This is almost better than all those old soap operas I used to watch with my grandmother when I was growing up. “Go on. I’m listening.” I turn my full attention to her, getting completely invested in the love story and completely forgetting about the role she wants me to play.
“That’s where you and Hollander come in. You will be seen as their dates at all the official and unofficial events they have to attend until the election.”
“It sounds like a good plan, but you are forgetting one thing.” I glance down at my baggy clothes. “I’m hardly pretty enough that people would believe the Senator would be interested in me.” The truth slaps me in the face as I plan my escape out of the headquarters and back to my apartment, where I can shut the world out.
I should probably stop by the animal shelter and adopt another cat.
Evie breaks through my thoughts with a snort of laughter. “Oh, honey. Have you taken a good look at yourself? You’re gorgeous. Any woman would kill for your thick curls and flawless skin. And don’t even get me started on the curves I know you’re hiding under those baggy clothes.”
My mouth drops open. Evie thinks I’m gorgeous. “I’m not. They don’t.” I stammer.
“Hush up. If you channeled your inner Goddess, you would have every man falling at your feet.” At her words, a vision of Hollander pops into my head—what I wouldn’t give to have him fall at my feet. “Luckily, I convinced Vance that you need a little makeover and some new clothes for the job. He reluctantly agreed and gave me his work credit card.” She holds up the piece of plastic with a devious smile. “Since you like movie quotes so much, how about this one—Let’s go shopping!”
Maybe she’s right. If I change my hair and clothes and start acting like Hollander’s Baby Girl, could I really have him fall at my feet? “Shopping!” I say in my best impression of the movie White Chicks.
five
Hollander
“No, I’m not going to risk Hadley’s life by sending her to work undercover.”
I replay the argument I had with my boss, Vance, over and over in my head. What was he thinking, putting Hadley’s life in danger like that? She’s a hacker, not a trained bodyguard. I slam the untouched glass of whiskey onto the smooth black marble counter at the hotel bar.
Another part of the undercover charade concerns the sleeping arrangements. It seems Senator Stinson can’t stand being without his stepsister, Klaire, by his side. As a result, Hadley and I are expected to stay in the Presidential suite with them. Our suitcases were delivered to the hotel earlier that day. I tried to reach Hadley, but she didn’t answer her phone —she’s never done that before; she always answers when I call.
Tonight’s agenda includes dinner at the Grand Royal Restaurant, the hotspot for the rich and famous. The plan is for Senator Stinson to meet me at the bar, with Klaire and Hadley arriving in his chauffeur-driven car to pick us up. Normally, I would agree that it is a solid plan, but the thought of Hadley on her own has me grinding my teeth.
“Ouch, Hollander. You look like someone stole your favorite toy.” The Senator slaps my back, pulling me out of my thoughts of Hadley.
“Sorry, Sir,” I mumble, trying to regain some professionalism. “Are you ready to go?”
“I’d hate to keep the ladies waiting.” He motions toward the door, inviting me to lead the way. Without looking directly at his normally assigned bodyguards, I know this is part of my job, protecting the Senator’s front while the rest of his bodyguards watch the rest.
As expected, his car is waiting outside the hotel. I open the door, scanning the contents to make sure everything is safe, when my eyes land on a pair of extremely shapely legs peeking out from the slit of a long, red, sparkly cocktail dress.
My eyes trail up her legs, taking in every inch of her, and I know without even looking at her face that it’s Hadley in the back of the car. When my eyes reach her face, I almost swallow my tongue—she’s stunning, though I already knew that. The soft, sleek waves of her brown hair cascade down her back, paired with her subtle, sophisticated makeup, giving her an old-time movie-star vibe.
“Hads.” My voice sounds hoarse to my ears. I climb the rest of the way into the backseat of the limousine to sit next to Hadley when I’m brought up short by a soft giggle in the seat directly in front of where Hadley is sitting.
“You sit next to me, Hollander. You’re my date.” I glance at the beautiful woman, but she doesn’t compare to my Baby Girl.
“Right. Sorry.” I straighten my suit coat and slide into the seat next to Klaire, with the Senator sliding into the seat next to Hadley right behind me.
The ride to the restaurant is almost too much to bear as the Senator and Klaire openly ogle each other, while Hadley and I take turns stealing quick glances at each other. The dinner isn’t much better, with Hadley across the table and the Senator next to her. I can’t take my eyes off her.
Klaire notices and takes matters into her own hands, sliding her arm through mine and resting her head on my shoulder, which makes my whole body tense. “Relax, or the paparazzi will figure it out,” she whispers, glancing up at me. With a slight nod, I force my body to relax and will myself not to look at Hadley, focusing instead on the Senator, who is shooting daggers at me with his eyes. “You too, Matthew,” Klaire says, smiling through her words so as not to alert the press to the real status of their relationship.
“Sorry, Klaire.” The Senator relaxes his expression and drapes his arm over Hadley’s chair in a possessive gesture, making both Klaire and me tense. My gaze shifts to Hadley to see how she is faring, only to find her beautiful face as white as a ghost. “You know, maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” The Senator lifts his napkin to his mouth in the pretense of wiping away crumbs and whispers only loud enough for our table to hear. “I think we need to go somewhere and loosen up a bit.”
***
“I never would have guessed the Senator’s idea of loosening up would be in the private back room of a semi-legal speakeasy,” Hadley whispers in my ear as we’re led to The Eighth Door’s back entrance and into a private room.
“Don’t worry. These are my people. They’re loyal to me—they won’t say a word.” The Senator grabs Klaire around the waist, pulls her onto his lap, and kisses her deeply—almost as if he’s been starving for a taste of her. The private room’s assigned bartender serves us drinks before we even have a chance to order, and doesn’t even blink at the Senator’s behavior.
With the Senator and Klaire locked in their make-out session, I turn my attention to Hadley, as I’ve been dying to all night. “You look beautiful, Baby Girl.” The nickname slips out before I can stop it.
Hadley’s eyes flare wide with a hint of desire lurking in their depths. “Thank you, Hollander.”
