each other?”
Nice line, sweetness. I’m wondering the same thing.
“I know you—” the elderly woman next to Bella pipes in.
The blonde doesn’t allow her to finish and whips her napkin off the table to make room for her slightly wilted salad and isn’t impressed that everyone seems to know her. “I don’t know you, but you probably know me.” She picks up her fork and stabs a soggy crouton with such force, I wonder if she’s picturing Randolph’s eye. “Marie Kasey, Channel Five News.”
Ah. That’s it.
“I knew I recognized you!” Bella exclaims, talking faster than a cheerleader. “Wowza. You’re, like, a celebrity! What’s it like to read the news in Washington, DC?”
I stuff my face with a forkful of lettuce to hide my smile because Bella offended Ms. Kasey.
“I don’t read the news. I’m an investigative reporter. I work on the Hill.”
“Ah. Sorry.” Bella pops a cucumber between her teeth and, uncharacteristically, continues to talk around it. “An investigative reporter. Impressive. I bet you meet so many important people.”
Ms. Kasey is in a mood. “Yes, I do.”
“Are you working tonight? I mean, this is only a fundraiser, right?”
The elderly man leans in and mutters, “Pass the salt.”
I reach for the shaker and get a good look at Kasey for the first time as she turns to Bella. “I never stop working. It’s events like these where the real deals go down, not in Congress or on the Senate floor. Who are you?”
“Don’t you dare pass him the salt!” the elderly woman snaps her fingers at me. “Bert is on a low-sodium diet.”
“I paid two thousand dollars for this crappy meal because you had to keep up with those hags in your bridge group who walk around with sticks up their asses. I’m gonna salt the hell out of my dinner and you can’t stop me.”
I ignore the woman and pass the man his salt. He has a valid argument. And I don’t blame him—I’m not happy to have paid for this meal either.
Bella wipes her mouth and shoves her hand into the journalists personal space. “Kim Cartwright. I love meeting new people.”
Kasey, not hiding the fact she does not enjoy meeting new people, dismisses Bella’s hand and pushes her salad plate away.
“So did you have to buy your ticket to this or do you get in free because of your job? I bet there are sooo many perks to being on TV. You can probably badge your way into every event in this city.”
Marie doesn’t answer.
Grateful I’m sandwiched between three business men droning on about the Wizards shitty season and the couple fighting over salt, I pretend to scroll on my phone so everyone will continue ignoring me.
Bella keeps jabbering to her new BFF. “Well, I’m only here as a favor to my parents. My dad is an executive at Disney and was pressured to buy a ticket. He hates DC and I live in Maryland now. I took a job in PR for the crab industry. Anyway, I’m here as a favor for dear old dad,” Bella sing-songs. “I mean, he does pay for my condo. Starting out in PR pays squat.”
Kasey throws Bella a frown. “The crab industry?”
“Mm-hmm. I love crabs. You know, like Sebastian? I run their Instagram account. I also love sea turtles. Crush is my favorite Disney character ev-er.” Bella rips off a hunk of bread. “I bet you make the big bucks, being on the news and all.”
For such an expensive meal, they sure are hurtling through the courses at the speed of light. Plates are switched out and now we’re all looking at a dry hunk of salmon, limp asparagus, and a pile of watery mashed potatoes.
Bert is making it his life’s mission to shake the hell out of his salt.
“Have you seen the keynote speaker for tonight?” Bella asks, leaning into Kasey. “He’s hot. I mean, if you’re into old men, which I’m not.”
My water glass hits the table like a ton of bricks and Kasey looks like she wants to strangle my bedmate.
Bella keeps talking about old men. “But, you know, some women are. I don’t need a sugar daddy. I’ve got my own daddy, obviously.” Bella rolls her eyes. “And I get a Disney Fast Pass that never expires!”
Just when I think Kasey is going to stuff a roll into Bella’s trap, the lights dim and Morgan Freeman’s voice replaces the elevator music as a new video plays on the big screens.
Bella claps her hands faster than our dinner was served. “Oh, yay. It’s starting!”
Bella
Working undercover is tedious and tricky. Sometimes you need to disappear in a crowd and, others, you demand the spotlight so you can dance in it. Playing the room, understanding your role, and most importantly, keeping your eye on the target is the key to any successful operation.
Then, there are other times when the universe looks down and bestows you wi
th a sprinkle of luck.
The latter is what happened tonight when Marie Kasey—investigative reporter and now my number one person of interest—plopped her grumpy arse down beside me. Though, I have to say, she’s shit at her job and has no business calling herself an investigator of any sorts since she’s dismissed my attentions all evening.
But I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. I’ll take my luck and have it with a side of biscuits.
I’ve taken my spotlight and have done what’s needed of me. Cole, on the other hand, has sat and gobbled up our mass-produced and over-priced meal as if it were his last without uttering a word. Tonight, his job is to be invisible. Like always, he’s brilliant at it.
I jabbered into Marie’s ear relentlessly and she continued to ignore me throughout Randolph’s entire speech where he went on and on and ON about his own efforts toward conservation in his home state, but really just about himself. Tonight screamed red, white, and blue politics. If Marie is one of his side pieces, I do wonder how she manages living through his self-righteousness while remaining conscious.
I clap when he finishes and the lights come up. “That was so interesting! I wish someone would do this for the crabs.”
Marie doesn’t try to hide the somersaults in her eyes as she scoots her chair out. Surely it’s a lie when she states, “It’s been fun.”
“Oh!” I reach for her forearm to stop her. “Let me get your number. We can meet for drinks.”
“I’m busy.”
“Of course you are. Your job has to be so demanding. But if you’re ever in Orlando, I can get you free passes to Disney!”
She pulls her arm from my grasp. “I’m not into amusement parks.”
“Really?” I frown. “But there’s something for everyone at the Magic Kingdom.”
Her eyes shift to the stage before she shoots me a cheeky smile that might as well be death lasers. “Like I said, it was fun, but there’s someone I need to speak with.”
“Right. Always working. Find me before you skedaddle!”