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My dad shook his hand, his other hand on Drake's shoulder. That meant my father really really liked Drake. He only did that with his closest friends or people he wanted to be.
"Drake, please, I insist you call me Ethan," he said in his gravelly voice that made him sound like George C. Scott in Patton. "I see you've already spoken to Katherine. Come in and make yourself comfortable." My father turned to me. "I invited Drake here a bit earlier than our other guests so you could give him the tour and show him your photographs from Africa." He turned to Drake. "They're really good and intimate, telling the story of her trip. You want to understand what makes my daughter tick? You see those photos. Very artistic. She has real talent. I have to take a call or I'd join you myself."
I was struck speechless. My father purposely invited Drake early so I could spend time with him – alone?
"Of course," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Good, good. The others should start arriving in a while. Get Drake a drink, dear. Be a good hostess for me, will you? The bartender had to go get more wine and Elaine is still busy getting ready. Heath isn't here yet."
He left us, a huge smile on his face.
Drake stood there and grinned at me. His blue eyes were made even deeper blue by the shirt he wore. His hands were clasped behind his back.
"Would you like a drink?" I said, dutifully. I pointed to the bar in the dining room.
"Know how to make a vodka martini?" he said.
I went to the bar and found a martini glass and a shaker, some vodka and vermouth. I put in some ice, took out a bottle of Stolichnaya Vodka and poured a couple of ounces. I added the merest splash of vermouth and shook. Then I strained the mix into the martini glass.
"Lime or olive?" I asked, pointing to the small tray of lime zest and olives.
"Lime would be nice."
I put a twist of lime zest into the glass.
"How's that?"
"Perfect." He took the glass and had a sip, all the while staring at me over the rim. He sighed with pleasure, smacking his lips, and then pointed to me. "Where'd you learn to mix a martini?"
"I was a cocktail waitress for a few years during my undergrad. I trained as a bartender."
"That's right," he said. "Dave said you're paying your own way using scholarships and working part-time." He shook his head. "Stubborn girl. You're not having anything?"
"No," I said. "I tend to get a bit argumentative when I drink. Soda and lime for me."
He chuckled softly at that. "I like argumentative."
"I thought you were a Dom."
"I am, but that doesn’t mean I like dumb women," he said. "So you get a bit loose-lipped when you drink? That tells me that you usually hold your true opinion close to the vest and only let out your honest thoughts and emotions when under the influence of some kind of mind-altering substance. Alcohol. Serotonin. Dopamine…" he said, his voice trailing off. "I'll keep that in mind in the future."
I frowned and pretended to ignore his comment, fixing myself a glass of soda with a squeeze of lime in it. Finally, I turned to him, avoiding his eyes, which I knew would be filled with amusement at my predicament.
"How come you're here? You weren't on my father's guest list."
"I'm one of your fathers biggest supporters. We met in the health club the other day and I offered my support for his candidacy for the House. He said he wanted to repay me after I looked after your injuries at the fundraiser. When I heard you were going to be in attendance tonight, I was only too happy to accept."
"If you think this changes things, you're wrong."
"Changes what, Ms. Bennet?"
I glanced at him. Of course, he was smirking.
"The whole business with the research agreement."
"That's entirely up to you. I'm still all yours, if you want me."
A thrill ran through me at that. What a master manipulator. He had to know how that affected me – offering himself to me as if he were mine to just take. I said nothing for a moment and we each took a big sip of our drinks.
