by Tawny Weber
“Sir—”
Uncle Luis raised his hand to stop Spence’s protest.
“I’ll take every precaution. I’ll personally instruct my team to coordinate with you as you arrange the necessary security, Lieutenant.”
“But you won’t leave.”
“But I won’t leave.” The older man reached out, wrapping his arm around Mia’s shoulder to give her a hug. He smelled like pine and comfort, reminding her of her childhood. “In addition to promising Mia that I’d be here, my people informed the press and put word out of my attendance. They’ve arranged numerous meetings already, a number of photo ops and a press conference. Walking away from any of that in an election year would be the height of stupidity.”
Mia wanted to protest. If her uncle was in danger, sauntering around a golf course or playing blackjack seemed like really stupid things to do. But she knew her protest would fall on deaf ears. Uncle Luis had formed his career out of forging through, regardless of the danger. Knowing there was a possible threat would only make him more determined to stick around.
“I will take every precaution, but I do need your cooperation, Mia,” her uncle said. “Can I count on you?”
“Of course,” she murmured. Then, because she couldn’t stand it any longer, she said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
She made it two steps into the hallway when Spence joined her. Mia didn’t bother slowing her pace.
“You’re going to keep this to yourself, right? You won’t mention it to Jessica or Alcosta or anyone?”
Jaw clenched, Mia gave a sharp nod.
“I’ll help. I’ll keep your secret and I’ll do whatever I’m instructed in order to ensure my uncle’s safety,” she said, her words low and vicious. “But I’m telling you the same thing I told my father. We’re finished. Through, done, over. Once this weekend’s farce is finished, you get out of my life and stay out. For good.”
Chapter 12
Mia stood poised on the edge of the most important event of her career, staring at the villa’s ballroom, which was filled with some of the most influential people not only in the country, but in the world. They were all ready to hand her money for a cause she’d made sound irresistibly appealing.
The ballroom’s rich tiles and lush plants were accented by beautifully lacquered card tables inlaid with green felt, the brass of the roulette wheel glistening under chandelier lights and the chiming ring of slot machines. The red-and-black-clad servers wove among guests wearing more designer labels than appeared on the runways at New York Fashion Week and sparkling with enough diamonds to build three hospitals.
She nervously fingered the glistening crystal beads of her waist-length necklace as she eyed the handful of security personnel not so subtly sprinkled through the crowd for a dash of contrast. She didn’t see Spence, but she knew he was there. Not just because he’d said he would be, but because she could sense him. Like lurking evil, she thought with a sneer. Just waiting in the wings to ruin her evening.
Thankfully her client didn’t know that. In the center of the room, Señor Alcosta gloated. Not so much out of pride at hosting a hugely successful fund-raiser benefiting his pet cause, but because his guest of honor was an influential US Senator.
With Uncle Luis in tow, Alcosta socialized and glad-handed his way through the guests with hearty good cheer and a clear determination that every single person in the room see him buddied up with the senator. She could see the edgy nerves peeking through his usual charisma, hopefully due to excitement, not guilt over criminal intentions, as Spence would claim.
Her gaze shifted to Alcosta’s companions. Having finally given up on getting her into bed, Alcosta had brought a more amenable date. Her ample curves highlighted by black sequins, the sultry redhead clung to his arm, smiled vapidly and guzzled champagne like a champ.
And then there was Uncle Luis, looking like a sea of calm in a wild storm of decadence as he greeted constituents, networked with influencers and generally contrasted Alcosta’s frenzied cheer with amiable serenity. She didn’t totally believe Spence’s claim of danger, but she still wished her uncle had foregone making an impression on voters by staying away.
Mia sighed.
Sex, gambling and politics.
Monte Carlo had nothing on this, she decided, knotting and unknotting her necklace around her fingers. Except, of course, being a long, long way from Spence. Which made it about the most appealing place she could think of right now, outside of curling into her own bed in her sick-day jammies.
As if drawn by her thoughts, Spence stepped through the open glass doors into the ballroom. Like the other men in the room, he wore a tux. But he wore it unlike anyone else. Evening wear couldn’t hide the coiled power in his movements or the implicit threat of his stance.
Damn the man.
She wished, with every fiber of her being, that this night was over. Or better yet, that it’d been canceled. But despite her fury with the situation, Mia had been weaned on the theme of duty before pleasure. So, as much pleasure as she’d take by ignoring Spence’s request, her father’s orders and her own responsibilities, she’d do her job as hostess.
With that in mind, after checking in with the caterer, she started another round of networking. To distract herself from the pain of seeing Spence, she set a personal goal of greeting twenty people and soliciting three more donations before the call for dinner.
She made it two steps before her view was blocked by a glistening cloud of hot pink.
“Mia, sweetheart.” With that, Mia was engulfed in Lorraine’s Chanel and feathers. “You’ve done such a wonderful job. This evening is a huge smash. The entire weekend has been simply divine. You’re the queen, darling. The absolute queen.”
Gratitude infused Mia. She truly appreciated the woman’s praise. With everything that’d happened with Spence—the heartbreak and lies and suspicions—she’d spent a sleepless night worrying that her judgment was pure crap. How could she throw a successful, engaging event without it?
