Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121723 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 487(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
He took my handshake, and I respected his firm grip. He was several inches shorter than I was, but his frame was stocky and compact, as if he spent more time pounding weights than a keyboard. The picture of him on his books’ dust jackets didn’t do him justice. They didn’t reveal how cunning his eyes were.
“DuBois?” I repeated for effect and pretended to consider where I’d heard it before. “The author?”
He gave a rueful grin. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.”
“This is Evangeline Gabbard,” I said. We’d discussed it and began using the label for each other in Aspen, but the lie felt unnatural. “My girlfriend.”
They exchanged pleasantries before his focus shifted back to me. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“Of course. Welcome to my home.”
He turned his gaze up and scanned the surrounding area. “And what a home you have. I didn’t need directions. I just followed the line of Bentleys.”
His good ol’ boy routine likely worked on a lot of people, but I wasn’t susceptible. He expected to be underestimated, but his gaze was too sharp and observant. It was exactly like mine.
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s been in my family for six generations.”
“I’d love a tour sometime.” He blinked as if he had stunned himself, and embarrassment crept down his expression. “Forgive me, I’ve forgotten my manners. You have more important things to do than show some stranger around your house.”
I didn’t hesitate. “How long are you staying in Cape Hill?”
This time, his surprise was real. “After the fourth.”
Perfect. “Do you shoot skeet?” Independence Day was Tuesday, so the office would be closed. “I’m hosting a holiday game of it here on the grounds. I’d be happy to give you a tour afterward.”
He was quite pleased with this offer, likely thinking he’d have an entire afternoon to mine me—his unsuspecting target—for information. “I can’t say I’ve been before,” he said, “but I’m a quick learner. Are you sure, though? I’d hate to impose.”
“No, of course. You’d be doing us a favor. We’re currently a man short.” I gave him a grateful look. “I’ll have my assistant find you and work out the details. Her name is Sophia.”
The sun was low, and the gardens were mostly in shadow. The lights strung overhead were already on, casting a warm glow on the lawn and illuminating the rose bushes that lined the edges of the space. While the setup for the party was similar to the events I’d hosted in the past, there was a distinctly different energy tonight.
Excitement hung in the air, and it felt like I was on the cusp of reaching a new level. Smiles and laughter seemed to come quicker to the guests as they mingled around the tables and temporary dance floor.
I made the requisite rounds with Evangeline on my arm, keeping my razor-sharp tongue quiet whenever it craved to lash out and cut someone down to an appropriate size. I smiled so frequently I’d begun to worry I came off looking maniacal.
The red, white, and blue décor served both Damon’s campaign theme and the upcoming holiday, even down to the enormous birthday cake and the sparklers decorating it. After I introduced him, he gave a speech full of promises and patriotism, and when it was over, Kristin led the crowd in song.
The liquor was flowing, so I assumed the money into his campaign was as well.
When dinner and dessert were finished, the sun had set, and people moved to the dance floor. Evangeline was off in deep conversation with some of her friends, and I sat at an empty table, surveying the crowd.
It was an upbeat song, but Marist and Royce were out on the floor, swaying slowly, completely oblivious to the fast-moving dancers around them. For the first time, I saw my son and his green-haired wife as they were meant to be—two people in love, who didn’t care what anyone else thought. It almost made me smile, but my muscles were taxed from overuse.
Sophia was out there too, snapping selfies and pictures with her friends, and it was impossible not to follow her with my gaze, which I’d done most of the night. Some guy—probably from Damon’s staff—had been annoyingly hovering around her all evening like an eager puppy, and his lack of subtly made me groan.
This boy had no skill or finesse. Couldn’t he see she was so far out of his league that he was embarrassing himself? I wanted to pull him aside and inform him to stop leering at her.
She’d worn that gorgeous dress for me.
The fast song ended, and the next one was slow, the female singer crooning about love and longing. My pulse increased as the boy leaned much too close to whisper in her ear, and she reluctantly nodded. My breathing went shallow as they strolled out onto the hardwood tiles and he set his hands on her narrow waist.