Page 16 of The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

As if to prove something to myself, I waltzed up to the table and stopped close enough beside him my arm brushed his jacket. He glanced down at me before looking back to the middle-aged woman he spoke with like I was merely a part of the décor.

“Well,” the blonde socialite said, a blush warming her cheeks, “my daughter couldn’t speak more highly of you, and I’m so glad you could make it. I know how busy a man like you must be. The crime in this city has been growing every year.”

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“It’s been my pleasure entirely, ma’am.”

I couldn’t hold in a quiet scoff.

Allister’s lips tipped up, though he didn’t glance my way.

The words he said to me one year ago filled with his voice once again. Refined, slightly rough, with an amused edge like he always knew something the other didn’t.

The socialite glanced my way for a second before dismissing me and gazing at the fed, but then, as if she’d just processed what she saw, looked back at me.

She stared without a blink. “I’m sorry . . . can I help you?”

I pulled the check I’d written out of my bra and handed it to her. She held onto a corner gingerly, until she unfolded it and looked at the amount.

“Wow,” she breathed. “This is incredibly generous. Thank you so much.” She scribbled something on a slip of paper and then handed out a clipboard. “I just need you to complete this short form, please.” When I only stared at it, she pressed, “Donor information and a tax receipt.” Her voice lowered. “You can claim this on your taxes.”

“Oh, I don’t pay taxes.”

She blinked.

Allister grabbed the clipboard. “She’ll fill it out.”

“Okay . . . great.” She took a step to the side before drifting away.

“Tell me, do you think before you talk? Or do you just let things spew out?”

“Well,” I said, frowning, “that time, I didn’t think, no. But how am I supposed to know about taxes? Antonio said he doesn’t have to pay them.”

“Everyone has to pay taxes. It’s the law.”

“Oh, the one you’re so good at upholding?”

He shoved the clipboard in my direction. “Fill out the form and shut your mouth before I have to arrest you for tax evasion.”

“Seems a little counterproductive, considering you’d have to let me out as soon as my husband finds out.”

A muscle in his jaw tightened. “He’s your savior, is he?”

I tensed at the dark tone in his voice—a tone that made me feel as if he knew more of my story than he should.

“He’s my husband,” I replied, as if that said everything, when, really, it said nothing at all.

I grabbed the clipboard. However, he held onto it for a second, his gaze touching my face before he finally let it go. He turned to look out into the ballroom, bringing a tumbler of some clear liquid to his lips. Probably water, knowing what a killjoy he was.

“You look like you got lost on your way to a grunge concert.”

“Fortunately, no,” I said, filling out the form. “I would be pissed if I missed it.”

“What did you do to your hair?”

“What?” My lips formed a pout. “You don’t like it? I did it for you. I heard you like blondes.”

“You been thinking about me?” he drawled.