A Man of Privilege

by Sarah M. Anderson

  She shot him one heck of a look—one that walked a so-fine-as-to-be-invisible line between irritation and attraction. “These are your people, you know.”

  “A fact I’m sure I’ll be apologizing for all night long. Let’s get this over with.”

  * * *

  Maggie sat in the back of the cab the doorman had hailed. James was close enough to her that she could feel the warmth from his legs, but not so close they were touching.

  Not thinking about it, she reminded herself. She wasn’t thinking about the stunned look on his face when he’d seen her in this dress, or the way the touch of his mouth to her neck had almost made her knees buckle. She was pointedly not thinking about how James made her feel desirable and special and sexy all at the same time.

  No, what she was thinking about was a viper pit. “Who else will be there?”

  “My parents, of course.”

  Of course. Vipers. “I don’t want any more surprises, James.”

  He sighed, a weary-sounding thing. “Alexander Carlson, former secretary of defense, currently works as a lobbyist.”

  “What else?” Because she knew there had to be something else. She felt as if everyone in this town was hiding something—and this from a woman who had lived with serious secrets.

  “Serial adulterer,” James said, making it sound like common knowledge. But he couldn’t fool Maggie. She saw the way his hands clenched when he said it. “Partial to staff members. Always working the angle.”

  “I see.” In other words—her words—the guy was a real jerk. “Your mother?”

  “Julia Carlson—functioning alcoholic. Carries on affairs with gardeners and the like. Sits on the board of several nonprofits. Has a lot of family money—she uses that to keep Dad in line. Thinks she’s better than everyone else in the world.”

  Maggie didn’t know what she was supposed to say to that, because she couldn’t think of anything good to say. “They sound like quite the pair.”

  “Dad won’t walk away from her money, and Mom is not about to give up the perks of power.” He gave Maggie a worried look out of the corner of his eye. “In other words, my father will try to grab your ass, and my mother will treat you like the hired help.”

  Yup. Plenty to piss her off at this party. And these were his parents. James had been nothing but kind—more than kind—to her, but she had to wonder how far the apple fell from the tree. Would James turn into his father, grabbing the bottoms of every woman he came into contact with? Was Maggie something more to him, or was she just the first domino in his long fall into debauchery? She pushed these nagging thoughts from her mind. She had a viper pit to negotiate. “Forewarned is forearmed. What else?”

  He sighed while staring out at the passing lights of D.C. Maggie wanted to look, too, but she had too much else to think about. “Pauline will be there.”

  “The woman your mother wants you to marry?”

  “The one.” But he didn’t elaborate.

  Maggie let him sit before she asked, “Do I need to worry about her?” Because she was already worried. Although, honestly, she couldn’t tell which part of Pauline she was most worried about—the part that was supposed to be with James, or the part that made Julia Carlson like her.

  All those hours spent watching reality TV had her a little worried. She knew what “reality” women did at fancy cocktail parties. She had no idea if anything tonight would be real—or as manufactured as her favorite show.

  “I don’t know. Pauline was…” He really seemed to be struggling with the words. “We were friends. She can be sweet when she wants to. Her mother is friends with my mother, and those two decided we belonged together.” He turned to look at her, and there it was—that lost look. “We dated on and off for years.”

  What had he said about the woman who’d married Tommy? The safety date. Maybe that’s what this Pauline was—the safety wife.

  Would she sense the connection that James and Maggie couldn’t deny and move in for the kill?

  Only one way to find out. The hard way.

  “Anyone else?”

  “A lot of the lawyers you met today, but they’re going to be busy drinking and sucking up. Everyone else there will be some sort of power player—either someone Lenon owes a favor, or someone who owes him a favor. And they’ll all be working their own angles.”

  Panic tried to worm its way into her belly. Viper pit, shark tank—these were places that people went into, but didn’t come back out of.

  She realized she was fiddling with the weighty necklace. They could still take it back, but she was getting used to the weight. It didn’t bother her as much.

