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I sneak a subtle glance over my shoulder.
Dad tosses his head back in a hearty laugh as he chats with Channel Nine news director, Jeffrey Garcia. Both of the men’s dates smile vacantly on the sidelines.
“No, not yet. He’s just socializing,” I say. “We should be fine.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” comes a smooth, controlled baritone I’ve heard a few times before. Damon Thomas grins broadly at me and offers his hand. “Damon Thomas, CEO of Thomas Tech.”
I glance at Stitches and then give the tech CEO a quick handshake.
I can’t say I’m a fan of his, considering it was his company that designed the spy device Dad used for my rose necklace.
“Hey, how you doing?” Stitches interjects in an exaggerated Italian American accent. “I’m Geno Romanetti. I’m in the trades business. This is my girl, Sasha.”
Damon Thomas’s upper lip curls in distaste as he takes a swill of champagne. “You make an interesting pair.”
“That’s your way of saying she’s too gorgeous for me, eh? Don’t worry, I spoil her so good, she’ll never go anywhere. Ain’t that right, doll face?”
I paste on a smile and nod along. “Which reminds me, baby, why don’t we go get some fresh air? It’s feeling kind of stuffy in here.”
“Actually, I’d love to know more about you, Sasha. I’ve never seen you in these circles before, and it’s so… rare to see a woman like you here tonight. Why don’t you go get us some fresh champagne, Geno?” Damon pushes his empty glass into Stitches’ hand and steps in between us to form a wedge.
I’m about to object, but then I notice how the dynamics in the rest of the room have shifted—Dad’s no longer chatting with Jeffrey Garcia. He’s movedcloser. Only a few people away. If I cause too much of a scene he’ll surely look over, or Damon might get too suspicious and press for more answers.
My best bet in the immediate moment is to go along with Damon’s suggestion and then find escape at my first opportunity.
Stitches doesn’t leave without my permission. I give him a subtle nod, the go ahead for him to walk off and retrieve our champagne.
Damon wastes no time with his sales pitch.
“A beautiful and delightful young Black woman like yourself caught my eye the moment you walked in,” Mr. Thomas says. He smiles, his teeth pearly white and identical to his son’s. “I’m sure your boyfriend—what’s his name—treats you decently enough, but you have to think of optics, Sasha.”
Of course.
He’s searching for a wife for Chadwick.
The Thomases never stop their pursuit. Damon doesn’t even realize he’s speaking to the same woman he and his son have harassed several times over the years.
But I play along, offering him a well-practiced, gracious smile.
“Optics?”
“One look at him, and I can tell he’s unclean. The trades business? I bet he’s involved with some funny business, alright. Probably the Belinis.”
I laugh airily. “Mr. Thomas, that’s hilarious. Geno wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Sasha,” comes Salvatore’s voice in my ear. “What the hell are you doing? Where’s Geno?”
I have no choice but to ignore him while staring up into the long face of the tech CEO. If I answer Salvatore, he’ll notice.
“You may think Geno wouldn’t hurt a fly, but I know his type,” Damon goes on. “Sasha, what family did you say you’re from? Just when I think I know every wealthy Black family in the one percent, I meet you! There are only five in Westoria.”
“Errr… my family’s from Lunbury.”
His brow creases. “Then you must be a Newton. Of course, Sasha Newton—Clive’s granddaughter. But, wait, wasn’t she missing? Or was that his niece?”
“It was a misunderstanding,” I say, fighting to maintain my perfect smile. “I’m visiting Geno here in Northam and he brought me as his plus one.”
“Ah. Interesting.”
