Page 108 of Paper Doll

I can’t help but smirk, still picturing that rare glimpse we got of the cracks in Senator Ford’s veneer. “It definitely was.”

Her eyes flick up, finally meeting mine, and I see the storm brewing behind them. She’s moved past her shock and embarrassment. Now she’s just pissed.

“You humiliated me,” she whispers sharply.

I roll my eyes. “You’ll survive.”

She blinks back at me, scoffing under her breath. “Do you just… say whatever you want and expect people to be okay with it?”

I tilt my head slightly, pretending to consider. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Her glare darkens. “That’s not okay, Ford. You used me to piss off your father.”

“So?” I scoff.

“I’m not your pawn.”

“Nah,” I chuckle, my grip on her tightening subtly as I spin us slow and tight. “But you make one hell of a weapon, Ava baby.”

Something flickers across her face– confusion, hesitation, maybe even a spark of understanding– but then it’s gone, her brow furrowing again as she shakes her head slowly.

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” I agree, eyes locked on hers. “But you already knew that. Unlike everyone else in this room, I don’t hide who I am.” I lean in, my mouth brushing her ear again. “And if you’re so mad at me, then why haven’t you walked away yet?”

I feel her breath catch, my fingers flexing at the small of her back, holding her close. She doesn’t answer, but she also doesn’t make any move to pull away.

My lips spread into a feral grin. “That’s what I thought.”

CHAPTER 44

AVA

The champagnein my glass catches the light, refracting it like diamonds wrapped in liquid gold fizzing under the chandeliers. It’s my third of the night, or maybe fourth. It’s starting to sink into my skin now, softening the edges of my thoughts and settling in a delicious hum behind my eyes. It’s the kind of buzz that makes everything shimmer and the music sound sweeter, even though something inside me won’t quite let go and relax completely.

I’m tucked at a table near the edge of the dance floor, a quiet little island in a glittering sea of wealth and opulence. My dress clings to me like a second skin of silver silk, the designer label it boasts making it seem as if I fit right in with these people. I don’t, but just like last night, I’m trying to pretend, hoping it’ll get me through.

Across the room, Ford’s engaged in conversation with a guy at the bar who could be his mirror image if someone scrubbed away all the ink and sin. They’ve got the same harsh bone structure, impossibly sharp jawline, and lean, muscular build. It’s obvious that they’re related– brothers, I’m guessing– and those Ford family genes are a rare gift.

I lift my champagne glass, stopping short of bringing it to my lips when I realize they’re both now looking my way, catching me staring.

Embarrassment coats my cheeks.

I should still be mad–furious,honestly– but the bubbles in my head have made room for reckless curiosity. I toy with the stem of my glass, nerves fizzing louder than the champagne. Ford says something else to the guy I assume is his brother and they both laugh. Then they turn to head my way.

My pulse quickens, veins buzzing with anticipation as Ford stalks across the room with vicious intent. Then someone else steps in front of me, blocking my view of his approach.

“Ava,” Senator Ford drawls, his smile politician-perfect, teeth gleaming. He extends a hand toward me, palm up. “Care to dance?”

My heart stutters. My gut saysno,but etiquette– and maybe a tiny spark of vengeance– saysyes.

“Sure,” I reply sweetly, slipping my hand into his and allowing him to guide me to my feet.

I can feel Ford’s glare on me as he closes in, but I purposefully avoid looking in his direction as his father leads me onto the dance floor. Senator Ford’s fingers wrap around mine, light and controlled. It’s the kind of touch that’s used to being obeyed–unlike his son’s, which always borders on bruising, possessive in a way that makes it impossible to ignore.

And yet somehow, this refined, practiced touch makes my skin crawl even more.

It’s just a dance. A few minutes of pretending, of floating through someone else’s polished, perfect world, with the added bonus of making Ford feel just a fraction of the indignation I felt after the way he introduced me.