Page 19 of The Faking Game
My arm is still wrapped around Nora. She turns to me, and my hand finds the curve of her waist. In her heels, she’s only a few inches shorter than me.
“Why are those women over there,” she murmurs, “staring at me like I’m the enemy?”
“Because they probably think you are.”
Her teeth dig into her full lower lip, and heat shoots through me at the sight. There’s something unexpected in her beauty, something unique. It hits you right beneath the breastbone.
She’s not someone you look at and forget.
“Explain it to me,” she says. “If I’m going to play this part tonight, if we’re… dating tonight… tell me.”
I look past her. There are too many people in this room, too many ears that might overhear. So I nod toward the opening leading to the dining room instead. “Come. Let me show you around.”
She nods, but her eyes are still narrowed.
“And yes, I’ll explain it to you.”
“Good.”
My home has been transformed over the past few days.
There was a line of cars on the tree-lined driveway coming in. Fairhaven rarely has this many guests anymore. After my father died, and since my mother moved into the city, it’s mine.For now.I’ll lose it in five months if I don’t find a way out of the damn marriage rule. Like the controlling bastard he was, the Maverick is still dictating the family’s decisions from beyond the grave.
I’ve never been less grateful to John F. Calloway.
The usually quiet rooms are filled with a low hum of voices of laughter, of music, creating a background swirl of noise. There’s a champagne tower flanked by the open French doors to the terrace and the ocean beyond it. Champagne coupes all stacked upon one another with the golden liquid overflowing.
I reach for two from the top and hand Nora one. “My mother,” I say, “loves to play games.”
Nora looks at me through long lashes. “Like you?”
“She enjoys a different kind. The social ones. This fundraiser is for a charity she’s on the board of.”
The people around me are vaguely familiar, and I know it’s only a matter of time before we’ll be set on by the hordes. There was a time in my life where this sort of thing energized me. The social game, the connections, the strategies. I was young and eager to prove myself.
Then my father died, and I took on the helm of Calloway Holdings, and I had to make sure I don’t become the Calloway that fucks it all up. That Cal Steel doesn’t fail, that the family wealth remains diversified, that our thousands of employees are well-treated.
Making small talk with my second cousin twice removed over the latest political dealings in Washington feels like a waste of time after that.
“But you don’t like being here.” She looks at me with eyes that see far more than I’d like. “Do you?”
“This is my house.”
“You know what I mean. The party.”
“Not particularly.” I’d been the heir for years before Dad passed. But that day was far in the future, until it suddenly wasn’t, and now all of them want access to and influence over me. Leveraging old family or friendship connections intodonate to my gubernatorial campaign.
“Huh.” She takes another sip of her champagne and looks around the room. She’s tense, even if she’s wearing that soft, serviceable smile. Such a pretty liar. She doesn’t want to be here either.
“You mean something by thathuh.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
She rolls her eyes, and the placid smile breaks. “Fine, I do.”
“Tell me.”
