My brows arched in interest. “Text me the room number.”
With that confirmed, I walked away.
And reality returned to punch me in the gut.
Helen King was offering my father more than money for his campaign. She was probably promising him access to influence, too. That wily bitch wanted to build a shopping mall or high-end apartments on the site that was mine. She had set her sights on a billion-dollar profit.
God, this town was ruthless.
Turning this around seemed impossible—but I had to do it.
It was an interesting state to be in—I was filled with wrath for Helen King and lust for tonight’s willing victim.
I headed off to find the lovely Pandora.
Placing the thinly sliced Swiss chocolate rolls around the edge of the mousse, I showed the Godman’s chef, Thomas Davenport, how this dessert was finished off—a mouthwatering chocolate torte I’d learned to create back when I’d attended those intense cooking classes at school for ladies who intended to entertain.
The Godmans’ master chef had sat on a barstool at the kitchen counter watching me with his chin resting on his hands. He could see I was whipping up something super special for him.
Thomas’ dreadlocks were the mark of his proud heritage, the gray at his temples adding wisdom to his joyful eyes. This wasn’t the first time I’d snuck down here during a visit to see him. I was always guaranteed to be welcomed with kindness—and enjoy a good laugh because he was as funny as hell.
Having once worked at the White House for the President, Thomas had a bunch of riveting stories to share. He’d grown up in New Orleans and taught himself to cook before talking his way into a job at The Ponchartrain Hotel, an historic gem in the Garden District.
Being with him was a welcome break from all of the stuffiness upstairs—an escape from the staffers coming and going and the tension that went along with the daily running of a senator’s office.
Damien strolled in with a serious expression on his handsome face.
An hour ago, Theo had told me Damien was on his way in from downtown and was hoping to get a meeting with his dad. I wondered how it had gone.
Memories flooded in again of what we’d done together in his dungeon last night, and I had to tear my gaze away from his.
“Hey.” I pointed proudly. “Look what I made.”
Thomas straightened up from the countertop. “Ms. Bardot’s teaching me some mean tricks with Swiss chocolate, Mr. Godman.”
“You can call him Damien,” I said.
“Sure can,” Damien said as he reached for the dessert knife. “You do realize that Mr. Davenport is a Michelin chef?”
“Of course I know.”
Damien threw him an apologetic smile. “I’m sure Thomas can top this any day.”
“Pandora’s a great cook,” Thomas said warmly.
“Allow me, sir,” said Damien as he cut off two slices, sliding the plate over to him. “Good luck.”
“Hey.” I punched Damien’s arm playfully.
As Thomas tasted the creamy mousse his face lit up. “I better watch out for my job.”
Damien tasted the confection. “You’re hired, Ms. Bardot. Let’s start you off with washing dishes.”
“No way,” Thomas defended me. “She’s my new pastry chef.”
I gave him a bright smile, excited that such a renowned chef had enjoyed my dessert.
Damien offered his thanks to Thomas for being my company. With a nod of his head, he indicated I was to follow him out.
“Bring a slice,” he demanded. “I’ll finish mine later.”
Thomas hurried to throw a big slice of the dessert into a glass dish. I gave him a hug before leaving.
Carrying the chocolate mousse, I tried to keep up with Damien’s long strides. “I’m not allowed to bake at home.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but Thomas doesn’t have the time to entertain you.”
My feet stuck on the tile as I watched him walk off. He’d gone from cordial this morning back to moody.
“Hurry up.” He held the door open for me.
I scurried through. “I was showing him a new recipe.”
“Right, a Michelin chef. I’m sure he appreciated that.” He cast a disapproving glance my way.
We exited the building and he gave a courtesy wave to the two security officers as we passed by them. Damien quickly reached the passenger door of the SUV and ushered me in.
We both settled into the back seat of the car—the same one that had brought me here. My suitcase had been stashed in the back. With Damien’s change of mood, I wondered if he regretted inviting me over to stay tonight.
“How was your meeting with your dad?” I asked.
“Seatbelt on,” he snapped.
Pulling mine on, I asked, “What about yours?”
He was too busy texting. “Do as I say, and all that.”
“Damien, what’s wrong?”
He glanced at the chauffeur. “Not now.”
Turning to face him, I felt a rant building inside me. “This is how it always goes. Don’t do that. Do this. Be like this—”
“Bad time for a tantrum.”
“I’m expressing how I feel.”
“Feelings are irrelevant in our business. Or didn’t they teach you that at your finishing school?”
“If you’re asking if I studied politics, yes, I did,” I replied. “I’m fluent in several languages—including computer programming. I can play the piano well enough to get by at a dinner party—”
“I saw your resume,” he said dryly. “Very impressive. Want a standing ovation?”
I poked a finger into his ribs. “I could have gotten into Yale.”
“Your point?”
“If there’s a problem, maybe I can help.”
“If I need someone to hack into a computer, I’ll call you.”
“You know I can actually do that, right?”
He shot a warning glare at the driver. “She’s joking.”
I reached over and gave his arm a squeeze. “Tell me about it when we get home.”
“Very well.” He didn’t sound convincing.
I touched my pendant, making sure he saw my revenge play.
He pretended to ignore me and focused on his iPhone instead, tapping away on the screen, no doubt sending off emails and reading texts that made him cringe now and again.
Something had him extremely upset, going by his deepening frown lines and the occasional expression of defeat I saw on his face. Seeing him like this was difficult.
We drove the rest of the way in silence.
Once out of the car, Damien pulled me closer. “There’s a lot going on.”
“I’m here if you want to talk.” I watched him walk over and lift my suitcase out of the back of the SUV.
He rolled my suitcase up the driveway as I followed, which seemed to make the driver uncomfortable. Damien turned back to face him. “Take the rest of the day off.”
The chauffeur brightened and gave him a grateful nod.
Damien might be a class-A asshole, but at least he was a gentleman to the staff.
We headed into Foxhall.
Being back here so soon after this morning felt like a small victory. We entered the kitchen, where we’d had breakfast this morning and made an intimate memory of our first morning together.