“And my credit card is still working?” He chuckled. “I saw those photos of you on Fifth Avenue.”
“Don’t tell me you have time to read the gossip columns too? I thought Fallon was the only one checking up on me.”
“Not exactly, but I do have my ways of keeping up with what my children are up to.”
What I wouldn’t give for a little privacy in my life.
I had the option to sign off on my security detail, but that wouldn’t stop the media from constantly posting about my every move. Or at least the ones that provided them with enticing headlines.
We reached the Ellipse, where a giant crowd had gathered. The National Christmas Tree towered above everything, its branches wrapped in thousands of lights, waiting for the big moment.
A staffer guided us to our marked positions, and Dad stepped forward to deliver a brief holiday message on unity and the importance of family.
“And now, with my loved ones beside me, it’s time to light the tree.”
He pressed a button, and a burst of white light washed over the park as cheers rang out.
It looked like something straight out of a movie, and even I had to admit it felt like magic.
I’d had lessthan an hour to change my outfit once again, straighten my hair, and touch up my makeup before the reception began.
Smoothing the front of my silver Prada halter midi dress, I looked in the mirror one last time to make sure I was ready to make my appearance.
The East Room glittered with red and silver accents, and lavish holiday centerpieces adorned every table. A quartet played Christmas carols softly as guests mingled, networked, and discussed foreign policy.
I had just grabbed a flute of champagne from one of the servers circling the room when a smooth voice said, “Faye Donnelley, stealing the spotlight wherever you go.”
I turned and immediately regretted it.
Standing in front of me was Callum Whitmore. Senator Whitmore’s son was a tall, good-looking, entitled asshole who always wore a smug smile.
“Callum,” I returned, trying to sound polite. “Didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“Dad insisted I attend.” His gaze drifted over my body in a slow, appreciative sweep, and he licked his lips. “And now I’m glad he did.”
Gross.
“Well, enjoy the festivities,” I said, taking a step to leave.
He moved with me. “We really should spend more time together. We have so much in common.”
“I doubt that’s true.” At least I hoped it wasn’t.
He leaned a little too close for my liking, but not close enough for any of the Secret Service agents to treat it as a threat. “The press loves you. They love me. Imagine what they’d do if they saw the two of us out together. We’re power-couple material.”
“Uh, I don’t think so.”
“Come on. We both know you like a man who knows what he wants.”
How did he know what I liked? I was about to ask that very question when Fallon suddenly appeared at my side.
“She doesn’t like you, though.”
My brother’s expression would have appeared casual to someone who didn’t know him. I did, so I could tell he was two seconds away from having his fiancé escort Callum off the property.
“Fallon,” Callum greeted stiffly. “Good to see you.”
“Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.” He took a sip from his glass of what I assumed was Macallan single malt whisky—Dad’s favorite and always available at every party.
