Yours in Scandal

by Layne, Lauren

  The dress’s hem hit somewhere between her knees and mid-thigh, and it had a subtle sweetheart neckline with a hint of cleavage. Not Addie cleavage—her early-twenties self had rarely chosen anything that wasn’t one sneeze away from a nip-slip. This dress had classy cleavage, and even still, it was the first time in a while that the girls had felt any fresh air.

  The real star of the show, however, was the back of the dress, where the straps crisscrossed in an X to center in on an enormous bow that gave a playful femininity to what would have been an otherwise forgettable dress.

  In the safety of her apartment, she’d loved the dress—in fact, with it on, she’d felt the most like herself in years. But as she slipped on the black heeled sandals and looked at herself in the mirror now, she felt strangely vulnerable.

  The makeup made her eyes look wide and girlish, the glossy lips made her look younger than usual, and the loose hairstyle instead of her typical bun made her look like . . .

  Addie.

  Her stomach dropped out as she realized the dark hair was the only thing that kept her from looking exactly like Addie Brennan.

  The thought should have terrified her, and it did. She in no way wanted to be associated with that part of her life. But she was also shocked by the thrill of familiarity. She looked and felt like her old self.

  Here was hoping she’d be the only one to note the similarities.

  Luckily, she had access to the guest list and had been through it enough to know that while she recognized several names, most were limited to city politics. None were from her father’s inner circle. She’d also paid extra attention to any media names on the list and had been relieved to see that the mayor had opted for newer faces on the press scene. Unless they had a party crasher, there’d be no sign of the paps who’d once followed her every move and every misstep, of which there had been many.

  Going tonight was still risky, but she was going for it. Perhaps she was going for it because it was risky, because for all the potential pitfalls, she felt decidedly excited.

  Adeline had started putting her makeup away and stuffing her clothes into her bag when she thought she heard a popping noise from the other side of the door.

  Zipping up the bag, she opened the door a crack and blinked in surprise at the sight of the mayor of New York City holding two glasses of champagne, and not looking the least bit surprised to see her.

  “Mr. Mayor?”

  “Any chance of you calling me Robert?” he asked with a smile.

  She stepped all the way into the living room, and his smile froze as his gaze drifted over her in frank masculine appreciation. To his credit, he dragged his eyes back to her face almost immediately, but it didn’t diminish the warm, tingling feeling she felt everywhere.

  “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said, feeling awkward as she set her bags by the door. “I’m so sorry if this is weird. I said I could change downstairs, but—”

  He approached with the sparkling wine and handed her a flute. “Kenny told me. I don’t mind.”

  “So, do you have all your employees change in your guest room?”

  “You’re not my employee.” He clinked his glass to hers.

  “You’re paying me for a service.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Tawdry phrasing, Ms. Blake.”

  “Only if you interpret it like a perv, Mr. Mayor.”

  He choked a little on his champagne. “See, this is why I need you around. I don’t think anyone’s ever called me a perv in my life.”

  She shrugged and took a sip of the champagne. She tilted her head when she realized what he was wearing. “You’re already dressed? Do you come out of the box in a tux or something?”

  “I’ve been home for a couple minutes. Bow ties are tricky, but not quite as elaborate as . . .” He waved his flute over her.

  “Oh, I have a bow, too!” she said, impulsively turning around to show him her favorite part of the dress. “See?”

  The mayor’s response was just a beat too slow in coming, and sounded a little rough. “Yes, Adeline. I see.”

  She froze at the sound of her first name, realizing it was the first time that he’d used it. But when she turned around, keeping the motion slow and casual, to search his face and see if he realized it, it was unreadable.

  “Ready to show me your handiwork?” he asked, nodding toward the door. “You can leave your stuff here.”

  “You haven’t seen downstairs yet?”

  He shook his head, and she felt a rush of pleasure that she’d get to see his face when he saw the party setup for the first time.

