The mayoral candidate’s gaze turns ill with disappointment. “Of course,” he says, and after an awkward moment, he backs off.
When the congressman eventually drifts away, Charlotte touches Ari’s hand. “Alexander Reed’s golden boy,” she teases. “So, what do you do for the Lumines Group, to earn that reputation?”
“Paperwork,” Isla answers for him.
Charlotte laughs, trying to be in on the joke. Ari just presses his lips together and smiles sidelong at her.
“Mm,” he says. “I work in public relations.”
“He’s very good at it,” Isla says.
“I’ve heard a lot about what Ari’s good at,” Charlotte muses, thinking they’re making sexual innuendos.
“Oh, stop messing with her,” Dominique protests, giving Charlotte a sympathetic look.
“I would never,” Isla replies. “I only ever mess with Ari. Isn’t that right?”
He gives her an annoyed look again, thinking about the number of times he’s almost missed a meeting because of her, or the way shewouldslip innuendos into conversations just to watch him get flustered, or the way she likes to make his job harder whenever he’s in the middle of working on someone.
Isla just laughs at his expression, finishes her drink, and launches loudly into an imaginary anecdote of them learning magic tricks in college from a roommate studying to be a magician. Charlotte leans against Ari and runs her hand idly along his back. The laughter continues, and the night settles deeper, turning from purple to blue to jet.
“Ari.”
Dominique’s voice cuts through the laughter of the guests. Her easy grin has waned, and she tilts her head without looking over her shoulder. “Rudra,” she says.
Ari looks up to see the man approaching their party. The man’s beard is peppered with gray now, his appearance older than his years, but thereis still something about him that makes Ari want to shrink away, reminds him of being young and unsure.
“Showing off to your guests again?” the man says now as he stops behind the couches. His eyes have started to look more sunken in recent years, and deep shadows blanket them in the night. “I saw that plume from the other side of the patio. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t summon the fire department here.”
“And did anyone summon the fire department?” Ari says.
Rudra ignores his comment. “Reed wants a word.”
There’s no need for more talk. Ari rises immediately. Beside him, Charlotte sinks back onto the seat in visible disappointment.
“Will I see you tonight?” she asks him.
“I don’t know,” Ari says to her. “I’m sorry. I’ll call you.”
“Friday, right? Don’t forget.”
“It’s a date,” he promises her.
“Don’t worry,” Isla tells him. “I’ll regale her with stories about you.” As Ari turns away, Isla launches into another false anecdote, and Charlotte’s disappointment fades from her face.
As Rudra leads him away, other guests turn instinctively in Ari’s direction, drawn to him as if he is a light. A group of girls casts him secret smiles, giggle about him to one another. A man tries to approach him, smiling hopefully. Another glares at him, face angry with desire. Charisma draws both obsessive love and hate—Ari has been cornered before, has been slammed against a wall, has felt hands around his neck, has had his arm grabbed so hard that it left a bruise. He is careful to be polite now, acknowledging the attention with reserved smiles before Rudra rescues him, engaging Ari in small talk until they’ve passed the crowds and stepped through the patio doors.
At last, they enter Reed’s home. The penthouse is expansive but minimally furnished, the décor tastefully muted. They cut through clusters of partygoers and past a pair of bodyguards blocking a hall, down to a quiet office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city’s skyline.
Alexander Reed is seated by the window with his glasses on, reading a newspaper. As Ari approaches, he takes a sip from his steaming mug and uses it to gesture at a pot on the round table.
“Rose tea,” he says in greeting.
It is Reed’s way of acknowledging the side effects of sand on Ari. Even as the drug enhances his charisma, it also amplifies his shyness, turning it into anxiety. Now that he’s away from the party and in a quieter place, Ari notes the uncomfortable quickening of his heartbeat, the way the anxiety tightens his chest and nibbles at the corners of his thoughts.
The rose tea helps. Ari takes a seat and pours himself a cup. “Thank you, sir.”
“Well, my Shakespeare.” Reed looks over his paper while Ari takes a sip. “I hear you’re the life of the party.”
