Chapter 26
Fight For Me
Fenella
“Hey, guys. Aren’t you drinking?” Jessy walks up with a glass of champagne in his hand.
“Hey. You’ve been living on champagne this whole time?” I ask, chuckling softly.
“Yes. I gotta admit, they threw one hell of a party. The desserts are made by some royal chef, apparently. And this champagne? Perfection.” He grins before taking another sip.
“You still have to drive, Jessy. You know I’m allergic to champagne after that DUI mess.” I frown, remembering that cursed case.
“Yes, yes, I know.” He rolls his eyes dramatically.
“How about some snacks and wine, dear?” Alan’s voice sounds calmer now, though there’s still a trace of tension in it.
“That’d be perfect. Thank you.”
He heads to the long buffet table, leaving me alone with Jessy. Jessy instantly leans closer and whispers, “You won’t believe what I got.” He pulls out a phone from his brown leather pouch.
“What is it?” I frown.
“Amy’s phone.” He suppresses a squeal.
My jaw drops. “You’re not serious.”
“Oh, I am. While you were busy walking down memory lane, I grabbed it from her table. That guy she’s with is horny as hell—he spent the whole day chasing a sexy waitress instead of watching Amy’s bag.” Jessy chuckles.
“Jessy, that’s fantastic.” I hold back a triumphant laugh. I turn toward Amy, but she’s already walking inside the house with Chris. Just the two of them? That can’t be good.
“Now give me the phone and the cable. I’ll handle the rest.” Jessy unzips his pouch.
I open my small white bag and hand him the FBI-made phone along with the short connector cable. We hook the two phones together and tuck them back into Jessy’s pouch—they need a bit of time to duplicate the data.
“So, how are you planning to finish the rest?” I ask. The ones from Peter and Alan are still missing.
“About that, I’ve got an idea.” He gulps down his drink and raises a finger. “You need to distract them so they forget their phones.”
“Okay. How?”
“We’ll go one by one. You see the way Peter’s looking at you? The man’s practically drooling. You could be Mrs. Morgan the Fourth, darling.”
Jessy glances over at Peter, who’s standing near us chatting with guests. When his laughter fades, Peter looks in my direction and catches my eye.
“God, maybe you’re right.” I’m a little flustered and toss him a small smile. Peter waves back with a grin.
“I know I’m right,” Jessy giggles.
“So, what do I do?”
“Seduce him. Ask for his number. Once I know where he keeps his phone, I’ll take care of it.”
Not long after Jessy leaves, Peter walks up to me—just as Jessy predicted. I glance at Alan. He’s busy with another guest who clearly knows him. Perfect timing.
“Hey…”
“Hi, sir.”
“You don’t have to be so formal.” Peter chuckles.
“Sorry, I only ever see you from afar—Senator Morgan in action.” I laugh lightly. Those billboards are everywhere on our way here.
“Is that too much for the election campaign?” He steps closer with a smirk.
“Uh, no. You’re kind of a big deal in this state, and that tagline fits your image. I wouldn’t even dare imagine chatting with you like this.” I smile after throwing a few more compliments.
“I never imagined meeting a woman like you either. Has Alan ever told you that you look like an angel?” His eyes shine with admiration as he leans in, charm and confidence radiating all at once.
He tilts closer, whispering near my ear.
God, he makes me sick. “Just say the word, and your senator will come running to help his favorite citizen.”
“Ooh, such a reliable senator.” I glance up at him, my voice dipping lower. My lips curl into a knowing smile. “Guess that means I need your number, don’t I?”
“You can give it to my assistant,” he murmurs, leaning even closer, his breath warm against my cheek.
“Um, no. I hate middlemen. One agent’s already enough of a headache,” I whisper, my hand brushing the fabric of his jacket across his chest.
Damn. The old man’s still got it. His chest is firm beneath the suit, and that small touch makes him visibly more tempted. His jaw tenses and his breathing quickens.
“Fine,” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket. I recite my number slowly, watching as he types it in a rush. A second later, my phone buzzes in my bag. I pull it out and see the unfamiliar number.
“That’s me. Save it for later,” he says with a confident smile.
“Of course. If I ever need your help, I’ll call you, Mr. Senator,” I tease, watching him slide his phone back into his pocket.
