Page 88 of Finding Lord Landry

I missed these guys. I missed them so much it hurt.

“I won’t get selected,” I said again, even though I was tired of being the only person who believed it. “There are several candidates in the running who are way more qualified than I am. They’ve been here for years, networking and establishing connections. Everything I’ve done here has been via email and phone calls only. Those relationships don’t exist for me the way they do for the other candidates.”

Silas shook his head. “The PM wouldn’t have put his support behind you without being confident in your success.”

“You’re being naive, Landry.” This time, the admonishment came from an unlikely source. Zane’s boyfriend, Ryan, crossed his arms in front of his broad chest. “Politics is a chess game played by experts. They don’t make a move without looking several moves ahead. Sometimes pieces are sacrificed to protect other pieces or moved to protect other pieces. And sometimes the move is a distraction tactic to make your opponent think you’re doing one thing when you’re actually doing another. I’m not saying Baines has any nefarious motive here, but I am saying—as I’m sure others have said already—there’s little chance he’s putting you up without believing you’ll get the seat.”

By the time I dressed for the dinner, I was in a shit mood. Not only was I tired from sleepless nights spent hard and aching against a man I couldn’t have, but I was also finally coming to the conclusion thatIwas the one in denial about the House of Lords situation.

There was a very good chance I would get selected, not because I deserved it but because other people were pulling the strings.

I imagined most people would be happy in my shoes. In a way, I was happy myself. The position would keep me busy and distracted. It would let me continue a proud family legacy. It would let me do some good in the world.

But I’d be stuck half a world away from most of the people I loved, doing a job I didn’t love, and depriving better candidates in the process.

Cora knocked on my bedroom door. “Landry? Kenji’s been downstairs and ready for half an hour. What’s taking you so long? The car is waiting.”

I wasn’t going to explain the elaborate dressing choreography I’d done to ensure I didn’t see any of Kenji’s bare body before he was safely out of the room. “Coming.”

Cora’s elegant gown looked amazing in the warm, dim lighting of the corridor.

“Is that Dolce?” I asked in surprise, recognizing the zebra chiffon. “I thought you were wearing Vivienne Westwood tonight.”

As usual, she’d asked me to hook her up with some contacts in the fashion industry. She’d frequently claimed the only thing having a supermodel cousin was good for was the couture.

She flushed and looked away, her eyelashes fluttering inky black against her smooth cheek. “Jamie Winthrop suggested something a little more young and fun. Well, to be fair, I told him I wished I could wear this dress instead of the red gown but that I worried about upsetting our donors. He reminded me that charitable giving isn’t just done by old fuddy-duddies. Do you think it’s okay? Not too much?”

My cousin rarely expressed nervousness, and I wondered if my old Eton frenemy had some sort of scheme to use my cousin to get closer to my husband. “I think you look drop-dead gorgeous,” I admitted, offering her an appreciative smile. “And if it makes your mother have a coronary, more’s the better, right?”

She waved an elegant hand as we neared the top of the stairs. “She’s already approved since it’s from an established fashion house. Had the exact same dress been designed by an up-and-comer, she would have gasped and insisted I change.”

I escorted her down the stairs where Kenji and Jamie Winthrop were standing, chatting happily.Or possibly flirting, some dark corner of my brain that had read too many scandal headlines suggested.Maybe that reporter had a point.

Knowing how irrational I was being only made my mood darker.

“You look amazing,” Kenji exclaimed, eyes only on Cora. “That dress is gorgeous.”

Jamie stared like a cartoon character with eyeballs on springs. “Shit.”

Cora let out a nervous laugh. “That bad, eh? I look like shit?”

He strode quickly forward and reached for her hand, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek and whisper something in her ear I couldn’t make out. Whatever he said must have done the trick because she smiled and returned the cheek kiss.

“Right, then,” I said quickly. “Wouldn’t want to be late to our own show.”

The next hour was a whirlwind of event-staff greetings and prep at the Royal Horseguards Hotel. The dinner itself would be held in the Gladstone Library, but the receiving line and cocktail hour were held outside of it in a different area. As we finally waited for the first actual guests to enter, Kenji stepped in front of me and reached out to fuss with my bow tie.

The upper half of his hair was pulled back neatly in a knot while the rest flowed down past his shoulders in a dark, glossy spread. His eyebrows were neatly shaped, his lips pink and full.

“You look fucking beautiful,” I said under my breath.

He glanced up before focusing on the bow tie again. “You sound upset about that,” he murmured.

“I am.”

Though he rolled his eyes, his gaze didn’t leave the tie. “I’d askwhy, but since you’re avoiding conversations with me?—”

“Because every man and woman in this place will get the opportunity to flirt with you, to talk to you, to dance with you without being shot down.”

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