Chapter Thirty-Two
Sin
Blindsided
I melt into the crowd and grab a drink from a passing waiter, and smile politely at people who smile at me, but I don’t stop moving until I reach the cordoned off space where tables are set up for dinner.
I grab my glass of wine and scan the room for a glimpse of Paloma Persaud. She’s on my research list for this week. My Google reverse search told me that she’s the daughter of the newest governor of Virginia.
A man who’s seen as the future of American politics.
He’s a first generation American whose parents came here from Guyana and founded Blue Cab of DC.
Wikipedia has a lot to say about the man’s career and background but only mentions his children’s first names and his wife is his high school sweetheart.
Further research revealed that her mother is a member of one of the original Black families of Baltimore.
Paloma Persaud herself has zero online presence except for a TikTok where she posts pictures of pretty plates of food with no caption or context. I need to figure out how they’re connected and if she’s involved in the cultural theft ring.
A friend of mine from The Post is seated at the press table, and I walk over to say hello. He raises his eyebrows when he sees me. “Look at you. Eating with the grown-ups, I see.”
I brush off his teasing. I thought I’d be uncomfortable on this side of the rope line, but I like being inconspicuous. It makes me harder to avoid.
I wrinkle my nose. “I couldn’t get a press pass for The Spectator, so I called in a favor.”
His brows knit. “What do you mean? The Spectator is here.”
I’m shocked. I scan the table. “Who?”
“Sofia the Great. She’s over there.” He points to the front of the room. Sure enough, Sofia is seated at a table. And next to her is The Wizard, Ozwald Annan. Their heads are bent together and his lips are moving. She throws her head back and laughs at whatever he said.
I feel like I’ve been dunked in cold water.
What the hell is going on?
She jumped in and shut my request for a pass down so forcefully.
I didn’t say his name but maybe she knew who I was talking about because she knows he’s the person behind the ring I was trying to expose.
That conniving bitch.
I see red.
I should wait until we’re in the office to ask her about this. But I can’t stop myself from marching across the room and putting my hand on her shoulder.
She jumps and whips around, the smile on her face disappearing when she sees me. Her eyes narrow and she shoots to her feet, blocking my view of Annan. “What are you doing here?” she asks me like I’m the one who’s been caught in a lie.
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m with a friend. Not working. Did you shoot me down because you wanted this story?” I ask before I think of a diplomatic way to phrase the question burning a hole in my head.
Her brows snap together in surprise before she catches herself and puts that battle-ax scowl on. “Don't be absurd,” she hisses.
“How else do you explain it? Being here? With the press pass I requested?”
Her eyes narrow. “You need to remember who you're talking to. And you need to leave.” She puts a hand on my shoulder and tries to steer me away.
Like hell. I squirm out of her grasp and place myself in The Wizard's line of sight.
“Sofia, are you not going to introduce me?” I say loudly.
“I was just about to ask her the same thing.” Annan rises to his feet behind her, towering over us both. His bald head gleams like a high-tech helmet under the yellow, green, and red lighting.
He even looks like a villain. His gaze is piercing and perceptive, and I take an instinctive step back, my heart racing as if I’m in danger.
Sofia’s smile looks carved out of granite as she pivots so she’s able to see us both. “If I must. This is Arsino Sackey.”
“Arsinoé,” I correct her with a quick glance so she knows I know she did that on purpose. I extend my hand to shake his. “Nice to meet you.”
He steps forward and closes the distance between us in two strides and grasps my hand. “Pleasure is all mine.” He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the tips of my fingers instead of the back of my hand.
I gasp and pull my hand away. “I actually came tonight hoping to meet you.” I shoot my shot and ignore Sofia's laser gaze at the side of my face.
His smile falls. His eyes slide to Sofia for a moment. “Is this the person you mentioned?”
I whip my head to look at Sofia, too shocked to hide it. “You were talking about me?”
“She was doing you a favor. I don’t take kindly to people talking about me. Especially when they have no idea what they’re doing. You’re out of your depth,” he says in a voice that reminds me of a snake’s hiss.
Sofia comes to stand beside him and looks down her nose at me. “You’ll thank me in the long run.”
I shake my head in disbelief and my stomach drops to my toes. She must have known who I was talking about at the pitch meeting. She sabotaged me.
“Sofia, you’re a journalist. How could you do this?”
“You are on thin ice, Sackey.”
Oz puts a hand on Sofia’s arm, and she clamps her mouth shut.
“She’s done you a great service, Ms. Sackey. I don't take kindly to people defaming my character. It never ends well for them.” His smile widens but his expression is nothing but ice-cold malice.
Sofia turns and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Ozwald, Ambassador Makumbi just arrived. We should go speak with him now.”
“No rest for the wicked, it seems. Till we meet again.” There’s a smile on his face as he puts a hand on my elbow, but there’s something in his eyes that makes me hope I never see him again.
Sofia turns to me and leans in so her mouth is by my ear.
“If you want to have a career in news or journalism at all, you aren’t going to bring this night up to anyone, ever.
And if you want to have a job at The Spectator or any news organization again, you and I will never talk about it either.
Now, leave before I have you thrown out. ”
My heart kicks against my chest and I want to scream loud enough to shatter the windows.
I get on the escalator and pull my phone out to text Kwame to let him know not to bother coming after all. I’m about to hit send when I catch a glimpse of him walking up the path that leads to the front door.
We meet just as he’s coming through the entrance. He cuts a striking figure in a steel-grey tuxedo paired with a monochromatic teal shirt and tie.
Seeing him makes me reconsider leaving. He looks too good not to be seen tonight. I wear a lot of black but there’s nothing I love more than a well-dressed man who’s not afraid of color.
His suit looks like it’s custom tailored and it makes the most of the fit body genetics, running, and regular weightlifting have given him.
Several heads turn as he strides through the clustered crowd of attendees.
He stops to shake a few hands. But once he spots me coming down, he slips his hand in one pocket and navigates the crowd like he’s making his way to the end zone, his eyes intent on his path. And on me.
I can’t believe this dashing, immaculately groomed, custom couture wearing gentleman is the same casual, bike-riding hottie with a patient smile and beat-up sneakers who I’ve been sitting across my mother’s dining room table from for months. He looks like a totally different person.
“Hey, Superman,” I quip when we meet in the middle of the large reception area.
He wrinkles his nose. “Superman?”
“I’ll explain later. You ready to go?”
I hook an arm through his and turn us around toward the exit.
He digs his heels in and stops us mid motion. “The party’s that way.” He points over his shoulder.
“The person I came to see isn’t here, and there’s nothing interesting happening. But, if you want to go in and check it out, we can stay.”
That last part was my guilt for wasting his time and lying about it talking.
I cross my fingers he doesn’t take me up on it.
He looks over his shoulder, expression contemplative before he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m only here because you are. If you’re ready to go, so am I.” He reaches up and unclips his bow tie. “I can’t stand most of these pretentious assholes.”
I laugh, and just like that, the knot in my gut is gone. “Thank you for being so cool about everything.”
“Of course. I sent my driver home so it’s just us.”
Just us. The words make something in my chest flutter. We step out in the unseasonably cold evening and the noise of people and cars moving up and down Fourteenth Street. Before I can express my regret over not bringing a coat, he drapes his tuxedo jacket over my shoulders.
“Thank you.” I snuggle into the warm silk-lined garment and allow myself a long inhale. He smells so good. I look at the sky and say a silent thank you to whatever star he fell from.