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Davis’s hand remained firmly on the small of her back. She’d splurged on the deep-red ball gown, knowing the moment she saw it in the shop window she had to have it. It had hurt her bank account a little but given the fact she was a single woman with a good-paying job, and precious little debt, she’d decided to call the dress a Christmas gift to herself.
The A-line style suited her frame and made her feel elegant and sexy. The top was lace with cap sleeves, the full skirt chiffon with a long slit that reached the middle of her right thigh. The back of the dress had an open keyhole that revealed quite a lot of skin and meant she couldn’t wear a bra. Not that that was a problem, as it had a bra built into it, and it wasn’t like she was overly endowed.
The devil in her wished Davis would lift his hand a little higher to touch her bare back. While he’d proven himself to be a very nice guy, she sure as shit wouldn’t complain if he revealed a tiny bit of a bad boy side.
Ugh. She dismissed that thought.
Beggars can’t be choosers. He had ticked off every box that mattered, so who cared if he toed the “gentleman” line when it came to politeness and public appropriateness and didn’t sneak a touch.
That was her hormones talking.
They swayed together and she let herself sink into his embrace, enjoying the peacefulness of the moment after so many long, stressful hours spent making sure everything about tonight went off without a hitch.
“I can’t believe the mayor is here,” Davis murmured. “I’ve been trying to get an appointment with him for the past two weeks, but I can’t get past his secretary.”
Davis worked in the district attorney’s office, though he’d confessed at dinner the other night, he was considering pursuing a career in politics somewhere down the line. Then he’d regaled her for the better part of an hour, discussing some of his more fascinating cases. He was intelligent and witty, two things she was certain would help his political career.
Truthfully, so far, that was the only tick mark in the meh column. She wasn’t a fan of politics or politicians, but she wasn’t ready to call it a deal-breaker. Especially since he was only thinking about it.
Liza gave him a playfully narrowed gaze. “No distracting my guests, Mr. Taylor,” she teased him. “Tonight is all about raising money for homeless teens.”
He gave her a quick nod and smile. “Of course, of course.”
The sound of a woman’s loud laugh captured Liza’s attention, and she looked toward the source. It took all the strength she had not to roll her eyes.
Patricia Eddington was Philadelphia society’s It Girl, though Liza had a hard time understanding why. Obviously, she was beautiful in the typical style of all rich-bitch blonde Barbie dolls. She and Liza were the same age, though their paths had never crossed when they were younger. Liza was public school, Patricia private. Liza was nightclubs; Patricia was country clubs. And while Liza had known who Patricia was, thanks to the local paparazzi and their fascination with the socialite, they hadn’t met in person until Liza began working for the Initiative, hosting events like tonight’s.
Heiress to a fortune, Patricia had cut a wide swath through the most eligible bachelors on the East Coast over the past decade. She’d also been engaged something like twenty times—Liza was exaggerating, but not by much—though she’d never once made it down the aisle.
Liza figured Patricia might have completed one of those trips if Philadelphia had ever managed to land a Real Housewives reality TV show. That kind of shit was right up Patricia’s alley as she insisted on being the queen bee no matter where she was, her need to be the center of attention in every single room she occupied borderline obnoxious.
Actually, scratch the borderline.
Patricia’s latest billionaire bachelor boyfriend—say that real fast three times—was none other than Liza’s arch-nemesis, Matt Russo. Matt served as chairman of the Initiative’s board, and he’d managed to be a constant thorn in Liza’s side, ruining what was otherwise her dream job.
In addition to their work issues, she and Matt also had a long family history that ensured they would always be on opposites sides of whatever lines formed between them. Matt was a Russo, Liza a Moretti. Two names as infamous in Philadelphia as the Hatfields and McCoys, the Montagues and the Capulets.
The animosity between the two families had started way back with Liza and Matt’s great-grandfathers, and it continued still today, four generations later.
She couldn’t begin to guess what Matt—or any man, for that matter—saw in Patricia. Perhaps it was the sizable inheritance she had coming her way, although Matt was already richer than Midas. Or maybe she was just shit-hot in bed; all those men couldn’t be wrong. Either reason wouldn’t be enough for Liza to spend more than three minutes in her presence.
Of course, it didn’t help Patricia’s case that she had an annoying habit of treating Liza like she was the hired help.
Matt caught her staring at him and his date, but he offered her nothing—no smile, smirk, or even middle finger. Instead, his eyes held hers for three beats too long before looking away as if he hadn’t even seen her at all. It was always that way with him. He’d capture her gaze and…time slowed down. Just the tiniest bit, and it always took her too long to recover.
Liza turned her attention back to Davis as the song came to an end, the musicians rising and carrying their instruments backstage.
“I need to get ready for my speech,” she said, as the two of them stepped apart. She’d prepared a special video about the Promise House, featuring interviews with some of the teens living there, for whom they were trying to raise money. She’d also prepared a few words—her pitch, for lack of a better term. “Will you be okay without me for a few minutes?”
She’d put the finishing touches on the video yesterday morning with help from the Initiative’s media department, and even though she’d seen the footage a hundred times, she’d still blown through half a dozen tissues as she watched the completed show.
“I’m perfectly capable of entertaining myself. I might go over and say hello to the mayor,” he joked, winking at her.
“Talk only about the Promise House.” She swatted him playfully on the shoulder as he walked away, giving her the crossed-heart motion.
She walked over to her table to grab her notecards from her clutch.
“Davis Taylor?” a deep voice rumbled from behind her.
