I reminded myself to breathe as he took me in, studying more than just my looks. His eyes twinkled a bit, and I found myself annoyingly attracted to him.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, Miss Moretti.” Calvin smiled so wide his perfectly straight, white teeth nearly blinded me, then he gently kissed my hand.
“Likewise, Mr. James.” I smiled back.
“Cal,” he said, never taking his eyes off me.
“Tessa is a professor at NYU in political science. You two would have so much in common,” Gloria said. “And she’s single.”
“I’m not a professor just yet. I teach while I’m finishing my graduate degree, but I do enjoy politics quite a bit.”
“I had no idea that Bruno’s daughter taught politics. I’d love to hear your thoughts about our campaign some time,” Cal said.
“I’d like that. Perhaps we can—”
“Oh! Look at the two of you. I can feel something happening here,” Gloria said suggestively. Yes. She was just the person I needed for this moment.
“Would you care to dance, Miss Moretti?”
“Please, call me Tessa. And I’d love to,” I told him in the sweetest voice I could muster. The pressure of a first date was heavy enough; add in our situation and it was nearly crushing. I didn’t know if I could keep doing this. It was much harder than I anticipated to keep up this kind of act. I took a deep breath and gave my cheeks a break from the smiling.
Cal took the champagne flute from my hand and deftly disposed of it on a nearby table before offering me his arm to escort me to the dance floor like a true gentleman. He was smooth. I’d give him that. He was certainly more of a gentleman that I was used to. Just a handful of other couples were on the dance floor, slowly swaying to the music.
He placed one hand on the small of my exposed back and clasped my hand with the other. He pulled me in tighter, forcing my posture upright and surprising me with the forcefulness of it. We had to look good to everyone watching. I wondered if he was just as nervous as I was.
“It’s really nice to finally meet you. I’ve known your father through the Moretti Foundation for quite some time.” His breath was sweet and minty, his face so close to mine. And that smile . . .
I wasn’t sure what to say anymore, so I just did my best to nod and smile. To appear interested and charmed by this man. I hoped I looked believable to anyone watching. We’d quickly attracted quite a bit of attention on the dance floor; a couple of camera flashes started to go off to the left and the right of us. He carefully spun me around and I could hear more clicks from photographers as hushed murmurs made their way through the crowd.
“I look forward to learning all there is to know about you, Miss Moretti.”
“Tessa.”
“Sorry. Tessa. I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime, Tessa. If you’d like that.”
I noticed a couple close by us and when I turned to look at them, they quickly pretended they weren’t eavesdropping, but they couldn’t hide their knowing smiles. They had heard his offer. And I made sure to graciously accept while they were still in earshot. The gossip would flow before the press deadline, without a doubt.
As the song ended, Cal took my hand again and kissed it, thanking me for the dance as we exited the dance floor. He took a champagne flute from a tray and handed it to me. “I must return to my guests. Would you join me?”
“Um, yes, I need to excuse myself for just a moment—”
“It will get easier, with time. You’re doing well,” he whispered in my ear. I smiled at the people looking at us, who assumed he was flirting, who assumed we had just had an unforgettable meeting entirely by chance. They had no idea of the reality.
And the pressure was beginning to weigh me down.
I smiled for the cameras and nodded even though I wanted to run. “I’m sure it will.”
Was he always this stiff? This kind? This . . . proper?
“You look wonderful,” he said. “You make this easy for me.”
His comment gave me pause and I stared at him for a brief moment before recomposing myself. There was a slight change in his tone. It was almost unnoticeable, but it was there. What the hell did he just say to me? What was that supposed to mean?
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. James,” a conservatively dressed young woman said as she approached us. “The Atkins have to catch a flight to San Francisco, and they wanted to speak to you before they leave. Do you have a minute for them?”
“Absolutely,” Cal said. “Tessa.” He nearly bowed to me, like in an old movie. “Please excuse me for a moment.”
“Of course. I’ll find you in a bit,” I managed to say.
Cal and the woman hurried away while I was left standing there wondering what my future would look. Would it always feel this fake? This rehearsed? I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I felt like I was suffocating, and we’d only just met. He had been the mayor. He’d won the primary. Shouldn’t he have some swagger? I was expecting an alpha, a leader . . . and got a lemon.
“What a waste,” I whispered to myself, taking a deep drink of champagne.
I needed to get to the restroom and be alone. They had those lovely plush cushions in there by the makeup vanities. I just needed to sit and be away from this façade. I could lock myself in a stall for a few minutes and get my shit together, but I needed to get out of here.
With more speed than was likely wise, I rushed to the restroom on the opposite side of the ballroom, turning my head slightly to make sure no one saw me . . . and then slammed directly into another moving body.
We toppled to the ground in an umph. My fall significantly softer than the person I’d landed on. I peered up, caught off guard by the intense eyes staring back at me; bright and blue and piercing. Quickly I adjusted my dress, making sure I wasn’t flashing anything.
“If you wanted to meet me you could’ve just said hi,” he said with a laugh.
I stupidly stared at him while he helped me up.
“Are you ok?” he asked while steadying me.
I was holding onto him for balance, feeling his toned arms through his snuggly tailored tuxedo. I couldn’t help but notice the way his dirty blond waves fought to break from their perfectly styled hold while the scent of his heady cologne filled my nostrils . . . then he was saying something again when I realized he’d been talking to me.
“Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you’re ok. I mean, you slammed into me and knocked us both over, but you still haven’t said a word yet. Usually I get more of a response when a woman is on top of me . . .”
“Oh my god! Um, yes, I’m sorry, I—”
I looked to see what was left of my champagne was now on the front of his coat, the glass haphazardly tossed on the floor. “Oh, I am so sorry. Let me get you a napkin or something to dry that with.” Instead, I brushed at his coat with my hand. Repeatedly touching his body and all the while I was screaming inside my head to stop, but my brain was not sending the message to any other part of me.
“If you wanted to feel me up, you could have just asked,” he said, the corner of his lips turning up in a ridiculously sexy smile.
I was certain the color of my cheeks had flushed the same gorgeous red of my lipstick. Finally getting the message, I stopped groping the stranger. The incredibly sexy stranger with a provocative mouth and . . . swagger. I could smell the bad boy on him. I always did. And it got me in trouble every time. I needed to compose myself and get away from him.