Liz caught up to the waiter as he opened a side door that led to a flight of stairs. He held the door for her and allowed her to enter before him. They walked up the stairs and into one of the second-floor balconies that overlooked the patrons below.
The VIP lounge really wasn’t anything fancy. No different from the room below except more sparsely populated and with way more staff. Okay, so maybe the booths carpeted in a red velvet material were a bit newer and the black high-topped tables and chairs had more shine to them. It sure was nice to have a long horseshoe-shaped bar in the center of the room all to yourself, but none of it was all that extravagant.
This certainly wasn’t what she had been expecting VIP to look like. Where was the swanky furniture and crème-de-la-crème clientele? Apparently she had been watching too much TV lately. It wasn’t as if she had suddenly been transported to Los Angeles. This was still just Raleigh.
“Who am I supposed to be meeting?” Liz asked the waiter as she took a large drink of the whiskey sour he had brought for her. She couldn’t believe she was here right now. It wasn’t her style at all.
“The man is in the corner,” the waiter said, gesturing to the only full table.
“Which person?” Liz asked, her eyes scrutinizing the table.
“You can’t see him from here. He’s packed into the corner, but he’s expecting you,” the waiter said before disappearing into the stairwell.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, taking another sip to calm her nerves.
It was now or never. She took a deep breath and slowly walked across the room. She wanted to look calm and collected, as if guys in VIP lounges bought her drinks all the time. As she got closer, a blonde at the table glanced over her shoulder and snickered. Why did she look familiar?
Liz had always been good with details. Her high school boyfriend used to make fun of her for being able to remember every aspect of their relationship—every date they had been on, what shirt he was wearing, the exact date of their first kiss, first dance, and first time holding hands—the list went on. The skill had manifested at an early age, and it was damn good in journalism.
Crap. Liz knew where she had seen the woman before. That was Maxwell’s press secretary. Liz’s heart sped up…could this be related to her question for Brady? That didn’t seem to make sense to her. She was missing a piece of the puzzle. It couldn’t be from Brady himself…could it?
A number of heads turned to face her as she approached. She felt heat rise on the back of her neck.
“May we help you?” a short, stocky guy in a charcoal suit jacket asked her. He was more than pudgy, with caterpillar eyebrows and beady eyes that swept her body. He was like Trent, but with the authority and self-importance of a VIP.
“I was sent over here by a waiter,” she said. She held her whiskey sour up for their inspection.
“Did someone order a drink?” the guy asked, looking around the table with a knowing glint in his brown eyes. “Anybody?”
Two women in the corner buried their heads in their hands. The blonde looked amused, but said nothing. Now Liz was getting pissed off. Was this all a bad joke? Pick on a girl on the main floor…choose a likely victim? Was she being used for their amusement? She pursed her lips, feeling the edges pull down into a frown.
“Someone up here bought me a drink,” she said frostily. “I doubt it was you. So, if you could point me to the individual who has some semblance of class, I’ll be happy to get out of your way.”
The man glared daggers at her. He didn’t seem the type to approve of a woman with a mouth, and she couldn’t seem to close hers when she got angry. Controlling her temper had never been one of her strong suits. He managed to stutter out a laugh before responding, “We have a feisty one here.”
Liz rolled her eyes. She really didn’t have the patience for this. “Fine. I’ll take my drink and go then.”
“Hold on a second, hon,” he said, reaching out and grabbing her arm.
Liz gave him a pointed look and he hastily withdrew his hand.
“It’s all fun and games. No need to get so irritated,” he grumbled.
Liz shrugged. If he wasn’t being helpful, then she didn’t feel the need to be polite.
“Well, you’re no fun. He’s over there. Had to take a phone call,” he said, pointing at a man leaning against the railing, partially obscured by a crowd of women.
“Thanks,” she said, walking away as fast as could. She heard him grumble something under his breath, but she ignored him.
Liz reached the wall and was able to get a look at the guy talking on his smartphone.
Her heart sank along with her stomach.
Brady Maxwell III.
A sitting State Senator had bought her a drink. This was not real life. This didn’t happen to her. Hadn’t she just insulted him in front of a roomful of people? No, she had done her job. He had a pretty face, body, smile…okay, he was flat-out gorgeous, but it didn’t mean she would stop doing her job.
Was she even allowed to be here? She was going home to write an article about him, and it wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine either. She couldn’t be seen with him. She looked down at her drink and eeped! She nearly dropped it onto the carpeted floor. She had accepted a drink from a man she was about to write a scathing article about. Was she insane?
“Sorry, Jerry, give me one second,” Brady said into the phone.