  “Stay close to me,” James said. “If anyone asks too many questions, ask some back—these are the kind of people who can’t talk about themselves and their awesomeness enough.”

  “What about the alcohol?” Because it was a cocktail party. She didn’t think she was too far out of line to assume there would be cocktails—especially not after watching Lenon down two stiff drinks inside of ten minutes.

  “There’ll be waiters walking around with drinks, but there’ll also be a bar. We’ll go to the bar, get you something safe. Then hold on to it—take small sips.”

  “You won’t leave me, will you?” That was the panic talking. She hoped that someone would say something jerky and fast so she could dig up that angry woman who was good with words and forget the scared girl who was being used as chum.

  “No,” James said, leaning over and placing a smoldering kiss on her cheek. The same heat that had nearly swamped her earlier tonight—hell, every time James had kissed her—rode roughshod over her body. She couldn’t control the shiver. “I won’t.”

  Fourteen

  Maggie held on to James’s arm as he escorted her past a fountain lit with blue spotlights and into the tavern named after George Washington—or Georgetown, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that the expensive smell of cigars hung around the room like a low ceiling. Men—and some women—in dark suits blended into each other, while other women glimmered like disco balls in short, sequined dresses.

  The little black dress—tight as it was in the chest—had been the way to go. What had felt obnoxiously out of place in Rosebud’s office back home fit right in here.

  By the time she and James worked their way into the bar, it was closing in on ten—an hour after the party had supposedly started, but Maggie could see that they were part of a huge crush of people all arriving at the same time. She knew about Indian time, of course—where appointments were more suggestions than anything else. This was different—less a casual, get-there-when-we-get-there thing, more a collective agreement that late was fashionable.

  James led her toward the bar, but they didn’t make it.

  “James, darling!” A screeching female voice cut through the small talk. Maggie saw a tall, rail-thin woman coming toward them. Everything about her—from her forehead to her bust to her demure red silk dress—screamed “professional,” making guessing her age impossible. She carried a nearly empty highball glass in her hands. “There you are!”

  “Julia,” James said in a low voice before adding, “Hello, Mother.”

  “You awful boy—Desmond was supposed to bring you home! Where did you run off to?” Julia Carlson’s eyes cut to Maggie’s face, then to where Maggie was lightly holding on to James’s forearm. Her eyes narrowed into small slits. “What’s this? You didn’t tell me that Rosebud was coming with you. Does her husband know?”

  Oh, hell, no. And just like that, Maggie was mad. Furious. Damn, but it felt good. “Hello,” she said in her iciest voice as she stuck out her hand. “I’m Maggie Eagle Heart, legal assistant to Rosebud Armstrong. How do you do?”

  “Maggie, this is my mother, Julia Carlson. Maggie is helping me out with a case, Mother.” Already, he sounded tired by the whole pretense—and they were only ten minutes into the evening.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Julia looked at Maggie’s outstretched hand before finally stooping to s
hake it. “You look so much like her, I couldn’t tell you apart.”

  The claws were out awfully early, Maggie thought. She couldn’t be sure, but it sounded as if James was groaning.

  “Yes,” Maggie agreed. “We all do look alike. I can see how that would be challenging for you.”

  James snorted. Julia at least had the decency to look surprised at this bold statement. “I meant no offense.”

  Maggie gave her the nicest mean smile she had. “I assure you, I took none.”

  Julia blinked one, two, three times before she turned all her attention back to James, angling her body so that she presented her shoulder to Maggie. The dismissal was crystal clear. “Darling,” she said to James in the sort of stage whisper that was meant to be heard by other people, “we were expecting you at home. Alone.”

  “I don’t know why. I didn’t tell you I was coming in. We had a meeting with Lenon, and we’re leaving first thing in the morning. This is a business trip.”

  Julia’s lower lip stuck out in a practiced pout. “But we haven’t seen you in so long, James, darling. Pauline misses you ever so much. I think it’s time for us to announce your engagement. I’m sure your work out there in Montana is very important, but it’s time to get on with the rest of your life.”

