I’d apologized. I’d let that weight off of my conscience and then departed again before my body decided it wanted a repeat performance of last weekend. It was my fault I was in this predicament to begin with. I’d been the one to suggest the game. I’d been the one to dare him. I’d also been more drunk than I’d been since college. But it wasn’t an excuse. I’d dared him on purpose. I’d wanted to feel something. Anything. Anything but the sterile beat of my own heart that had been with me for over a year now.
Damn Russell. Damn Nash. Damn Senator Fenway. Damn men.
I was determined not to be that person. I wasn’t going to be bitter or drowned in sorrow, and I certainly wasn’t going to pine away after a man who wanted someone else, regardless of the reasons for it. I just hadn’t understood it until he’d all but shoved me out of the house.
I swallowed half of a water bottle just as Georgie found me. She looked gorgeous, her slim, white dress sparkling in the twinkle lights. The gems spread over it with a heavy hand could have been gaudy, but on Georgie, they just looked perfect. She could easily have been a model, like her mother, but instead, she was trying to change the world by working with our lawyer friend on immigration reform.
“Thank you again for getting my mom here,” Georgie said as she hugged me. She was radiating happiness and joy.
“Thank the douche at the State Department who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants,” I said with a shrug.
“The unfaithful of D.C. Does it ever end?” she asked, sighing.
“Not unless you get out, like me.”
“We haven’t gotten to talk much lately. You okay?”
Somehow, it had been Georgie and not any of my family members who’d seen my weak moments in the last year. She’d been the one to suggest I see a therapist about it all, and I had. I still had work to do, but I knew I was going to be okay with time.
“I’m good. Better now that I’m not in D.C.,” I said, meaning it.
“Anything on the burner for jobs?” she asked.
I scoffed. “Not you, too.”
She grimaced. “We all know that you coming to a full stop isn’t going to last for long. It isn’t your style.”
She was right. I’d been bored in the week I’d been home before I’d gone to Tristan’s. I’d been bored at Tristan’s. And if it hadn’t been for the wedding this week, I would have been bored this week.
“Any guy on your horizon?” Georgie asked.
Brady was making his way through the crowd toward us, and I couldn’t help but smile at him. One of the good things about Brady was that he was always happy. You’d hardly know he was famous by the way he acted, accepting everyone, talking to everyone. No I’m-too-famous-for-you vibe ever came off of him. Georgie saw my smile, and she frowned.
“Not him. I love Brady like he’s my brother, but you know he’s never serious—not about anyone—right?” she asked.
I laughed. “Absolutely. I’m not falling into his bed, if that’s what you’re worried about. He’s very much not my type.”
And he wasn’t. He was all floppy. A puppy dog with a smile. Like some huge golden retriever or something. The one who made my blood pump harder than it ever had before was dark, moody, and taken—and not by me.
When Brady reached Georgie and me, he stepped between us and threw an arm around our shoulders. His sweatiness, as apparent as mine, made Georgie protest.
“Ick, get your smelly pits off me, my shoulders, and my dress. I have no desire to smell like Brady sweat tonight.”
Brady’s eyebrows went up and down. “No, I’m sure Mac would hate you coming to bed smelling like another guy.”
He removed his arm from her shoulder but not mine. “Dani here doesn’t seem to mind my smelliness.”
“I grew up with a smelly brother, and I’ve been dancing as hard as you. It would be hypocritical of me if I protested,” I said with a shrug.
“Are you coming back to the dance floor?” he asked.
I couldn’t help my eyes darting to a table in the corner of the yard. A table where I could feel dark-green eyes taking me in. It didn’t matter. What was done was done. “Maybe. But I need to catch my breath for a few more minutes.”
“Did you really fire your PR manager?” Georgie asked Brady. It had been in all the tabloids recently. The woman had done something Brady wouldn’t talk about. He’d just come out and asked the news to respect his and her privacy, and that had been the end of it.
“I did,” he said, smile fading in a way so not him that it raised my natural curiosity. The curiosity that had served me well on The Hill, eking out morsels the senator could use to his advantage.
“And you won’t tell us why?” Georgie asked before I could say anything.
“You always were such a gossip,” Brady teased.
“You work at a hair salon for as many years as I did and asking people questions about their lives becomes second nature.” She shrugged.
Brady leaned in and whispered, “She stole a bunch of money from me.”
We both stared in shock. It was the last thing I’d expected to hear from him.
He continued, “But if you say that aloud to another living soul, I’ll have to send a hitman after both of you, because we signed a nondisclosure agreement.”
“She stole money from you?” I repeated, stunned. It shouldn’t surprise me. There was so much money passing around, above, below, and next to the table in D.C. that it was almost a given someone would be taking from someone else’s pocket. But it hadn’t been outright stealing. It had been back scratches and handshakes with dollars attached.
Ava joined us, her thick, dark hair twisted up but somehow still