He turned to look at her and she froze. Her insides felt like Jell-O, or that wobbly feeling after getting out of the ocean after being tossed around by the waves. Her head was hazy, like a morning fog had taken up residence where her wit normally resided.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Brady demanded, staring at her intensely.
Liz looked away and then back up at him. Standing here right now was a bad idea. Maybe she should just head out after all. She wanted to know why he had bought her a drink…and he was so handsome, but she knew this had bad news written all over it. Still, she felt rooted to the spot.
She watched him finish his phone call and memorized every inch of his face in those couple minutes. Where he had been freshly shaven and clean cut early this afternoon, a five-o’clock shadow was growing in along his jawline. She could see that he liked to lick his perfect lips while he was talking, and they were slightly chapped due to the habit. He talked with his hands more when he was making a point, and she really liked those hands. She bet he had a firm handshake…a firm grasp. When he smiled, he got little creases around his eyes, making them light up with emotion, and the most adorable dimples formed.
Liz swallowed hard, trying to push down the growing heat rising in her core and her quickening pulse. Why did she feel like this? It hadn’t been that long since she had been with somebody, and she wasn’t one to get caught up. But just the thought of those strong hands grasping her hips was sending her imagination into overdrive.
She needed to shut down. Now.
“Thanks, Jerry. Tell Francine I said hello. I’ll try to get by to play some ball with Matt this week. Yes, see you.”
Brady hung up his phone and placed it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He turned to face her, leaning against the railing, and smiled. “You showed.”
“Are you surprised?” Liz asked despite herself. He didn’t seem like a man who didn’t get what he wanted.
“You never know.”
“Well, you didn’t tell me who you were.”
“Ah,” he said, nodding. “Then you definitely wouldn’t have showed.”
Liz arched an eyebrow. He thought he had her pegged already. Well, he was in for a real surprise. She would have come up here for sure if she had known that he was more than some random guy, even if she would have been nervous as hell. “And yet I haven’t left.”
“I told you not to,” he reminded her. “Did you like your drink?”
Liz looked down at it in her hand. Empty. When had that happened? “Yeah. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said with the same smile that made her weak before.
Liz didn’t know what she was doing here. Why had he bought her a drink, and why was he making pleasantries? This wasn’t going to change her article. She wasn’t sure if he really cared all that much about the college paper, but this certainly wasn’t going to help him. Either way, though, she waited to find out what he wanted. She was too intrigued.
“Can I get you another?”
“No, thank you. I know my limits. I still have to get back home tonight.” Why was she telling him this? Wouldn’t no have sufficed?
“Are you sure?” he asked, his face a mask.
Something about him made her think he was tiptoeing around her. He still had the natural self-confidence she had seen in the press conference, but still there was something else, and she didn’t know what it was. Did he want to know about the paper? Did he want to know about her article? Something didn’t add up.
“Did you need something?” she asked, straightening her blazer.
“Need something?” he asked quizzically. His brows knit together. “Why would I need something?”
“I just thought…” She trailed off, embarrassed. “Just the paper…”
“Oh, no,” he said. His eyes seemed to bore into her, searching her. She wished she knew what he was thinking or where this was going.
“Do you enjoy flying?” he asked abruptly.
“What?”
She was taken off guard. Did he want to take her flying? That was ludicrous.
“Flying, like in airplanes,” he added.
“I don’t understand.”
“I never did. My ears popped, my parents argued, I never got a window seat, the lines were too long, and it always happened when I wanted to stay home.”
Why was he telling her this? He didn’t even know her name.
“I’d have panic attacks before boarding,” he informed her. “Sometimes my parents would give me medicine to knock me out so I wouldn’t hyperventilate.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sure how to respond.
“I grew out of it, of course. I had to, especially if I wanted to be a politician like my father, but I never forgot that feeling. My fingers and toes would get warm and tingle. I’d find it hard to swallow. My stomach would be racked with nerves. I couldn’t focus properly on what was at hand. I couldn’t keep my breathing even, and I also couldn’t seem to suck in enough air. It was one of the most frustrating experiences of my life.”
“I’ve hyperventilated before,” she admitted—she wasn’t sure why. “My sister made me run a couple miles to the store with her in the middle of the summer in Tampa, but I’m not a runner. I’ve never felt so terrible.”
His eyes glistened as they stared into hers. “Then you know what I mean?” He waited until she nodded. “Well, I’ve never associated that feeling with anything good in my entire life…until you asked me that question today.”
Liz’s mouth popped open without any intention on her part. “What?”
