We weren’t late … very. Just enough so that a few heads turned as we walked in. I held my head high and pretended I belonged at Parker’s side.
Since he was wearing a tux, I’d chosen a black gown with long sleeves—handy for covering the stitches on my arm—which sounded boring. But it was made with sheer and Lycra netting with geometric embroidery. So the neckline plunged and the sides were cut out, sheer netting holding the dress onto my body. It was backless despite the long sleeves, cutting into a deep V down my lower back. It was classy and sexy all at once. I’d put my hair up to show off the back of the dress to full advantage.
When I’d stepped out of my bedroom, Parker had gone utterly still.
“Is this okay?” I’d asked, nervous when he hadn’t said anything. I vividly remembered his disapproval of the cocktail dress I’d worn in New York.
“You look … I have no words,” he’d said, which had made me smile. “No, wait. Yes, I do. Beautiful. Sophisticated. Elegant. Sexy as hell.”
I was still riding high on the glow those compliments had produced as Parker walked us around the hotel ballroom. There had to be at least five hundred people there and I sipped sparingly on the champagne a passing waiter had given me, not wanting to have a fuzzy head when Parker was counting on me to help him remember our clients.
“So anyone famous here?” I asked in between greeting people.
Parker laughed lightly. “Doubtful,” he said. “And you’d probably recognize them before I would.” Which was true. He rarely paid attention to popular culture, whereas I could rattle off who was dating who in Hollywood quicker than I could recite the alphabet.
He spotted someone who raised their hand in greeting.
“Who’s that?” he asked in an undertone as we headed that way.
I searched my brain. “Lucas Miller and his wife Shelly,” I said. “He used to be the CFO for Bradley Investments. Then he quit for a comparable job at KCG. Rumor was he was having an affair with the boss’s wife.” I finished in a whisper just as we stopped in front of the couple.
“Lucas, so good to see you,” Parker said, shaking the man’s hand. “How are things at KCG?”
We chatted with them a little—“How’s your oldest? Isn’t he starting at Stanford?”—then moved on. Parker knew most of those who approached us, but occasionally needed a reminder.
“She’s the marketing analyst for Dugen & Little,” I said, nodding toward a woman standing in a group a few feet away. “Renee Jones. Her husband William is retired, paints in his spare time and fancies himself the next Van Gogh.”
“Renee, what a pleasure to see you again,” Parker greeted her. “And William, how’s the painting going?”
I could tell by the smile on Renee’s face and the way that William launched into an animated description of his latest work that it had been a nice touch, asking about the painting.
And so it went. It felt a little like a high school pop quiz, but I passed with flying colors. By the time Parker was seating me at dinner, I’d allowed myself a whole glass of champagne and was starting on my second.
In the back of my mind, I worried about Ryker. What he was doing and if he was safe. It gnawed at me and my helplessness was frustrating.
“Parker Anderson. It’s been a while.”
I turned to see a man standing behind me, shaking hands with Parker. Tall and broad, he had dirty blond hair, green eyes, and a strong jaw. His smile was easy and pleasant, and I nailed him for a politician instantly.
“Senator, yes, it’s good to see you,” Parker said. “I didn’t realize you’d be here.”
“I try to help out party candidates when I can,” the man said, glancing down at me.
“This is my assistant, Sage,” Parker said. “Sage, this is Senator Kirk.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I replied with a smile.
“Likewise.”
Now that the smile was turned my way, I could see the appeal he had to have for voters. He looked as all-American as it was possible to be. Trustworthy, honorable, courageous … all adjectives I could easily see describing him. And I didn’t detect the bullshit factor that politicians usually exuded despite themselves.
“Would you care to join us?” Parker asked, but the senator shook his head.
“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m heading home for a quick visit—checking in on my new nephew and sister-in-law while my brother’s out of town—then it’s back to D.C.”
“Excellent. How old is he?”
“Three months,” he said. “It’s their first.”
“I hope she’s doing well then. Best wishes to her, and you,” Parker said.
“Thank you, I appreciate it. She seemed to be managing … last time I spoke with her.” Something flickered in his eyes at that, so briefly I thought I must have imagined it. Then he turned to me.
“A pleasure meeting you, Sage.” He smiled again, gave Parker a nod, then he was gone.
Parker took the seat next to me. “I didn’t think I’d see him here.”