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Halsey smiled more often, and he nodded to people he knew, stopping to make introductions that were smart and sensible and didn’t put an irksome label like girlfriend or partner on their relationship. But he did it all with a clenched jaw, an attitude of being wanted elsewhere, and an eye on the room that was more defensive than a cocktail party deserved, as if he thought a gathering of charity donors in their finery, free drinks, and fancy finger food were out to get him.
He plotted a course through the room that was more about avoiding conversation than it was connecting, and he didn’t let up the pace until they were ensconced in a corner almost by themselves, where he took an audible breath that seemed to come from the shine in his shoes.
“Might have mentioned you speed cocktail partied,” she said. “I’d have done some sprint training.”
He gave her a wry, raised brow look that was somewhere between wanting to laugh and being too keyed up.
“You really don’t like these things, do you?”
His lips twisted. “You thought I was lying.”
Not lying. Making an assumption he knew how to turn on the charisma when it was needed. She’d watched him do it with Mallory. He was physically built to charm, but now that she knew him better, Halsey wasn’t anything like Dad. Jeffrey Bradshaw could make an entrance. Could summon attention, could make you feel like you were essential to his existence. He had a knack of remembering the details of peoples’ lives and creating a kind of intimacy through that. People wanted to talk to him, to catch his eye, to trust his word. They vied for a chance to join a conversation he was in, and he’d always had a current of energy flowing around him.
Lenny had watched that, learned from it, and put it into practice establishing D4D. Part of the betrayal was that she’d never understood Dad’s social finesse was a talent tuned to ill-gotten gains.
Halsey’s energy was less a steady current than a single crashing wave. He was focused on avoidance while giving the appearance of being agreeably available. It was a neat trick, but it wasn’t going to cut it if the objective was to make the prime minister of Ossovia pay attention to them.
“I see why you needed me, Excel Boy.”
“Got it in one, PowerPoint Girl.”
He gestured to the door, and she turned to look. The official party arriving. A small group of suited men. She searched for Cookie Jar. Google showed him to be a distinguished-looking man. She knew he was fifty-two and could pass for ten years younger, that he was tall and usually pictured smiling as if he’d recently become enlightened. She’d studied his images looking for shifty eyes, evil intentions, only to find a man who could stunt double for Pierce Brosnan.
But she saw the woman first. Stately in her bearing, cheekbones to cut diamonds on, white-blonde hair piled elegantly on her head, a long fitted dress in ice blue that draped around her body like a banner proclaiming her some kind of superhero. She entered on the prime minister’s arm, well aware of her impact, but not the lightning bolt that cracked over Lenny’s head.
PowerPoint Girl didn’t stand a chance getting Cookie Jar’s attention. Not even with all her fly-in features and metallic pen effects activated. It was unlikely any other woman in the room would command Cookie Jar’s attention unless she was standing there naked waving a bag of money at him, and even that might not be enough. This woman made Lenny feel like a dowdy pigeon pecking for scraps.
“Who is she?” It was a question half the room was probably asking.
“Princess Ketija Jurkute,” said Halsey, as they watched the official party get swallowed up by well-wishers and hangers-on. “She’s from an ancient Ossovian family once considered royalty before decades of war, annexation, and rule by the Russians all but wiped them out. Sonny has restored the royal family. He thinks they’ll be good for tourism. She’s also an engineer.”
Oh fuck. “A real princess?”
He nodded. “And a real e
ngineer. She works for a firm in London but is hoping to build a new power grid in Ossovia to replace the aging Soviet one they’re still tied to.”
Royal, stunningly beautiful, and accomplished. “Is she on the take, too?” That would be too bad.
“Not that we could establish.”
“You might have told me about her.” Halsey’s briefings left a few gaps, like the fact he truly couldn’t work a room and the complexity of competing for attention with Super Princess.
“I had no way of knowing she’d be here.” Where was his CIA-level intelligence when you needed it? “Why does it matter?”
“Look at her.”
The under-sufferance expression Halsey had worn since they’d arrived lifted. The smile he gave her was genuine and astoundingly irritating. “She’s quite something,” he said. She is impossible. “It’s not a beauty contest. Your job is to establish contact, mention D4D is a supporter, dangle the promise of more donations and the idea that your friend”—he pointed at himself—“is a big-wheel finance guy.”
Cookie Jar was going to stare right through her if Princess Ketija was anywhere near, and being annoyed about that wasn’t helpful. “I think we should split up. I have some people to see, and it’s too soon for me to hit on the prime minister.”
She didn’t wait for him to agree, disagree, or suggest an alternative. She had her own agenda, and Halsey was the most disappointing fake boyfriend ever. He hadn’t once reached for her hand or offered the crook of his arm or looked at her like he’d spent the week wondering about the kiss that didn’t happen. Which was a gross dereliction of duty as far as she was concerned, given she’d spent the week working herself up to resisting him. Time away from him would be well spent. She headed out in the opposite direction to Cookie Jar, his cronies, and his super princess.
She’d do her own social skills warm up, make some new acquaintances, build up her confidence, and then she’d be ready to do what she came here for—kick off the first step in the downfall of a thief and a despot.
She was rocked off her game plan when the first step in the scheme came to her, moving into her line of vision with a shiver of color that should’ve been an appropriate warning, but somehow left her scrambling for words.
“Excuse me. Your shoes. I just had to come and tell you how incredible they are.”