A part of her—the nagging, desperate part—wanted to ask if Lorraine still wanted to hire her, and if so, could she do it now. That way, in the event that Spence was right, Mia might still have a career at the end of the night.
Instead, she picked a bright pink feather off her dress and gave the other woman a bright smile.
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she said, turning with Lorraine to survey the room. “I know you were interested in meeting Senator Penz. Would you like to speak with him before we go in to dinner?”
At Lorraine’s enthusiastic agreement, Mia led her to the grouping of small sofas on a raised dais at one end of the room, where Alcosta was monopolizing her uncle. After introductions and enough chitchat to put everyone at ease, she excused herself to work the room. Experience and skill meant it only took her thirty minutes to work her way around the room, making small talk and offering gentle nudges to a hundred or so people before signaling to the band to prepare for the shift to dinner music.
Five gourmet courses served on the finest china, accompanied by the best California wines in delicate crystal, were set against a backdrop of white linen, gilt-edged roses and the gentle melody of a harp’s song, ending the highlight of the evening, the culmination of the fund-raising weekend: the bidding war over hospital-wing naming rights. Up for auction were six wings, two gardens and a playroom, all waiting to be named after generous benefactors.
She tried not to groan when she surreptitiously checked her watch. Still ten minutes until dinner. God. This evening was lasting forever. She didn’t care how much money they raised, she didn’t care how many clients she wooed. She simply wanted this event to be over.
Everything would be over.
Heart aching, her eyes automatically sought out and found Spence. Standing only a few feet behind Alcosta, he watched the other man as if expecting him to set off a b
omb or something. Apparently sensing her gaze, he glanced over to stare at Mia.
Not wanting even that much connection with him, she turned away. She could get the hell away from him. Check the foyer, maybe the terraces, look for guests to shoo inside for dinner. But as furious as she was with Spence, she couldn’t completely dismiss his warning. Which meant there was no way she was leaving her uncle’s vicinity. She’d check the serving staff instead. Maybe see if the musicians or the bartenders needed anything.
She’d barely managed one step when Jessica swept in. It was the first Mia had seen of her since the barefaced bomb drop the previous day. Mia couldn’t hold the truth against the other woman, but she wasn’t quite over how nasty Jessica had been about her delivery. So it took a lot of willpower to make herself smile in greeting.
“Mia, sweetie, are you okay?” Jessica handed her a glass of champagne through a cloud of Opium perfume. In a garnet-hued dress that clung at the bodice until flaring out from her waist in a luxurious sweep and her hair perfectly coifed, she fit in perfectly with a room full of the rich and famous. “I’m here for you, anything you need.”
“I’m fine.”
“Of course you’re not. I waited up for you last night but you didn’t come home,” Jessica chastised with a chiding shake of her head. “And look at you, poor thing. I’m sure you did the best you could, but there’s no hiding that devastation. It must be so hard to enjoy a party when your heart is broken.”
“My heart is fine,” Mia lied. Her head was starting to hurt, though. Hoping to encourage the other woman to leave, she started moving through the perimeter of the room. Much to her frustration, Jessica strolled right along with her.
“Let’s go out on the terrace for a little fresh air. A few minutes out there and you’ll feel much better.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got a lot to see to in here.” And she wasn’t letting her uncle out of her sight. “You should go mingle, have fun. Didn’t you say that your boyfriend was going to be here tonight? I’ve been looking forward to meeting him.”
“He’ll be here and believe me, I’ll make sure that you meet him.” For a second, Mia thought there was something predatory in her eyes, but then the light changed. “That’s for later, though. Right now our priority is to make sure you’re okay, and to keep everything running smooth in here.”
“I’m fine.”
“How can you be fine if you’re clenching your teeth?”
“I’m smiling. See.” Mia stretched her mouth as wide as she could. “Like I said, I’m fine.”
“Why is he here?” Jessica gasped, her fingernails digging into Mia’s arm to make her stop walking. “I thought you got rid of him.”
Mia didn’t need to—didn’t want to—look around to see who Jessica was talking about. She simply knew.
“He’s in charge of security,” Mia reminded her, prying herself free before the other woman drew blood.
“You let him stay? He lied to you.” So outraged that she looked like she was going to dive through the fancy crowd and claw his eyes out, Jessica planted her feet and glared across the room at Spence. “I can’t believe you didn’t break up with him.”
Sworn to silence, Mia was unable to correct her so she just shrugged.
“We can talk about it later,” Mia insisted. Seeing the argument forming on the other woman’s lips, she added, “I don’t have time right now, Jessica.”
“I tried to help you,” the blonde spat, outraged. “I’m trying to be here for you. And you don’t have time for me?”
On the edge of jumping into automatic placating mode, Mia realized how much time she’d spent over the last few months trying to calm the woman down. Maybe it was that knowledge, or maybe it was simply being finished caving to other people’s demands or being manipulated into things she didn’t want to do.
But Mia was through.