  What the heck kind of social black hole had she fallen into? Maggie wondered.

  “South Dakota, Mother.” James’s tone made it clear that he’d had this conversation before. “You can’t announce anything. I haven’t asked Pauline to marry me.”

  “But you will.” Julia glanced over her shoulder at Maggie, as if this part was specifically designed for her ears. “You love her.”

  “This is not the time or place for this conversation, Mother.” James stepped around Julia and nodded his head toward the bar. “Shall we?”

  Quick as a wink, Julia’s hand flashed out and latched onto James’s arm. “We’re not done having this conversation, darling.”

  Maggie had to wonder if Julia Carlson was a mean drunk, or just plain mean. “It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Carlson,” she said in her most insincere voice. Then she walked away.

  “Nice job,” James said when they finally reached the long, polished bar.

  “She’s a piece of work.” Maggie had to smile as she wondered what would happen if Julia Carlson were to ever meet Nan. The battle would be long and bloody, she decided, but she’d put money on Nan coming out on top.

  “Tell me about it.” He ordered a Scotch on the rocks and a Shirley Temple—in a martini glass—for her.

  Maggie wouldn’t have thought having a glass in her hand would make her feel better, but it gave her something to do. Another nervous thread unwound in her belly. “That’s one. Where’s your father?”

  “I’ve found it’s best not to ask that question,” he muttered around his drink.

  She and James took up residence at one corner of the bar. From this strategic position, they had a good view of the room without being in the middle of the crowd. James knew everybody’s name. While he kept track of hundreds of conversational strands, Maggie noticed that he wasn’t as comfortable as she figured he’d be. His shoulders stayed tense under his black jacket, his forehead was permanently etched with concentration, and his eyes kept darting around the room.

  Because Julia’s dress was red, Maggie easily kept track of James’s mother. The woman flitted around like a moth. She touched men on the biceps while smiling and did a lot of that cheek-kissing with women who had the same-style forehead she did. Maybe they all had the same plastic surgeon.

  Lenon nodded at James from across the room and raised his glass to Maggie, but he didn’t come over.

  Maggie shifted her feet. According to her toes, she’d been standing here nursing her faux drink for three days, but they’d probably only been here an hour. She didn’t know how much longer she could take it, though. People ignored her the second they figured out that she had nothing to offer them. Her face hurt from all the fake smiling, and her hand was starting to cramp around the stem of her martini glass.

  Plus, any angry adrenaline she’d marshaled for Julia Carlson had long worn off. Yes, she’d had two short naps today. She’d still been up since 4:00 a.m., her time. If she were still at home, she’d be curled up on the couch with a mug of chamomile tea, watching some show that made fun of people like this and laughing with Nan.

  Of course, if she were at home, she wouldn’t be with James.

  While she debated asking him when they could leave, she caught sight of Julia throwing her arms around a supermodel. Maggie elbowed James and nodded toward the pair.

  “Pauline,” he whispered. “Here they come.”

  Dang it, Maggie thought. She wasn’t up for another round of hatefulness. Especially not when Pauline was the most perfect woman Maggie had ever seen. Tall without being Amazonian, slender without being anemic, her caramel-blond hair floating in soft waves down to her bare shoulders. The gray satin dress was so tight that Maggie was certain Pauline couldn’t be wearing any underwear.

  When the pair of women got about ten feet away, Julia pulled up and rushed off in a different direction. Maggie had just enough time to realize the man she was heading for looked like an older, stouter version of James before Pauline reached them.

  “James,” the supermodel James was supposed to marry said as she kissed both his cheeks in rapid succession.

  “Pauline, you look lovely,” he said, his hands on both of her arms.

  A jolt of jealousy shot through Maggie. James had held her like that—right before he’d taken her on the kitchen counter. He’d mentioned that he and Pauline had dated on and off for years. Maggie knew she had no right to be this jealous. She’d only known James for a few weeks, tops. But she was. Intensely.

