“Drop it, Steven.”
She turns to Harper. “You really do look lovely. I’d like to see Hope this weekend.”
“You can see her anytime. I promise I’m not holding her hostage,” Harper chirps.
My mom’s face brightens. “Thanks.”
“Of course.”
She gives me a final glance, but I can’t understand what her expression means. All it does is make my stomach pitch.
I have a nagging feeling Maximillion got my mom involved in something terrible. It’s been gnawing at me since the weekend, and I fear for her.
Harper links arms with me. “Let’s get a drink.”
We go into the main room. It’s set for over one thousand people. The biggest names in Chicago are here. Executives from major companies, some entertainment industry natives of the city, politicians, nonprofit leaders, and the wealthiest of the area’s top families. They are all here in their best attire, drinking champagne, wearing fake smiles while in trivial conversations. The room has round tables that seat ten. Red, white, and blue decorates the room in a soft glow, but it’s nothing like what you’d see at a Fourth of July or Memorial Day picnic. Hundreds of thousands of dollars have been spent on lavish centerpieces, several-hundred-dollars-per-person meals, and musicians who will perform live.
It all adds to my disgust.
The waitress stops to offer us champagne, and I take two, then hand one to Harper. We engage in several boring conversations with people who suddenly want to speak to me only due to my sudden fame.
They’re so dull, they make me look exciting.
Harper is polite and adds to the discussion but also has a charismatic way of moving us in and out of the groups of people.
It only makes me admire her more.
After so much torture, I murmur in her ear, “Want to sit down and end this charade?”
She smiles and makes our excuses then I lead her to our table. No one is there, which makes me happy.
The minute we sit, she puts her hand under the table on my inner thigh and murmurs, “Should we make this more interesting?”
I twirl her hair around my finger and put my face next to hers. “When we get home, I’m not going to let you come until it’s time for me to go to work tomorrow.” I trace her diamond earring with my finger then slide it behind her ear, and she shudders. I talk slowly. “Hot. Wet. Begging me. All night. All morning.”
She inhales sharply and squirms in her chair.
“I’m going to lick your sweat. Drop by drop. When your thighs squeeze my neck or fingers dig into any part of my body, I’m going to bite you, suck you, and bite you some more.”
Her eyes light up, her chest rises faster, and heat flushes her face.
I trail my finger down her neck and across her shoulder. “The curve of your ass, where it meets your legs, I’m going to kiss when I have you on all fours. At the same time, I’ll be rubbing your clit so slow you’ll be crying.”
“Steven,” Maximillion booms next to me, and I jump.
Harper takes a long drink of water, and I turn.
“What do you want?” I bark.
“Since the camera is about to snap our photo and your boss has told you to play nice, I suggest you stand up and shake my hand.”
I cringe but do it. My intent is for it to be fast, but Maximillion grips my hand, spins me, and puts his other hand on my shoulder. “Smile,” he mumbles.
I force myself to smile, and the camera takes so many pictures, I get uncomfortable.
We stand almost eye to eye, and our frames are similar. As much as I loathe him, I hate it more that I have some of his features.
“That’s enough,” he says, and the photographers step aside and wait. “I’ll see you later, kid.”
“Prefer not,” I mutter.
Harper rises. “You okay?”
“Yes.”
“That was strange. Why did they take so many pictures? And he didn’t even ask who I was. That isn’t typical for a politician.”
“I’m not sure what he’s up to.”
The bell rings three times, and there is an announcement for everyone to take their seats.
My table is with co-workers, so I introduce everyone to Harper. Waiters soon serve salad and oversized, freshly baked rolls. They have a crusty outside but are warm and soft when you open them up. The main course is filet mignon, lobster tails, and so many side dishes, I don’t even try them all. Not that I have much of an appetite.
Most of the dinner, I spend drinking the hundred-dollar bottles of wine.
Dudmeyer sits next to me, and throughout the entire meal he raves about Maximillion and all his incentives.
When dinner is finished the MC steps on the stage and gives a rah-rah speech about how fabulous our current governor is and why we all need to vote for him again. Harper holds my hand and squeezes it. I put my arm around her, and she leans into me.
The scent of her calms me, so I take several large breaths.
The MC introduces Maximillion. I glance at his table and see my mom sitting straight up. She sits next to him. His wife adorns the other side, along with his children he claims. And my nausea intensifies.
The room stands and cheers for Maximillion, and I begrudgingly clap to appease my boss.
Harper follows suit.
The hoopla continues. The push for donations starts, and my boss taps the table in front of me. “Pull that checkbook out now.”
I reach into my jacket pocket and pull it out.
I’m not giving him a penny.
I move closer to Harper, and position the checkbook so only she and I can see.
I fill out a check, and when it comes time to put in the amount, I write, “A million fuck yous.”
Harper bites back a laugh, and I rip the check off and throw it in the donation envelope.
Almost through this night.
Hasn’t been that bad. At least Harper was with me.
I can’t wait to get home and make her scream all night.
I glance over at my mom, who suddenly looks old and sad to me. And my heart hurts.
I’m so focused on her, I hardly hear the next words out of Maximillion’s mouth. “I also have a huge surprise for you. Now, he’s a little shy. Where are my CPA’s in the room?”
People raise their hands.
“Yeah, you’ll relate.”
They chuckle.
I finish off my glass of Merlot.
“I’ve promised him he doesn’t have to come on stage tonight, but I’m pleased to announce that Marquis’s Top Ten Under Forty Professionals, Chicago’s own, Steven Sinclair, VP of HKCG Insurance, has accepted the role as the head of finance for my campaign.”
The room stands in ovation.
Harper’s color drains from her face and her mouth hangs open.
My gut twists so fast, I work hard at swallowing down bile. Air becomes thick in my lungs, and I get dizzy.
Dudmeyer stands over me and leans down. “Stand up and wave.”
But I don’t. I can’t find the strength in my legs to stand. Harper puts her hand on my neck and stands close to me.
When everyone sits again, the only person I see across the room is my mother. Her lip shakes and she looks scared.
18
Harper
It’s like watching dominoes fall. One bad thing after another evolves quickly. And I watch in horror, not sure how to stop the destruction or help Steven.