Page 22 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two

She gives me a reserved, closed-lipped smile.

“Here and there. Anyone can find anything if they look well enough,” she replies.

That’s a weird response, but I take it, nonetheless.

I hand the tablet back to Melissa after re-committing their images and names to my memory.

“Zane will meet you in the main ballroom,” she says, and I straighten as the hotel comes into view. Zane’s attending the gala only as my business partner, but he wanted to go as my date. I smashed that idea quickly. The last thing I need is for the press to get wind that I’m dating someone, much less the co-owner of my business. That’ll get back to my mamaandthe kids quicker than I could sing the “Empire Today” jingle.

“Right.” I nod. “Just remember to?—”

“Stick close, but not too close. I remember,” Melissa says, then, almost as an afterthought, she smiles.

“Great,” I confirm.

Showtime.

I step out on the red carpet, momentarily blinded by the flashing lights, but Melissa and the security guard guide me to the step-and-repeat, where I take required pictures. I shift my pose smoothly and catch the guard’s eye.

The heat there sends me higher. Do I want him? No, not at all. Do I love the fact that he’s attracted to me and there’s never, ever, ever gonna be a chance he’ll get this?

Fuck yes.

It’s not a class or money issue at all, more that I have all the power right now, and this strong, broad man has none. At least, when it comes to me.

My shareholder Trance Jackson and his wife are the first people I see when I enter the formal ballroom. At the center of the back wall, an octet plays a strings-only version of “Black Beatles,” which, in a way, is hilarious.

“Trance,” I say warmly, kissing his wife, Lacey, on both cheeks. “Now, you know you’re wrong for the musical selection.” I eye the septuagenarians in the corner who flush red as they take in the varied dance moves on the floor.

“Somebody’s gotta have fun at these things,” Lacey says, and I smile at her. She’s a few years younger than I am, and if I were a better person, we’d probably be friends.

But I’m not a better person. I’m a busy person, and making new friends makes my hands itch.

I look around the ballroom, searching for Zane or anyone on the Keystone team.

I don’t spot Zane, but as if by divine timing, the arrangement changes to “No New Friends” by Drake, and by even more divine alignment, Kenyon Braxton, the CEO of Keystone Financial, walks in my direction.

“I’ll leave you both to your guests,” I say graciously, making a slow line for Kenyon. He spots me almost instantly, his gaze going to my breasts.

Predictable.

“Kenyon Braxton. Just the man I’d hoped to meet tonight,” I say, dropping the tenor of my voice. Since he’s staring at my tits, it takes him a second to realize who’s just approached him.

His features tighten, almost to a grimace, when our gazes connect.

“Ah, Liv.” That’s all he says, his eyes shifting behind me.

Before he can move, though, I weave my arm around his, securing us together in lockstep.

“Walk with me, Keys,” I drawl, still smiling even though I’m on the hunt.

We make it halfway around the room before he tries to pull back, but I tighten my hold.

“Relax,” I murmur, just for him. “I just want to talk. I figured we’d skip the dance floor and get straight to business.”

“You made your point, Ms.Rivers,” he says, jaw tight. “Now let me go.”

“Oh, honey,” I purr, pausing to turn and face him fully. “This isn’t me making a point. This is me clearing my throat.”