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The fringe of his emerald scarf scored across her middle, a final public cut, as he turned to walk off, leaving a hole in the crowd in his wake. A hundr
ed pairs of eyes lasered in on Lenny, frozen in place, watching her face flame and the fragile remains of her reputation go up in smoke.
She looked for somewhere to put her champagne flute, her hand shaking. She caught the vicious interest in Delilah Schwartzman’s eyes and knew the full horror of this was still to come. The gossip, the donors who’d drop out, but she couldn’t afford to make this a bigger scandal by showing her despair. She gripped the stem of the flute so hard it might snap in her hand. Any minute now the bell would go, calling everyone back to their seats and saving her further embarrassment.
“Prime Minister. You wished to talk with me.” That voice edged in shards of glass was close behind her, so unlike Halsey’s it made her start, slopping champagne over her hand. It cut through the gossipy murmurs and stopped Cookie Jar. Made him turn back.
“I wish to have the two of you arrested,” he growled.
Halsey put his hand to her shoulder. It was all she could do not to crumple into the shelter of him.
“Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with the Kandinsky being a forgery? I’m as much a victim as you.” He ran a finger over her bare shoulder and slowly down her arm, making her twitch from the unexpectedness of that intimate gesture in this strained moment. “And you cannot seriously think little Lenny Bradshaw has the wherewithal to con you,” he said with an amused snort.
She flinched away from the wrongness of his touch as the intermission bell rang. Had he called her little?
He was nervous. Hadn’t expected a confrontation like this. Cookie Jar must’ve stood him up. Her head was spinning, and her heart was beating too fast. She had to hold it together if she was going to salvage any self-respect out of this.
“I think she is your partner in crime,” Cookie Jar said with a flourish of his hand in her direction. “Her family—”
Halsey laughed over him. “I find that most amusing.” That laugh was mean and harsh and so unlike him it spiked painfully, deep in her chest, making her gasp. “Her father was a crook, but Lenny is too honest for her own good. I feel sorry for her. She’s a pretty diversion, nothing more. My personal charity case until she becomes a liability.”
A diversion.
Her stomach lurched and she recoiled, taking a step away from Halsey. There was nowhere to put her drink, no way to stop her eyes stinging, making her blink on unshed tears.
A liability.
That’s exactly what her surname was, and the whole room was just reminded of it.
What was he doing? Embarrassing her all over again.
Halsey wasn’t looking at her, his jaw was hard, and his body was rigid. He might as well be a stranger.
“You needed me,” she said, voice raised in confusion. So much he’d come to her in the rain, loved her with nothing held back, and looked at her with something like utter devotion.
And she loved him. Oh, God, she was in love with him, and all he felt for her was sorry; all he needed her for was to keep his con alive.
She stared at him, but he didn’t break his focus on Cookie Jar to acknowledge her.
She’d been such a fool. Believing he was a better man than her father. That she wouldn’t be taken in.
No one was moving. The bell got louder, but not louder than the alarm that went off in her head when Halsey took her chin in his hand.
“Desperate people are easy to manipulate, Lenore. You should know that.”
And she’d thought she was manipulating him.
The whole room tilted. The whole world. This couldn’t be happening. She wrenched free.
He looked her over. Coldly. “Run along, PowerPoint Girl. Let the men talk business.”
The lid on the anger she’d pushed down lifted; bitterness scorched her lungs and pricked her skin. He was a bastard, an untrustworthy liar. She’d known it. Ignored it. One minute he acted like he was in love with her and then next he made her his stooge without missing a beat. She couldn’t catch a breath or her balance, and her throat was too tight to let her speak.
She threw her drink in his face.
There was a shocked exclamation from those standing closest, and she forced out the words, “Fuck you, Halsey Sherwood.” He shouldn’t be too surprised. He was the one who’d taught her sometimes you had to throw things.
He said what sounded like “good girl” in a muffled voice as he wiped a hand over his face.
