I stood in front of my bathroom mirror and prepped myself for the free most-expensive free dinner I’d ever been to in my life. I was tired, and I lacked the energy required to head back out again, but I wasn’t about to miss the chance to talk to Marshall Bellamy. After more than a dozen wardrobe changes during my shopping spree with Maddie the night before, I’d settled on a black, one-shoulder maxi dress. It wasn’t even close to what Maddie had in mind. She’d brought a slew of bright, extravagant outfits to my dressing room, but none of them were my style. In the end, she conceded, knowing if she didn’t approve of the simpler black dress, I’d quit trying and wear something from home.
Assessing my look in the hotel’s mirror an hour later, I felt a bit like Cinderella. And aside from my long, dark hair, I looked the part too.
Maddie glanced at me and said, “You ready for this?”
Not even close.
“I guess,” I said.
“What’s the plan?”
“I need to find a nonchalant way to start a conversation with Marshall Bellamy.”
She pondered ideas for a moment. “I got it. I’ll hit on someone in his circle of friends, and then you can join me. Easy peasy.”
“What about the mayor? Aren’t you his date tonight?”
“Nah. He likes to mingle with his pals at these events and talk about whatever it is men talk about when they huddle up. He knows I’m going home with him when this shindig is over, and that’s what matters to him.”
I still wasn’t sure about her plan, but if anyone could pull off flirting while appearing genuine at the same time, it was Maddie.
The grand ballroom in the Belvedere was decorated in a lavish, art-deco vibe. Stunning white floral centerpieces dressed the middle of each table. The tables themselves were covered with satin tablecloths, a perfect accompaniment to the crystal chandeliers hanging overhead. I stood a moment and took it all in.
“So, this is what a thousand bucks gets you,” I said. “Not bad.”
Maddie canvassed the room, made eye contact with the mayor, and gave my arm a squeeze. “Head to the bar and get yourself a drink. I’m going to say a quick hello to Brian, and then I’ll join you, and we can kick this undercover party off.”
She headed in the mayor’s direction, and I tried not to pay any mind to the curious onlookers who watched me as I made my way to the bar. No matter how I was dressed, I still didn’t fit in. Maddie, who seemed to be in her element, floated across the room like it was her party.
The bartender smiled when I approached and said, “What can I get you?”
“I’m not sure. What are my options?”
He held up a finger and walked to the other side to grab a menu for me.
“Have a Manhattan,” a female voice said.
I spun around and faced my new companion, who stood so close to me, I could feel her breath on my face. I smiled and tried to pretend the invasion of my personal bubble hadn’t bothered me in the slightest.
“Thanks for the suggestion,” I said. “I’m not big on whiskey.”
“What are you big on?”
“Excuse me?”
“Drinks, honey. What do you like to drink?”
“Martinis.”
“Gin or vodka?”
“Gin.”
The woman was about twenty years my senior and had a close relationship with facial fillers. She wore a long, violet gown that cinched at the waist, giving her figure a more flattering look. She set what I assumed had once been a full Manhattan on the counter and snapped her finger at the bartender. “Two more, please, pronto. One for me, and … well, a second for me. Heaven knows I’ll need at least four more if I’m to get through the entire night.”
I shifted my focus to a pile of haphazard bar napkins in disarray. I reached out, stacked them the right way, and leaned back, pleased my OCD had done its job for the night.
I turned my focus back to the woman and noticed something I hadn’t before. “You, umm, have a bit of red lipstick on your cheek.”
“I do? Figures no one cared enough to tell me. Thank you for pointing it out.” She reached over the bar for a napkin, dipped it in what was left of the drink she’d just set on the bar, and gave it to me. “Would you mind?”
I did mind, but it would have been rude not to oblige her. I dabbed the lipstick off her face, ordered a martini, and glanced at Maddie, who was still chatting away with the mayor.
“Who are you?” the woman asked. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“Sloane Monroe. I live near Park City.”
“We have a villa we stay in up there during ski season. I’m Kathryn. Nice to meet you. Who are you here with tonight?”
I pointed in the mayor’s direction. “Maddison LaFoe. She’s in the coral dress.”
“And is she with the mayor tonight as well?”
It was a conversation I should have had with Maddie before we arrived—what to say if I was drilled about her in her absence.
“She knows a lot of people here tonight,” I said.
“I’ll bet she does. Are you single or are you … well, looking?”
It wasn’t hard to determine where she was going with her line of questioning.
“I’m not interested in any of the men here, if that’s what you’re asking,” I said.
“Well, aren’t you a rare bird! Truth is, I hate these things—these puffed-up, stuffy events. I’d rather sit at home in front of the TV and watch a movie.”
“Me too,” I said. “Who are you here with tonight?”
She raised a finger and pointed at Marshall Bellamy who was canoodling with a curvy blond woman at a table nearby.
“You’re married to the senator?” I asked.
“It’s unfortunate, but yes. I could take the high road like others do when they say they stayed for the children, but we have no children, and I guess I’ve grown too used to the lifestyle to change it now. Pathetic excuse, I suppose. But there you have it.”
Well, there’s some honesty for ya. I couldn’t believe she’d just spewed out this information to a stranger. But I wasn’t about to stop her.
I watched her watch him, and I could almost feel the pain she emanated as he pranced from one woman to the next like a stag in a room full of eligible does. He became aware we were eyeing him, excused himself from the table, and made a beeline in our direction. It looked like I wouldn’t need Maddie’s help after all.
Bellamy gave me what I assumed was his signature senatorial grin and said, “And who do we have here?”
“This is Sloane Monroe,” Kathryn said.
I thought about waiting to turn up the heat, which had been my original plan, and then changed my mind. I stuck a hand toward him and said, “Sloane Monroe. My friends call me Bunny.”
His eyes narrowed, but he remained stoic.
“How are you enjoying the dinner party?” he asked. “First time? You, ahh … here with anyone, Bunny?”
“I’m enjoying myself so far. And you can call me Sloane. We’re not friends.”
He elbowed my arm and said, “Not yet. Night’s still young.”
The sudden flicker in Kathryn’s eyes let me know she was enraged with her husband’s inconsiderate, flirtatious comment. She reached for one of her new Manhattan’s and flung it in his face.
“The nerve of you!” she hissed. “It’s enough to watch you flirt with every woman in this place from a distance. Now you choose to do it right in front of my face? I will not tolerate it!”