  “Absolutely.” She started to set her champagne down on a table, but he shook his head.

  “Take it with you.”

  “But I can’t—”

  “My house, remember? At least for a couple more weeks.”

  Her heart twisted at the regret she heard in those words, but she still shook her head. “Your house, yes. But I’m still the event planner. Not your personal guest.”

  The mayor opened his mouth, and she knew he wanted to argue, but he nodded in acknowledgment. “Fine. But I’m taking mine.”

  “As you should,” she said with a smile as he opened the front door for her.

  “Okay, so it’s not going to be quite ready yet,” she explained, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice as they headed downstairs. “We still have—” Instinctively, she reached out to tilt his watch hand toward her, since she’d taken her own watch off when she’d gotten dressed. “An hour,” she said, reading the time.

  He glanced down at her, and she bit her lip, realizing that one did not simply manhandle the mayor of New York City’s left hand.

  “Sorry,” she said, belatedly registering the heat of him, even through the French cuff of his white sleeve. She dropped his hand. “I get a little excited right before an event.”

  His gaze locked on hers. “Did you hear me complaining?”

  Her breath caught as she realized they’d both stopped walking at the base of the stairs. It was a quiet no-man’s-land of the mansion—not his offices, not the event space, but not quite his private quarters, either.

  They were trapped in between private and public, trapped in between professional relationship and . . . friendship?

  Not friendship. Not just friendship, anyway.

  Friends didn’t look at friends the way the mayor was looking at her. The way she suspected she was looking back at him.

  He leaned in—or was it her imagination?—and Adeline realized that she wanted him. She wanted to taste the champagne on his lips, wanted to muss his bow tie, wanted to—

  “Mr. Mayor?”

  His head snapped up, and he glanced over the top of hers. “Yeah. Charlie, what’s up?”

  “I apologize, sir. I didn’t mean to interrupt. We just were trying to locate you.”

  “Sorry about that.” He didn’t sound sorry at all.

  As they walked into the main hallway, she lowered her voice. “Did you seriously give your bodyguards the slip?”

  “It’s weird, they don’t seem to approve of me trapping pretty women in darkened hallways while carrying booze.”

  “Very odd,” she said with a smile, both relieved and disappointed that the strange moment had passed. Then disappointment was replaced once more by those anxious, excited butterflies as she remembered he was about to see her hard work from the past few weeks.

  She was always expectant when a client was about to see her work, hoping she’d exceeded expectations, but it felt extra important tonight. Especially since she’d taken a big risk at a formal black-tie event for a powerful elected official.

  “Wow,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased as they stepped into the hallway where guests would get their first impression.

  She’d kept this part elegant and relatively classic, with flower arrangements large enough to be impressive, but not so massive as to be in the way of milling guests.

  They entered the ballroom, which was more of the sam
e, though she’d taken a bit more risk here. In addition to the orange flowers contrasting the dark green tablecloths, she’d also brought in hundreds of white balloons to cover the ceiling with alternating orange and emerald strings.

  “Too much?” she asked, biting her lips. “I wanted to bring a touch of modern into the otherwise stuffy space.” Her eyes went wide. “Not stuffy, I just meant . . .”

  His hand touched her back lightly. “Ms. Blake. It’s perfect.”

  Pleasure at the praise mingled with displeasure that she was back to Ms. Blake, even though she knew it was for the best.

  “Well, hold that thought,” she said, gesturing for him to follow her into one of the parlors off of the main room.

  He stepped into the smaller room with her, and she held her breath, waiting, since the “surprise” was fairly self-explanatory. Or so she thought.

  Perhaps not. Because he still hadn’t said anything . . .

  Shit. “It’s not too late to make it go away,” she said in a rush. “We have extra tables and flowers, so we can make it a spillover room for people to gather . . .”

  He continued to stare at the tables, each with a different board game. Monopoly. Scrabble. Battleship. Chutes and Ladders. Candy Land.

