A knowing smile played at her lips, aquiet sense of satisfaction settling in her chest. He had a taste for the best, always gravitating toward quality over showmanship. This was something she could do for him—something that wasn’t about politics, clever maneuvers, or the careful game they were both navigating. It was personal.
She reached for the bidding sheet, the fine paper crisp beneath her fingertips, intent on securing it for him. With a smooth, deliberate stroke, she recorded her bid, the ink drying almost instantly against the pristine surface. The thought of surprising him with it, of seeing that flicker of appreciation in his gaze, sent a small pulse of warmth through her, filling her with the rare pleasure of doing something for him without expectation or design.
Then a shadow fell across the table.
A presence. Intentional.Calculated.
A hand, casual but deliberate, placed a bid higher thanhers.
Jazz turned.
Alistair Vex stood beside her, his lips curved in a smile that didn’t touch hiseyes.
“Mrs. Dante. Or maybe I’ll just call you Jazz,” he said smoothly, with an air of presumption, as if they were already familiar, as if he had some right to address her so casually. “Enjoying your evening?”
The words were polished, meticulously chosen, but the undercurrent beneath them was anything but cordial. There was a heft behind them, apremeditated edge that pressed into the space between them, daring her to misstep.
Jazz held his gaze, her expression unreadable. “It’s a lovely event, Senator.”
He inclined his head, the barest tilt, but it was a predator’s movement. “That’s good to hear. After all, it’s important that you enjoyyourself.” His lips curved slightly. “Even if others hold the reins.”
Jazz stiffened, her fingers gripped around the pen. Aslow exhale escaped her lips, measured, careful. She could feel the intention of his words pressing against her, heavy with unspoken intent. He wanted a reaction, afalter, even the slightest indication that his words had unsettled her. But she refused to give himthat.
Instead, she let the tension settle, let it stretch between them like a taut wire, waiting to be plucked. Her fingers brushed the cool surface of the table, holding hers in the moment, in the game unfolding between them. She had been raised around men who wielded clout like a blade, who understood the nuances of leverage. And she understood something now—Alistair Vex was no different. He expected her to yield, to shrink beneath his carefully constructed authority. But Jazz Dante didn’t shrink for anyone.
She set the pendown.
Methis gaze.
And smiled.
Even if others hold the reins?Is that he truly thought? “Somehow,” she murmured, “I doubt that.”
His eyes gleamed with something biting, something vaguely amused.
Then, without another word, he reached forward and placed another bid. Higher. He didn’t smirk, didn’t make a show of it. Instead, he moved with a quiet, assured precision, as if the act was beneath his concern, an afterthought rather than a challenge. His pen barely made a sound against the bidding sheet, but the intent behind it echoed loudly. It was the kind of power play that didn’t need flair—it thrived on certainty. On expectation. On the assumption that, of course, he wouldwin.
Jazz’s fingers flexed slightly at her sides, instinctively twitching before she smoothed them against the table’s edge. The urge to react, to grip something tangible, passed quickly, replaced by the ease she forced into her movements. Aflicker of irritation sparked in her chest—not at losing the bid, but at the deliberate, callous natureof his move. He wasn’t bidding for the whiskey. He was bidding for control.
Amusement curved at the corner of her lips, though she wasn’t sure if she truly found the situation funny or if she simply refused to give him the satisfaction of a visible reaction. Either way, she met his gaze, unshaken.
Jazz didn’t look down at the paper.
She didn’t need to. She already knew exactly what had happened, what he was trying to do. The deliberate nature of his bid, the way he’d placed it so smoothly, so casually, as if it were nothing, yet with a heaviness that was impossible to ignore. It was a statement dressed in expensive silk and a charming smile. And yet, it didn’t unnerve her—it only solidified her resolve. She wasn’t here to be maneuvered. Not by him, not by anyone.
She merely tilted her head. “It’s a lovely evening, Senator. Ithink I’ll go enjoy it.”
Subtle.
But the message was clear, woven into the deliberate eleganceof her words, the way she carried herself with effortless grace. It wasn’t about what she said—it was about what she didn’t. She had refused to engage in his game, refused to rise to the bait he dangled so carefully. And in doing so, she had delivered a quiet but undeniable blow, one that left no room for misinterpretation.
She was not intimidated.
She was not impressed.
And she certainly was not under his authority.
Worse, was the hint that she’d enjoy her evening more once she was well away fromhim.