To hell with trying to calm her down. Instead, Mia leaned in with her sweetest smile and said, “No. I don’t have time. This fund-raiser might not mean anything to you, or to your boss, but it does to me. So if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
Mia could see the thoughts race through the other woman’s head as easily as if she were reading an electronic translator. Irritation, frustration and hints of something nasty. Then, in a blink, calculation.
“I thought we were friends,” Jessica said, actually pulling off the woebegone-waif effect between the betrayed tone and teary eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me.”
Yes, she did. Mia sighed, but since she didn’t have the time or, more important, the energy to deal with the ensuing argument, she let it go.
“If it means that much to you, we can discuss this later. But not here and not now,” Mia insisted, steel infusing her otherwise calm tone.
“You’re going to regret this,” Jessica hissed, her expression a study in fury. With that, she turned with a flounce and stormed off, her shoulders ramming into people as she shoved through the guests and headed for the exit. Mia didn’t know if she was gone for now or gone for good. She was just glad she was gone.
Mia offered an embarrassed smile to the staring crowd and tried to shake off the humiliation. But then her gaze landed on Spence. Staring at her as if he could see all the way into her soul, he gave her a sympathetic grimace.
Enough.
She’d had enough from Spence.
Deception, lies, heartache.
The last thing she wanted was his sympathy, on top of it all.
Her eyes burning, Mia swept out through the glass doors, onto the terrace. Guests spilled out here, too. Laughing, chatting, enjoying themselves. Damn them.
Desperate for a moment’s respite, Mia remembered the other terrace. Located on the opposite side of the villa, it was too small and too far from the ballroom for this event. So, please, oh please, let it be private enough.
Stopping only long enough to tell the bartender she’d be on the far terrace if anyone needed her—see, she wasn’t completely ignoring her obligations—Mia hurried down the tiled path, dimly lit to discourage guests from wandering the grounds; she could still make out the pathway well enough to avoid getting her heels stuck.
Rounding the copse of trees, she averted her eyes so she didn’t have to look at the creepy shadows thrown off by the statuary garden. It still felt like the statues were staring, though, so she sped up her steps, risking a fall as a shiver skittered down her spine.
She climbed the wide steps, moving through the ivy-covered arch, onto the terrace. Motion-sensor lights triggered, washing the colorful Talavera tiles with a golden glow. Instead of water pouring from the central fountain, flowers poured in a carefully sculpted profusion of blooms, their color muted by the moonlight.
Glad chiffon was forgiving, Mia sank into one of the cushioned couches and blew out a long breath. Her heart jumped into her throat at the sound of footsteps on the tiles. She just wanted ten minutes alone to pull herself together instead of playing hostess.
But since she was the hostess, she got to her feet and mustered up a friendly smile. Okay, friendly-ish, she corrected when she realized she was clenching her teeth.
“Uncle Luis,” she said, relief making her knees weak. She even managed a smile for his bodyguard. “What’re you doing out here?”
“Following you,” he said with a wink, joining her on the couch as Michelson took his position in front of the archway. “You looked like you could use a shoulder, so I brought mine with me.”
“You should’ve stayed at the party,” she murmured, suddenly feeling even worse. “You came to get media coverage, to meet and greet and drum up support.”
“I came to see you,” he corrected. “To support your efforts and, yes, to garner some media attention while I’m at it.”
He sighed when that last bit didn’t get him a smile.
“Okay, let’s talk about th
is mess you’re in with Spence. And before you try to brush it off as nothing, remember that I have eyes. It’s clear that the two of you have a relationship. Know, too, that your father called and filled me in.”
“Did he?” Mia clenched her teeth against the humiliation heating her cheeks.
“My security team needed all of the details, Mia. So of course he did. But that isn’t the point right now. The point is the issue between you and Spencer Lloyd,” her uncle said in that chiding tone of reason he’d perfected on the senate floor. “First, clarify for me if you have feelings for the man or if it was just sex.”
“Uncle Luis,” Mia protested, shooting a mortified look at the bodyguard. Thankfully he didn’t appear to be paying them any attention. Hands clasped behind his back, the hulking man seemed to be listening to something through his earbud as he stared at the villa’s darkened windows.
“What difference does it make? He lied to me, he pretended to be something he wasn’t and he used me to get close to my client.” All it took was listing her top three issues to bury her heartbreak in fury. “He’s a horrible, rotten, lying jerk.”
“Why? Mia, he followed your father’s orders. Their methods might be questionable, but they were motivated out of concern for your safety.”
“Orders, orders, orders,” Mia muttered. “What a good little soldier, always following orders. No, no, he’s not a soldier. He’s a sailor. A SEAL.”
A man who put his career ahead of everyone and everything else in his life.
“Ahh, he served in the military. He’s a strong man, a dedicated one who spent his career protecting our country. That he’s a SEAL speaks to his determination and strength. That he tried to fulfill your father’s request—a request made out of love and parental concern—speaks to his loyalty. And based on what I’ve seen, this is a man who despite the uncomfortable position he was put in by duty, does care deeply for you. Very deeply. How does any of that make him a bad man?”
Mia hated that she couldn’t think of a reasonable argument. So she went back to basics.