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It should. It was flattering. Made happy tears build behind her lashes. It complicated things. She shook her head, and he slipped his hand to the back of her neck and held her for a whisper-tender kiss.
How were they supposed to give each other up?
“I’m going to keep looking at you, drinking you in furiously as long as you’ll let me,” he said.
Sweet tongue, sweeter nature. A walking, talking, rule-breaking definition of too good to be true, and she was hopelessly under his spell. “I need a drink.” Something with a bite that might bring her back to Earth, remind her of what happens when you love a man who lies expertly for a living.
You could never know when he was lying to you.
He offered a hand, and they went out to the bar in the foyer because it was time to go to work.
Cookie Jar had swept into the event with an entourage. He wore a vibrant emerald print, silk tasseled scarf with his tux, and a bulletproof expression.
Halsey planned to commiserate with him over them both being duped, offer him a donation, and dangle the privilege of membership at his club, all the while knowing what Sonny wanted most was a chance to win back the money he lost on the painting in the cryptocurrency investment scheme.
It would be three strikes against Cookie Jar’s reputation. The purchase of a fraudulent painting using government funds set aside for infrastructure development, membership of a non-existent club, and a spectacular flame-out in a fictional investment.
Sherwood deviousness would make sure those things became known while keeping Halsey’s name out of it. Baiba would do the rest to turn opinion against the prime minister and ultimately oust him in a bloodless coup. With luck, Ketija would get to build her power grid.
They’d reached the bar when a man delivered a message to Halsey. Cookie Jar wanted to see him in backstage. Now there’d be fireworks. Lenny slipped her hand into his. “Let’s go.”
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “No. Wait for me. It’s better that I do this alone.”
It would be exciting, knowing what Cookie Jar didn’t. And unbearably hot to see Halsey set the final snare in place. The culmination of what they’d worked together to achieve. “So I hear a little shouting. That’s no big deal.
“Keeping you clear of any trouble is very much our deal. You sold me on doing D4D business and being one more guest in the crowd.”
He wouldn’t deny her. “I’m coming with you.”
“No. I can’t let you do that.”
Let me.
This was about his pride as much as anything else. “You don’t want me to see you grovel.”
She expected he’d smile at that. His expression was blank. “This isn’t a game.”
He left her by the bar without another word. He was keyed up, out of his comfort zone, but that didn’t stop her regretting the exchange.
Halsey had too many spy cameras and not enough experience in fieldwork. This was a game of etiquette and power, and she knew the rules. If she couldn’t watch him work, she’d spend the time apart furthering her own agenda.
Earlier this week, she’d been cut on the street by a former colleague who’d been a foundation D4D donor, and an old college friend had pretended not to know her in Trader Joe’s. The embarrassment of that still stung, but at this gala she had an advantage. She could choose friendly targets and trust no one would deliberately avoid her as an invited guest in such a public setting.
They were in a brilliantly lit theater foyer, everyone was drinking, flashing jewels, and showing off their finery. She took a flute of champagne and went to work the room.
She spoke to Ruth and Buddy Berzinger, regular D4D donors who’d stuck with her. She posed for a photograph with Delilah and Jonas Schwartzman, occasional donors who she wanted more from. Mirabelle Yang made her laugh, and Abigale Allworth asked for the name of her colorist. Intermission was almost over, and she was set to flit across the room to speak with Spike Hawthorn when a man deliberately blocked her path. The same man who’d brought a message to Halsey. He stepped aside, and she was face-to-face with Cookie Jar.
“Prime Minister, how nice to see you.” She extended her hand for him to shake, checking left and right for Halsey. “The choir is wond—”
“It is not nice to see you, Miss Bradshaw.” He ignored her dangling hand and spoke loudly, turning her spine to steel.
“I don’t und—”
“The fault is mine. I did not do my homework on you. I did not realize you were the daughter of a grifter, a common criminal. The two of you were trying to scam me.”
“No, I. We—” She couldn’t finish, her tongue too tied by truth and lies, and the awareness all the chatter around them had stopped, every ear tuned to the drama.
Cookie Jar wagged a finger at her, close enough to her face she had to lean away. “You thought to profit from being near me. Shame on you. The Heroes League does not want your dirty money.”
