“Truly, it’s an incredible feeling, Janice,” he said smoothly. “I’m honored that Councilman Dorsey chose me for such a prestigious award. But if you’ll excuse us, we need to head inside.”
He guided me towards the steps without giving me a chance to pull away.
Inside, jazz music floated through the grand lobby, as servers in crisp white uniforms weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne. I discreetly snatched a glass and tossed it back, hoping the alcohol would dull my irritation.
Marcus, on the other hand, was in his element. He worked the room, shaking hands and schmoozing with what felt like every politician and socialite in the city. I trailed behind him, wishing he’d at least let me sit down.
“This is my wife, Jasmine,” he announced to every person we walked up to.
I wanted to throw up each time the words left his mouth. After a few hours, faces started to blur together, and my cheeks were sore from the fake smiling. I was over it.
“Do I need to talk to all these people? My feet are killing me,” I said, leaning closer to him as another balding politician and his mistress walked away.
His expression softened, and for a split second, I caught a glimpse of the Marcus I used to know. “Go sit by the bar. I’ll get you when it’s time to eat.”
Finally. He didn’t have to tell me twice. I dropped his hand and headed straight for the bar. The second my ass hit the stool, I sighed in relief. These damn stilettos were killing me—I don’t know why I let Amber talk me into buying them.
I ordered a cocktail and scanned the room. All the designer gowns and suits, the laughter, the power in this room, and not one person in here could do shit for me. Even if they wanted to, Marcus had his claws in too deep—nobody was about to cross him.
“Well, this makes my job easier,” a smooth, silky voice purred next to me.
I turned and locked eyes with a dark-skinned woman who looked like she’d just stepped off a couture runway. She was the epitome of a bad bitch—rocking a silvery blonde fade and a bronze-colored dress that gave her an almost ethereal glow.
“Do I know you?” I asked warily.
“Not exactly.” Her lips curled into a sly smile when she spotted the necklace resting against my collarbone. It widened as her gaze shifted to my hand, catching the ring before I could move it into my lap.
“Oh, he’s gonnalovethat,” she drawled with a soft chuckle, gently taking my wrist. Her cool fingers turned my hand over as she studied the ring, then brushed the pendant.
“Who?”
“Money,” she said with a mischievous glint in her eye.
My breath hitched.Money. I opened my mouth, ready to shoot off a dozen questions. Before I could, she closed her hand around mine.
“Shh,” she said softly. “Just listen. Can you do that?”
I nodded stiffly, my eyes darted to the crowd to search for Marcus.
“Good.” Her voice was almost soothing. “Now drink and keep your eyes forward.”
I’d all but forgotten the drink I’d ordered. I took another sip.
“When they seat you for dinner,” she continued. “Wait ten minutes, then excuse yourself to the bathroom. I’ll meet you there and explain the rest, okay?”
Movement in the crowd caught my attention—Marcus was making his way toward me. I nodded quickly, but when I turned back to the woman, she was already gone.
“Who were you talking to?” Marcus asked, looking at the chair she’d just been in.
I blinked blankly. “Huh? Who are you talking about? The bartender?”
He narrowed his eyes. “That woman with blonde hair,” he pressed.
“Oh.” I waved a hand dismissively, bringing the drink to my lips. “I don’t know, she was complimenting my dress.”
“Hm.” He didn’t look convinced. “They’re about to seat us for dinner.”
He hooked his arm in mine and led me through the crowded ballroom. Around us, the air was filled with chatter and clinking glasses, as the jazz band continued to play. I felt myself pushed into another guest, as someone bumped into Marcus hard.