  “It’s a game room,” he said quietly.

  “You said you wished the parties could be a little more fun,” she said. “And I thought it would be a fun dichotomy to have old-fashioned board games at a black-tie event. These things are usually staid—no offense—and I thought if we could combine formal with something a little more carefree . . .”

  He touched her wrist, much in the same way she’d touched his earlier when looking at his watch. Except it wasn’t the same.

  She’d touched him almost accidentally. His touch was warm. Deliberate. Lingering.

  “It’s perfect,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes, his hand dropping lower, fingertips brushing teasingly over her palm before he stepped away. “Absolutely perfect.”

  The butterflies were back.

  But they had nothing to do with the party.

  A couple of hours later, Adeline did yet another idle lap around the famed Wedgwood blue reception salon. She relaxed a bit more with each lap, relieved to see that not only were the guests seeming to enjoy the party but she’d heard a couple declare it the mayor’s “best yet.”

  “Champagne?”

  Adeline smiled at the server wearing a white tux shirt and black vest, almost telling him that she was the woman who’d hired him, then decided . . . what the hell. She’d done a good job. Everything was running smoothly. Luciana had the back of the house under control. And Adeline wanted to celebrate.

  She accepted an elegant flute from the silver tray, along with a dark green cocktail napkin with the Manhattan skyline discreetly monogrammed in the corner.

  “It’s better than you’d guess.”

  “Hmm?” Adeline turned toward the unfamiliar voice as the server moved on.

  A man who looked to be in his early thirties smiled at her, lifting his half-full glass of champagne. “The bubbly. It’s quite good. You can tell Davenport dips into family money instead of city funds for his parties.”

  Davenport. Not a formal Mr. Mayor, but not a personal Robert, either.

  “You’re in politics?” she guessed.

  He gave a friendly grin. “What gave me away?” The man shifted his glass to his left hand and extended his right. “Eddie Graham. Adviser to Glenn Covey.”

  Ah. Glenn Covey was one of two men running to take over the mayor seat in November. The race between him and opponent Ned Olivo had been a fairly acrimonious one, with both sides irritated at Robert’s disinclination to publicly support either candidate.

  “How do you fit into all this?” Eddie asked, gesturing to the room.

  “I work for the mayor.”

  “Oh?” He tilted his head. “I thought I knew all the players, but I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I think I’d remember,” he added, letting his eyes linger on the neckline of her dress just a moment too long.

  Adeline gave him a pointedly cool look as she took a sip of her champagne, letting him know what she thought of his straight out of a political drama rerun line. Although she was almost grateful for his understated sleaziness. It was a good reminder that she wanted no part of this world. She’d stay long enough to appease the mayor’s insistence that she get a good read on the guests’ mood, and then—

  “Ms. Blake.”

  She turned, smiling when she saw the friendly face of the mayor’s chief of staff. “Mr. Lamb! Good to see you again.”

  “You’re killing me. Kenny, please.” He turned to Eddie, his smile widening, although she could have sworn his gaze cooled just slightly. “Eddie. It’s been a while. How are you?”

  “About how you’d expect this close to Election Day.”

  “Right.” Kenny turned to Adeline. “He tell you he’s after my job?”

  Eddie gave a short laugh. “Gotta get my guy in office first. Would sure help if your guy would back him up.”

  “You know, I just heard that exact same sentiment from Phil Day. Unfortunately, the current mayor is not a puppet.”

  “Or maybe it’s not you who pulls the strings.”

  Kenny’s affable smile never wavered, but the subtle shift in his posture had Eddie swallowing nervously. Adeline realized that for all of Kenny’s easygoing schoolteacher vibes, he was no pushover.

  “If you’ll excuse us,” he said, dismissing Eddie in a bored voice. “The mayor’s asked that Ms. Blake spare a few minutes of her time.”

  Adeline let Kenny lead her away with a brief touch to her back. “Who’s Phil Day?” she asked in a low voice.

