Announcement made, Charity stepped down and smiled graciously as people clustered around to offer congratulations and wish her luck. Hands were clasped and cheeks were kissed as she made the rounds.
Clay nudged Ezra. “We need to speak with the party girl,” he said. “In private.”
“Why?” Ezra asked.
“Go over the guest list,” Clay said. “Grade needs us to sweep the house, clear up anything our cargo downstairs might have left lying about. If I’m going to do that, I need to know whose shit I’m stealing.”
“Don’t we pay him to deal with that stuff?” Ezra groused.
“Not enough apparently, but yeah,” Clay said. “But I’ve already had to throw my cock in as a sweetener to get him to agree to the job. So unless you’re willing to put a better offer on the table, don’t rock the boat.”
Ezra gave him a sour look. “You want me to fuck him?”
The quick, jealous catch in the back of Clay’s throat at that idea caught him by surprise. He didn’t know what that was about. OK, he did. But he’d not zoned out of every appointment he had with the VA’s headshrinker to suddenly decide to be emotionally healthy tonight.
Feelings.
They could fuck right off.
Clay smirked at Ezra. “I said ‘a better offer.’”
Ezra grunted and started forward through the crowd. “You’re lucky I don’t fuck where I live,” he growled over his shoulder. “And that your boyfriend is the human embodiment of poison ivy. Otherwise, I’d show him what an actual good time is like.”
One of the young staffers who’d tried to start the chant caught the tail end of that. He stumbled over his own feet, went red, and gave Ezra a look so frankly horny that Clay almost felt sorry for the kid. He wasn’t Ezra’s type, not if he worked for Charity. Ezra liked his men like he liked his ex-wives, full of judgment and too good for him.
“Yeah, you have two kids,” Clay said as he stuck to Ezra’s elbow. “Your idea of a good time is Disney World.”
“It’s the fucking happiest place on earth,” Ezra said. “And shut up.”
He nudged someone out of the way and stepped forward to offer Charity his hand. She hesitated for a moment—her mouth tight under the expertly applied slick of lipstick as resentment flickered murkily through her eyes—and then smiled professionally as she accepted the shake.
“Congratulations,” Ezra said.
“A bit premature,” Charity demurred on autopilot. “I’ve not won yet. A lot can happen between here and the polls.”
Ezra hung on to her hand a second too long. “Probably won’t, though,” he said. “By the way, if you can find a couple of minutes? I’ve an update on that business we talked about.”
Charity looked like she’d just swallowed pig swill. It lasted for a second, and then she plastered her social mask back over it. Her lips crimped into a fake indulgent smile, and the powder creased around her eyes as she squinted them.
“Of course.” She took her hand back. “I’ve always got time for one of our proud veterans, Mr. Adams. Just make an appointment with my office next week.”
She turned her shoulder to him to accept a “small token of appreciation” from a starstruck college student over some sort of scholarship. The two of them traded pleasantries across the small, neatly wrapped box, and Clay turned away just before someone’s flash went off.
That was another thing his time enlisted had taught him, although it had been more trial and error than training. If it was “good” for a guaranteed viral social media post—dead civilians, friendly fire, fuckups—it was not good for the military. So if you couldn’t keep the cameras out, at least keep your own fucking face out of frame.
Next to him, Ezra had done the same thing as he grabbed a frothy bit of something on a cracker from a passing tray. They waited out the quick flurry of snaps—Clay figured he could catch it on Twitter later—and then turned back.
Clay stepped between Charity and a well-dressed middle-aged man with a cross tie pin on his silk tie.
“Sorry,” he said with a warm smile to the man, who glared at him. “I have to steal the judge away for a second. We just need her to sign some paperwork for the mission so we can stop those good Christian babies from being born in China.”
The man blinked and looked confused.
“What?”
Clay slapped the man on the shoulder, hard enough to stagger him. “See? I knew you’d understand.” He turned and ostentatiously offered the crook of his elbow to Charity. “Your Honor?”
She glared at him for a second, then visibly softened her face as she turned to the cock-blocked religious lobbyist. A quick, warmly couched excuse soothed his ruffled feathers and sent him on his way. Once he was gone, Charity smoothed her dress down, a slow, controlled gesture with both hands, and checked quickly that no one was near enough to eavesdrop.