“I like hearing that name coming from you.” Peter’s fingers trail over the fake fur trim of my coat.
Alan suddenly appears behind him. His face is tense, eyes sharp. He taps Peter’s shoulder, hard enough to make him turn around.
“Didn’t you hear that every day from your secretaries? Fenella won’t be enough for you.” Alan grabs Peter’s shoulder hard, pulling him away from me.
“Hey, calm down, buddy. I’m not doing anything to her.” Peter steps back, hands up, like he’s dealing with a hostile crowd.
Alan plants himself between Peter and me, eyes cold. “Great. I hope you remember she’ll be your sister-in-law.”
“Yes, of course. I hope you remember I’m the one who gave you the money.” Peter laughs, sharp and easy, and punches Alan lightly on the shoulder.
Alan freezes. His eyes flash. Peter doesn’t stop. He keeps taunting, fists raised, thumping Alan’s arm in a rhythm full of arrogance.
“Why don’t you say something back to me, huh? Scared? Finally realized how much you owe me?”
“Stop it, Peter.” Alan grits his teeth, voice low and dangerous.
“Oh, come on. Show me those muscles you built in that gym of yours.”
“I said stop it.”
“Oh right, I forgot. That gym’s mine, technically, so your muscles are mine. Funny, right?” Peter laughs and hits Alan’s arm again, faster.
Without warning, Alan swings. His fist cracks against Peter’s cheek. My breath catches as I cover my mouth. The world narrows to the two of them. They explode into a rapid, ugly fight.
Alan punches. Peter punches back. They trade blows, neither giving ground. When Peter stumbles and falls under Alan’s onslaught, he scrambles up and bolts, but Alan chases him. They circle a long buffet table, crashing into platters and legs.
“Come back here, you bastard! I’ll kill you!” Alan roars.
“Guards! Call for help! Arrest this lunatic!” Peter screams.
“I’ll chop off your filthy tongue!” Alan bellows like a mad bull.
“Help!”
People start recording with their phones, some too stunned to intervene.
Jessy cutting through the crowd, trying to break them up, grabbing Peter before he can swing again.
A line of men in neat black suits rushes in to restrain Alan—Peter’s bodyguards.
I push through and hold Alan too, because I can’t let him hurt himself or them.
Out of the corner of my eye, Jessy slips away, silent as a shadow.
Not wasting the moment, I press my body against Alan’s and slide a hand into the inside pocket of his suit, fingers closing around his phone. I keep one arm wrapped around his chest to steady him while my other hand pulls the device free.
“Calm down, baby. Please, calm down,” I plead, feeling the tremor in his breath. His eyes are still locked on Peter, jaw hard, teeth bared, but slowly the rage thins into ragged gasps. They’re still hurling curses, daring the guards to let them go again.
I back away and tuck Alan’s phone into my bag. He’s still shouting at Peter and doesn’t notice me moving through the crowd toward where I last saw Jessy. In a blink, I find him at the far edge of the garden.
“Yours,” I whisper, handing him the phone.
“Good job,” he murmurs.
I push back through the guests and return to where Alan is now held by the bodyguards. The fight has burned out. Both men pant, hair mussed, suits disheveled. A hush ripples across the room until one voice slices through.
“What the hell happened here?!” Amy storms forward, parting the people like a queen.
Whispers rise around her. She looks worse than either of them—neckline lower, hair tangled, skirt hitched awkwardly at the waist. What the hell happened to you, woman?
“Nothing. Just a fool trying to ruin your party,” Peter says quickly, fussing with his sleeves and straightening his vest.
“And someone trying to seduce his future sister-in-law like a maniac!” Alan spits blood on the ground.
Amy turns, eyes flicking right and left like she’s parsing testimony, then raises her voice until it pierces. “Stop it, both of you!” She glares straight at me, face hardening. Her finger points at me, then at Alan, like she can’t decide who disgusts her more. “You two—get out of here right now!”
Silence falls like a lid. Guests stare. My chest tightens. Amy’s scream makes the whole place shrink, bouncing off the broken champagne tower and scattered glass. Then she yells again, panic spilling over. “And stop recording! Delete all the videos! Guards, take their phones!”
The men holding Alan suddenly rush off to snatch phones from guests filming, barking orders. Fear and confusion ripple through the crowd as the glittering party collapses into chaos.