Page 55 of Love Me Knot

“Yes,” I answer, straightening out nonexistent wrinkles in my dress.

“Sambi has everything set up. The rest of his and our people will begin filtering in in another ten minutes or so. Ready to get this show on the road?”

I nod toward the senior operative, and Jackson pulls on his mask. “You ready to be your normal, annoying self?” I ask sweetly.

“Always,” he rumbles.

Jackson and I enter the great room to greet Sambi and thus begin the careful dance. We’re to be nothing more than gracious hosts all night as if this were a real party. We’ll mingle, sample the delicious fare prepared by local chefs, sip champagne, and dance to the live ensemble playing outside by the pool.

With each new guest that arrives, security checks them in, and eventually, a buzz in the room indicates our target is here. Harding breezes in, sporting the plain white Guy Fawkes mask provided to him. Harding didn’t bring his wife. Interesting.

I discreetly watch his interaction with our door security and make a game time decision. “Jackson, take a hike,” I whisper quickly.

“What?” he whisper yells.

“Come back in three minutes. Please.”

I expect to plead my case, but Jackson doesn’t fight me. He shows his confidence in me by walking away. “Three minutes,” he whispers as he turns to leave.

Fish escorts Congressman Harding to me and introduces him. “Ma’am. May I introduce Congressman Calvin Harding and his aide, Bernard Pollack.”

Harding doesn’t acknowledge Fish, so I mirror his behavior toward the staff and ignore his aide as well. “Congressman, so pleased you could make it,” I purr.

The fake smile and too-long handshake make me want to gag, but I keep perfect composure. “Thank you for the invitation. I was surprised at the effort you spent in getting me here.”

I’m in heels, and Harding stands eye-to-eye with me. That puts him at six feet. His compact frame hints at a disciplined fitness regimen. Impeccably styled dark hair peaks over the white mask, and his rehearsed smile reveals perfect, white teeth.

Harding skims the grand home, dollar signs flashing in his cunning blue eyes. He then carefully includes my body in his perusal before commenting, “The masks are a curious if enthralling choice.”

Harding’s wandering eye settles me into my least favorite role. Dammit. I give him a sultry laugh, draping my fingers over my throat. “Yes, well, some of our potential benefactors in attendance aren’t sure how well their viewpoint would be received back home. I’m sure you understand, as you’re the sole voice in Washington leading this effort.”

Harding dismisses my praise with calculating charm and studies my face through the mask. Feigning ignorance, he asks, “We haven’t met before, have we?”

“Not directly, no. I’m told we recently attended an event together, but our paths never crossed.” Because I was saved by a savvy admiral.

“Had I known you were there, I would have sought you out. Like many, we’ve begun following your career. I’m pleased to see someone with values that align with my own bravely speaking out. Sadly, our government’s use of private military is a touchy subject.”

The self-important man preens with the praise. “Yes, and what is your position on the matter?”

“I believe the entirety of our defense budget should be spent on our service men and women.”

I let myself become animated, and Jackson arrives seconds later, placing a restraining hand on my shoulder. “Sorry about that. My wife gets a little passionate where my safety is concerned.” He extends a hand to the congressman. “Lieutenant Jackson Bennett.”

Harding’s brows rise. “Oh, you serve?”

Jackson nods. “US Navy. SEAL Team Two.”

Harding takes note of Jackson’s hand still on me, and I step out from under my fake husband’s hold. To his credit, Jackson doesn’t react. Harding, however, does.

The man relaxes, and the corner of his lips raises ever so slightly. Got him. I paste my smile back on, shift toward the prick, and narrow my act to two possible roles. Both of which I hate. “This reception is a meeting of minds per se. A means to garner support for this movement, monetarily and in voice and strategy. And, if I may be so bold, to devise a way to make the idea more palatable for the mainstream voter.” Intentionally, as if it were an afterthought, I add, “My husband could touch on how redirecting contracting budgets would benefit active service members.”

I let my eyes light up again and continue. “I could address the flawed psychological motivations for someone to go private, and a few benefactors would propose lobbying opportunities.” Adding a smile for effect, I propose, “That’s where you come in. We want to approach and provide backing for the right candidates to advance this cause.”

Harding bristles at the possibility of sharing the spotlight but recovers quickly. “I am just one man, after all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Without you taking this stand, there would be no movement. These mongrels_”

“Now, honey,” Jackson chides. “Sure, I’ve had some bad experiences with contractors, but some of them are just like us, working men and women who wish to support this country.”

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