  The two of them looked at each other for a long moment before they turned to Maggie. “I’m Pauline Walker,” she said, extending a manicured hand. She wasn’t as condescending as Julia had been. In fact, she bordered on warm. “Nice necklace.”

  “Thanks. Maggie Eagle Heart.” Was this the part of her that could be sweet? “Nice to meet you.”

  Pauline nodded and turned back to James. “Julia’s quite upset with you.”

  “And that’s news?” The two of them grinned. They acted more like the oldest of friends than current lovers. Maggie tried to relax. “How have you been?”

  Pauline waved the words away as she opened her handbag and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. “Busy. You?”

  “The same.” James lit her cigarette for her, a gesture that seemed more fitting to a Humphrey Bogart movie than Maggie’s life. “You do know smoking indoors is illegal?”

  “Like I care,” Pauline said with a wave of her hand.

  James didn’t seem to fit in—not the James Maggie knew, anyway. She couldn’t imagine that this was how he had grown up, but then she remembered—he’d had that nanny. Instead of going to parties like this, he’d spent his time with a woman who raised him as a son. No wonder he didn’t seem entirely comfortable.

  How did people live like this, going to parties where no one had fun and everyone had an agenda? How did people get married to keep the same system going? Maggie would have no part of it. This was not her world, and if she had anything to say about it, it never would be.

  “James, darling!” Julia Carlson pushed in between Maggie and Pauline, which drove Maggie farther away from James while simultaneously moving Pauline closer to him. “Oh, it’s so good to see you two together again. Don’t you think so, Alex?”

  “Of course,” Alex Carlson said as he eyeballed Maggie’s cleavage. She moved a step farther away—out of groping range. His suit was exquisitely cut, and he had a diamond pin anchoring his tie. His hair was the same color as James’s, but there was less of it.

  Ugh. Maggie wanted to go home and wash the stench of cigars and creepiness off her skin. She was sure she’d proven that she could handle a hostile environment to James and Lenon and the whole lot of them. Time to leave.
>
  “No.” James’s voice suddenly cut through the chatter of the party like sharp steel through the air. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Now, darling,” Julia said in a pleading voice as she glanced around the room. “Don’t cause a scene.”

  Pauline took two mincing steps backward, nearly crushing Maggie’s toes.

  “You can do a better job here, son.” Alex’s voice carried an implicit threat.

  “I’m in the middle of a case, Dad. I’m not going to pick up and move back home so you two can keep an eye on me. I’m a grown man, goddamn it.”

  “Now you listen to me,” Alex roared.

  “Dear!” Julia grabbed both of them by the arms and, with more strength than Maggie would have given her credit for, pushed toward a doorway. “People are listening.” And with that, she shoved them into a back room.

  The door swung shut behind them. Maggie had no idea what she was supposed to do, because now she was alone with Pauline, who was working on her third cigarette.

  “So,” Pauline began, exhaling smoke like a busted chimney. “You and James, huh?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Which was a lie, and they both knew it. Maggie debated squishing Pauline’s toes and making a break for it—she was so done—but she couldn’t do it. The woman had been the most pleasant person at this party.

  Pauline shrugged, casting her gaze around the room. Maybe she was used to people telling bald-faced lies as a regular part of conversations. “He’s a great guy. His mother is a bit much, though.”

  “Ah.” Because what else was there to say? Why would you want to marry into that? That didn’t seem appropriate. Nothing did.

  Pauline’s face lit up as she stared at something across the room. Maggie followed her gaze and saw a man watching the two of them. Well, he was watching Pauline, anyway. Something clicked, and Maggie realized that Pauline didn’t want to marry James. Whoever was across the room was who Pauline wanted.

  “You and James, huh?” It wasn’t much for small talk, but there was nothing else, and she didn’t want to talk about herself any more than necessary. Besides, she wanted to know what Pauline would say about James while she looked at that other guy.