The dress pulls tight across her hips as she walks, fabric stretched over the generous curve of her ass, and I memorize every detail—the way her body moves, the confidence in her stride, the way she doesn’t flinch when I keep my palm pressed against her even after we clear the narrow hallway.
She glances back once, her expression unreadable, and I meet her gaze without dropping my hand.
When we reach the edge of the ballroom, she steps away smoothly, creating distance that feels deliberate. “Thanks for the escort.”
“Anytime.”
She gives me one last assessing look, then disappears into the crowd near the silent auction tables.
I don’t follow this time. I’ve already taken more risks tonight than I allow myself in a month.
Oleg reappears at my side, silent and expectant.
“Diana Clarke,” I say quietly, my eyes tracking her across the room even as I force myself to turn away. “I need a background check on her. Something tells me there’s more than meets the eye.”
“You got it, Boss.”
I don’t look back at her as I leave, but the shape of her stays burned into my mind—the weight of her waist beneath my hands, the challenge in her voice, the way she didn’t step back when she should have.
I already know I’ll see her again.
Oleg walks with me toward the valet station, his expression neutral but his silence pointed. He knows better than to ask questions I haven’t invited, but twenty years working together means he reads me well enough to sense when something’s shifted.
“Background check,” he says eventually, voice low. “Standard depth or comprehensive?”
“Comprehensive.” I pause near the marble column outside the ballroom entrance, adjusting my watch. “Employment records, financial activity, social connections. If she’s filed anything with campaign oversight offices in the last two years, I want copies.”
“She made Whitmore uncomfortable.” Oleg’s tone is flat, observational. “That takes either ignorance or confidence.”
“She’s not ignorant.”
“Then she’s dangerous.”
I consider that. Dangerous implies threat, and threat requires response. What I felt in that hallway wasn’t threat—it was possibility. The difference matters, even if I can’t articulate why.
“What’s the concern?” Oleg presses. “She digs into donor allocations. If she traces Whitmore’s funding sources back far enough—”
“She won’t get that far.” I meet his gaze directly. “I want to know if she’s already started, though.”
He studies me for a beat too long, and I know what he’s thinking. This isn’t standard risk assessment. Standard would be flagging her file and moving on. This is personal interest wrapped in operational justification.
“How soon do you need it?”
“Tomorrow morning. Early.”
Oleg nods once, then adds carefully, “People are going to ask why we’re spending resources on a marketing consultant.”
“It’s precautionary.” My jaw tightens. “She confronted a donor we’ve spent months protecting. That makes her relevant.”
“Understood.” He doesn’t push further, but the skepticism lingers in his expression as he turns toward the valet line.
I head toward my car, ignoring the tightness in my chest that has nothing to do with operational security and everything to do with the memory of her waist beneath my hands.
Chapter Two - Diana
I wake up with the gala still clinging to my thoughts, fragments of conversation and champagne glasses and that hallway encounter I can’t quite shake. The man’s face has already blurred in my memory—dark suit, pale eyes maybe, something about the way he stood too close—but his voice remains crisp and unsettling.
The kind of voice that makes you aware of every word you choose in response.