  “The guy who’ll be chief of staff if Olivo wins.”

  “Ah, so that guy’s nemesis,” she said, pointing her head back to Eddie.

  “Exactly.”

  “I was surprised to see the mayor invited both of them.”

  “And their bosses.” Kenny stopped to grab a stuffed mushroom off a tray.

  “Isn’t that sort of inviting fireworks this close to the election?” she asked, shaking her head when offered a mushroom.

  He gave an indifferent shrug. “The mayor always aspires to take the politics out of politics at these things. He says we’re all just people and should treat each other as such.”

  “A noble stance, though perhaps an easier one to take when you’re the most powerful man in the room.”

  “Is that a trace of cynicism I’m hearing, Ms. Blake?”

  Adeline spun around to find the mayor looking down at her with a slight smile. “Um—”

  He held up a hand. “No, you were right. It’s certainly easy to spout lofty ideals from the top of the food chain.”

  “True. Though your track record indicates you do your best to make them a reality,” she admitted.

  His smile warmed. “Kenny,” he said, without looking away from her, “mark the time and date as the moment I won over Ms. Adeline Blake.”

  “Don’t go getting excited,” she retorted. “I just meant you seem to put your money where your mouth is compared to a lot of politicians.”

  A certain politician in particular came to mind.

  He leaned down. “Does that mean I can count on your vote in the next election?” he asked in a mocking whisper.

  His words were meant as teasing—and they would have been harmless had he been talking to Adeline Blake, event planner.

  But he was also talking to Addie Brennan, daughter of Governor Brennan.

  She’d known it was coming. The signs had been there, the rumors were rampant. But hearing it out loud felt a bit like a thousand pieces of glass clattering to the floor. Or maybe those were just the pieces of her heart, the undisputable confirmation of something she kept forgetting: Robert Davenport would soon be a candidate for governor. And she, as the daughter of his opponent, couldn’t be anywhere near him. As a friend, event planner, or otherwise.

  “Next election?
So you are running for governor?” She forced herself to ask the question, figuring if she heard it point blank, it would be the impetus she needed to keep a professional distance.

  She could have sworn she heard Kenny groan under his breath, but she didn’t look away from the mayor.

  His eyes met hers steadily, though there was the slightest flicker of something . . . Regret? Uncertainty? “Nothing’s official,” he replied, “but—”

  She held up her hand. “I don’t want the spin version, Mr. Mayor. Yes or no.”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple distinct against his bow tie. “Yes.”

  She gave a stiff nod, knowing her reaction was odd—no event planner should care this much about his political career—but she was unable to manage even a fake smile as she mustered a polite response. “Congratulations. Best of luck, Mr. Mayor.”

  Her voice was flat and a little cold. She heard it, and he must have, too, because his eyes narrowed.

  “Best of luck?” he repeated, lightly mocking. “I’m not some stranger you’ve just met. A couple of hours ago you were naked in my apartment.”

  “Don’t say it like that,” she hissed. “You know full well there’s nothing sexual between us.”

  “No?” He moved closer, and Adeline stepped back too quickly, losing her footing on the stiletto heels. The mayor reached out, setting a hand to her back to steady her, and she gasped at the contact of his palm against her bare flesh.

  She slowly slipped away, her smooth movements belying the pounding of her heart as she turned and made her way toward the side of the room.

  “Ms. Blake. Wait. Adeline.” His fingers hooked around her upper arm and pulled her gently around. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to check on the caterers.”

  “The caterers—What—”

  She pulled her arm aside, a quick glance around the room verifying they were getting several curious looks.

  “Please,” she said softly. “I don’t belong here.”

  “You seemed to be doing just fine earlier.”

  I was pretending. “You don’t know me,” she said, reaching for the door.

  He shifted his weight slightly, not blocking her way, but forcing her attention back to him. “So let me,” he said softly. “Let me get to know you.”