Page 94 of Rebel Romeo

The only thing that sucks more than heartbreak like that…

Is going through it when your friend is out and about living the high life.

Except if what I’m living is the high life, then God help me when I hit rock bottom.

I’m standing just outside Senator Dorsey’s upper west side townhouse. I’m more than fashionably late based on the music and shadows of people I can see through the closed curtains. He’d said this would be a small party for the producers, but it seems like as with most things, the senator and I have different definitions of the word small.

I adjust my pashmina around my shoulders to try to cover my cleavage, rather unsuccessfully, then finally, I lift my fist and give a few hearty knocks at the door.

Distant sounds of loud laughter and conversation emanating from inside the townhouse grow louder as footsteps approach the entrance. Instinctively, I take a step away from the door before steadying myself and straightening my posture. As I wait for it to open, beads of sweat begin to form on the backs of my thighs—damn my sweaty butt.

If I thought my anxiety would wane as soon as the door opened, I was severely mistaken. Standing there, holding open the front door and wearing a crisp navy suit and a cool smile is none other than Senator Dorsey himself.

I’m not sure who I expected to answer the door. Some sort of butler or footman like in Downton Abbey?

“Ms. Harris," he says, his voice deceptively warm. "You finally did it. I was wondering how long you were going to stand on my front stoop waffling between knocking or not.”

"You knew I was here?"

He taps the doorbell. "Hidden camera."

I inspect it closer. It's not like the normal Ring camera doorbells I usually see. There's a pinprick hole at the top and that's it. To the naked eye, it simply looks like any old doorbell.

“Come on in." He waves me into the foyer—a grand entrance that effectively mixes the old with the new. My heels click against the marble floors and an old carved wood staircase curves in a corkscrew to the upstairs, adding warmth and history to the home.

It's everything I would expect from Senator Dorsey.

"Let me take your wrap." It's more of an order than an offer, and since he doesn't even wait for a response from me before he's removing it from my shoulders, I don't bother arguing with him.

Lots of people mill about the foyer and living room. "I thought you said this was a small dinner party?"

He glances around. "In my circle, anything less than thirty is small. We changed it from a sit down dinner to a catered event with small plates being walked around by servers.”

My cheeks heat a little as a man passes by with some sort of lobster puff pastry. I’ve done plenty of catering events just like this through the city and I have no doubt Senator Dorsey knows that.

"So,” I start. “It’s less of a producer's meeting and more of a...?"

"More of an investor's soiree. Which is why it's important that our leading lady be in attendance."

"I see," I say. Only I don't see. I don't see at all. "And is Missy aware that I was invited tonight?"

Senator Dorsey tilts his head, regarding me carefully. "As a producer of our show, I'd hope she'd be thrilled that you're in attendance."

I snort my opinion of his assessment. If he were anyone else, I'd think him naive. But this is Senator Dorsey we're talking about here. The man is anything but naive. While I hate to admit it, most times, he's ten steps ahead of me.

"As a producer, yes, I would hope she'd be thrilled. As the girlfriend to my ex-boyfriend? I'm thinking she's probably going to be less than thrilled."

The senator nods, his hands sliding casually into his pockets. "If that's the case, then tonight is a good litmus test to see what exactly she can handle." A dark cloud passes over his eyes that makes a shiver tumble down my spine.

Senator Dorsey is not a man you mess with. And Missy cheated on his only son. I have no doubt that even though Holden and Erik Dorsey aren’t exactly on great terms with each other, the senator would annihilate anyone who betrayed his family. The only person allowed to do that is Senator Dorsey, himself.

Across the room, someone calls for the senator. In a snap, the darkness in his gaze is gone and the vanilla pleasantness he's known for in politics is back. “I can see where Holden gets his acting talent from,” I say.

With a chuckle, Senator Dorsey takes a sip of his champagne. “You always were clever.”

I watch him as he sweeps through the crowd. Dazzling smile, gladhanding his way from person to person. He's like the eye of a hurricane. When you're directly next to him, you're safe and calm. But move one step in the wrong direction out of line and his winds will demolish you.

I know what it's like to be in Missy's position. I've been caught in one of Senator Dorsey's torrential downpours before; I've been subject to his tests when I didn't even realize I was on trial. She's far from my favorite person and while I don't owe her a damn thing, I can't let her walk into this fire unarmed.

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