Page 29 of Pandora's Pleasure

“Why hasn’t he come over?” Dad muttered beneath his breath.

Mom squirmed uncomfortably in her chair.

“Damien’s busy talking with his father’s supporters,” I said, trying to defend him.

I turned in my seat so I didn’t have to watch Damien work the room—while ignoring me.

I feigned indifference, as though his behavior was perfectly acceptable, and focused on the central table display of red roses erupting out of a glass vase, their thorns calling my name.

The St. Regis Hotel’s ballroom was the location for this elaborate Saturday night fundraiser. My mom had insisted I dress appropriately for the conservative types and had picked out a Lela Rose floral-embroidered gingham dress for me to wear this evening.

I looked like a pretty doll.

I’d become accustomed to these networking events, mastering the art of the friendly smile to help snag potential supporters for our cause when necessary.

So here I was, thrust into the public eye this evening and ready to be paraded in front of the guests. My orders were to look pretty and charm the hell out of everyone.

Tonight, I secretly represented my father’s last hope of being chosen to serve alongside the President—only there was a hitch. Damien hadn’t talked to me all night. I refused to let my parents know he’d not called me in over a week. Or that my phone was no longer able to get through to his asshole device either.

A dry mouth made me want to reach for my mother’s champagne flute, but drinking in public before I was twenty-one was taboo. “I’ll go over and speak to Damien soon.”

Dad gestured for the waiter to top up his champagne glass. “You’re engaged. You have a ring.”

As though sensing we were talking about him, Damien looked over at our table…then looked away.

Considering our intimacy last Friday night, seeing him throw daggers our way left me chagrined. When he turned his back to us, the rejection hurt my heart.

But even so, I still couldn’t drag my eyes away from Damien’s suaveness. His tailored suit had been cut to perfection and the black tie made him look edgy. His raven hair had been tamed for tonight’s soirée. He stood there casually with his hands tucked into his pockets, yet he still seemed guarded—even stern and unapproachable.

Pivoting back to focus on the table centerpiece again, this time I reached out to touch the stem of a rose and purposefully pressed my finger to a thorn.

“Careful!” My mother slapped my hand away. “Go talk to him.”

“I plan to.” I clicked open my Bottega Veneta clutch purse and reached in for a tissue. Inside lay that small, black box.

I’d not opened it yet.

Maybe this had been a gift Damien had given to Madeline. Maybe giving it back through me was a message from Rhodes to him, which left me well and truly caught in the middle of her revengefuck youtour.

Because Damien had chosen me over her.

Maybe whatever was inside this box was her attempt to sabotage my relationship.

She needn’t have bothered.

Yesterday in her office at Georgetown, Madeline Rhodes had placed such importance on the box’s contents, sparking a curiosity inside me that I hadn’t been able to resist. But now…I wouldn’t be drawn in by her evil scheming.

Snapping the purse closed, I slid the strap over my shoulder and psyched myself up to approach Damien.

Rising from my chair, I gave the guests at our table a polite smile. “Excuse me.” I clutched my skirt and raised the hem a little, whooshing elegantly toward him across the ballroom.

Damien was trapped between two senators, Jacob Rommel and Scott Bruno, both good men who fought for causes that mattered.

Mattered to me, anyway.

They were already admirers of Damien’s father. I’m sure he did not see the benefit of “wasting precious time” when he could be working the room trying to convert others to Senator Godman’s crusade—not with only three weeks left until election night.

Damien gave me a subtle shake of his head in a gesture meaningnot now.