Her question had been tough. She hadn’t cared, though. She had wanted answers and all he had done was sidestep. She hadn’t thought he had given it much thought, and he certainly hadn’t thought about her.
“I think I hid it as well as I could, but I had to get off of that stage. I was suffocating under your scrutiny.”
“Me?” she squeaked, losing all semblance of composure.
“And I wanted to know how you did that.”
Liz didn’t know what to say. No one had ever said anything like this to her before. She felt like an idiot staring up at him, getting lost in the endless dark depths of his eyes. How was she supposed to respond to that? Only two minutes ago she had thought this was some kind of joke. Now he was saying that she completely disarmed him. Him. State Senator Brady Maxwell III.
“You seem surprised,” he said.
“Of course I’m surprised, Senator Maxwell,” she said formally. “I’m not entirely sure how to even begin to respond to that. I wasn’t doing anything on purpose. I just…asked you a question.”
“You asked one hell of a question,” he said, leaning forward into her.
“I’m not going to apologize,” she told him, standing up taller in her heels.
“I wasn’t requesting an apology.”
“Then what?” she asked skeptically.
“I was merely complimenting your reporting skills. How long have you had this position?”
Liz narrowed her eyes. “You’re complimenting my reporting skills?”
“It was a fair question,” he told her.
“I know.”
“Then why do you look like you might pounce? I’m not meaning to be critical.”
She glanced away from his overwhelmingly beautiful face, over the railing, and out across the main bar area. It was a crowded night. How had he even seen her in the growing madness below?
“I just…” Her eyes gradually shifted back to his, and she gripped the railing harder. “I’m not certain where this conversation is heading.”
“Why does it have to head anywhere?” he asked, scrutinizing her face.
She blushed and made the mistake of looking into his eyes. “I didn’t…that’s not what I meant.”
He laughed. “It’s all right. It seems you are more adept at sidestepping my questions than I was at sidestepping yours.”
Had he admitted to dodging her question? Was this off the record? Had they ever clarified?
“Seems you’re stuck here with me now. You’re going to have to answer me,” he said, taking another step toward her. His smile was playful. He was flirting with her…teasing her. Brady Maxwell was teasing her.
“I’d be happy to,” she said boldly. “It’s not like anyone is going to be writing an article about me.”
“That’s good. You don’t need to be in the papers. Then everyone would know about you, and I think I prefer you here all to myself.”
Her mouth went dry. She had no words.
“So,” he said, deliberately reaching forward on the railing and sliding his thumb against her hand. Sparks ignited everywhere he touched her, and she felt her body reacting instantly to him. It was the same feeling she had gotten in that conference room when he had walked onstage. He focused in on her, and she couldn’t breathe. “Let’s start with your name.”
She was pretty sure he had knocked the breath right out of her, but she found her confidence within and answered, “Liz. Liz Dougherty.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Liz,” he said, offering her his hand.
She placed her hand in his. “Handshakes and kissin’ babies,” she muttered.
“Such is the life. Though it’s typically not this enjoyable.”
“You seemed to enjoy yourself just fine today,” she responded. “What made you decide to run?”
“Now, now, none of that,” he said. She hadn’t meant for it to come off as a reporter question, but it was her life, after all. “I didn’t buy a reporter a drink. I bought Liz Dougherty a drink. And I want to know when I can see you again.”
Everything about the situation told her not to give in. What good could come from that? She was a reporter and he was a politician she was writing a story on. They couldn’t ignore that.
But for the life of her, she couldn’t do it.
“You want to see me again?”
He dug into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and extracted a business card. He placed it in her palm, and she fingered the thick embossed paper. It was an expensive card; that much she knew.
“I’ve already said I want to see you again. If you want to see me, give me a call on that number. It’s my personal line. If you can’t reach me, call my secretary at the number below that. I’ll get in contact with you,” he said with a penetrating gaze that made her believe he would. “I wish I could stay now, but I have some business to attend to.”
She couldn’t call him. She couldn’t see him. It wasn’t right for her professionalism or for her future career in journalism.
Maybe when she was finally away from him, she wouldn’t feel as heated and desperate to be closer to him.
“Hey,” he murmured softly, brushing his fingers across her jawline, “you want to see me. I want to see you. Call me. If you don’t, you’ll regret it.”
Could he read her mind?
“I’ll think about it,” she whispered, entranced.
“I look forward to your call,” he said, releasing her chin.
Her body was already missing his touch. She hated that he left her with the option, but he had already stated what he wanted. Now it was up to her. He wanted her to come to him willingly, and she certainly was willing. He had this undeniable, uncontrollable pull on her that she had never experienced with another man. He made her want to use this card.
But she knew she never would.