Dad flushed and then, with a quick nod of his head, he turned and walked away, which was all the proof I needed that the devil works in mysterious ways, and the devil, quite possibly, was Dante Spence.
When I refused to take his arm, he guided me toward the quieter edge of the conference room, his hand warm and steady against my back, his public smile still in place for anyone watching.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hissed.
“Same as you,” he murmured without looking at me. “Playing my role, while taking a quick break with afriend.”
“That’s your role.” I gestured subtly toward the donors now watching us as if we were a Hallmark movie. “Where you play corporate quarterback, not here with me,friend.”
He finally glanced down at me, his smile curling just enough to be private. “You think the team can win games without winning rooms like this first?”
There it was again — the shift. The reminder that Dante was more than just the guy who got under my skin. He could move through this world as if he owned it. The most unsettling part? I wasn’t entirely sure I hated it.
Dante was about to say something — something irritating, I was sure — when a voice like a champagne cork popping cut in.
“Well, well. Aren’t you two just the picture?”
I turned, and Mrs. Whitmore, queen of the faculty’s events committee and serial gossiper, was beaming at us like she’d just stumbled into a headline in the sports pages. Her diamonds winked in the light, almost as bright as her teeth.
“Savannah, you look beautiful as always,” she said, already sliding in between us like she’d been invited. “Care to introduce me?”
My brows lifted so high I was pretty sure they’d left my forehead. “You don’t know who he is?” I asked, glancing at Dante.
His smile was as blinding as hers, only sharper. “Ma’am, Dante Spence. Pleasure to meet you.” He flicked a glance myway, and the pointedness of it hit me like a jolt — sharp, sudden, and impossible to ignore.
“Mrs. Whitmore,” I said quickly, “heads the organizational committees for several other fundraisers within the faculty events calendar. Mrs. Whitmore, this is Dante Spence, the quarterback of the Alabama Lions.”
“I thought I recognized you,” she said, and I barely held back my scoff. “And how do you know Savannah?” she asked him, her gaze flicking between us.
His jaw tightened. “We know each other from campus.”
Mrs. Whitmore waved that off like it was adorable that he was pretending. “Of course you do, Savannah’s such a popular girl.”
I was?It was news to me.
She carried on regardless. “Still, it’s just lovely to see our quarterback with such a charming young lady. You two make such a striking couple.”
Couple?I felt my mouth go dry. “We’re not—”
“Savannah’s a liaison with the Academic Administration,” Dante cut in, smooth as polished glass. “She tutors, as well as does...otherthings around campus.”
He didn’t miss the sharp glare I gave him at the mention of ‘other things.’
“Oh! Well, that makes sense,” Mrs. Whitmore trilled, oblivious to the tension between us. Or so I thought, and then I caught the look in her eyes, moving between us, calculating. “Still, you’d better keep an eye on this one, Savannah. He’s the darling of our pride right now.” She winked at Dante, the pun felt forced, and he didn’t react. “We wouldn’t want him breaking any hearts before next season starts.”
With that ambiguous statement, she was off to charm someone else into writing another check. I exhaled slowly, realizing I’d been holding my breath.
Dante’s smirk was faint but very much there. “That was fun.”
“Other things around campus,” I muttered, even though my cheeks felt hot. “I hate you.”
“Sure you do,” he said, then turned back toward the cluster of boosters waiting for him like he was the main attraction — which, in this room, he probably was. “Do you want to wait here, or come with me?”
“It’s not me that will convince them to write the checks,” I said, turning away in case anyone could lip-read.
Dante flashed his teeth as he looked out over the room. “In that dress?” he said, turning to look at me. “I wouldn’t be too sure.”
He walked away before I could comment; my tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth. Did he just compliment me?
