Chapter 30
The ballroom is just as suffocating as it was over two hours ago. If anything, the crowd in here has somehow multiplied, making things way more congested than before.
Disgusting fool.
Mave has been calling me nonstop, but I’ve had to ignore him. And, whenever I see him glancing around the ballroom from his place at the bar, I blend in with any available group of chatting elites that’s close to me.
I have to continue avoiding him, because if he finds me, he won’t let me out of his sight, and that’ll fuck everything up for Dorran. I can’t have that.
I wipe the sweat off my neck and chest as I search the thick crowd for Rizwana, and as I do, Mave swivels in his seat – drink in hand – and starts looking around again.
“Fuck,” I mutter, then turn so that I can find a spot to cover myself, but stop when I see Mom and Waleed in conversation with a few elites.
Fucking great. Just what I needed.
I clear my throat and beeline over to them – anything to prevent from getting spotted by Mave.
“Mom!” I all but chirp, startling her.
She whips her head at me with rage on her face, but when I give her a knowing smirk, all color vanishes from her face, and she neutralizes her expression before giving me a wobbly smile.
“Daughter,” she addresses me with an icy tone.
I lean in and press a soft kiss on her cheek, then take advantage of our close proximity to whisper in her ear, “Relax, Mommy. Fear isn’t exactly a good look on you.
Think of the spectators and media in the room.
What will they say if they see you like this?
” I move back and give her a plastic smile, then quickly greet the elites in front of me before glancing at Waleed.
“I hope my mom’s keeping you busy tonight,” I tell him.
He winks at me. “In more ways than one.”
I laugh, but internally, I go, ewww.
I know he’s a good guy, but like…still, ewww.
“The new winter collection looks absolutely amazing,” one of the elites praises.
“Indeed,” I say, even though I have no fucking idea what it looks like.
I take half a step back and chance a glance at Mave, and find that he’s turned his back to me and is now doing something on his phone.
A couple of seconds later, my phone vibrates in my clutch, and I know it’s him.
“Excuse me,” I say to Waleed and the elites, ignoring Mom’s pointed stare, then make my way toward the empty spot just outside the ballroom’s balcony.
I pull my phone out and look at the screen, and sure enough, I have a new text from Mave.
I click on it.
Mave: Do you seriously want me to stumble around this building in search of you? Where the hell are you, Nettie?
I sigh and glance at him again.
His shoulders are hunched, and the other bodyguards around him are forcing their conversation on him, but I can feel his disinterest and worry even through the distance between us.
I swallow and start typing a response.
Me: Switch to water, Mave.
He replies instantly.
Mave: I will – when you join me at the bar.
I frown a little.
Me: I need some time. I’m trying to woo a potential sponsor, but they’re playing hard to get.
A lie, of course.
Mave: Why? Why the fuck are you helping Miranda by doing good on her brand?
Me: I may loathe my mother, but I still care about Lure, Mave.
It’s funny, though, right? I despise the woman who created this empire, but I don’t hate the empire itself.
Mave: Alright. I’ll give you an hour, and then I’ll come looking for you. I’ll crawl if I have to, but I’ll get to you.
I shake my head.
Me: You’re a dramatic drunk, Maverick. I’ll be there within an hour.
Mave: Fine.
Me: Fine.
A ridiculously boisterous laughter meets my ears, and I immediately snap my head up.
Rizwana.
I may not know much about her, but I do know that laugh. She’s known for it, after all.
I scan the room, and spot her near the stage.
She’s chatting animatedly with an elite I don’t recognize, and merely a few feet from her, Christopher Solo is busy conversing with the sheriff and his son.
I know he’s keeping an eye on Rizwana and looking for an opening to talk to her, but if he waits too long, there’s a chance she might slip, and I most certainly won’t let that happen.
I brace myself, let go of a breath, and make my way to her.
“And to think, I was going to hire them for my nephew’s–”
“Rizwana,” I greet her with a clinical smile, then look apologetically at the man she’s talking to. “I’m sorry, but can I borrow Miss Hafeez for a moment?”
He nods and excuses himself, leaving me and Rizwana alone.
From what I can remember about her, she’s in her late forties, unmarried, and deals with the import and export of exotic spices. One would think a business such as this wouldn’t be much profitable, and they’d be right. It’s what she does outside of her business that makes her ridiculously rich.
“Miss Adler,” she says, then gives me a quick once over, her gaze pausing briefly on my scar before continuing downward. “You look absolutely radiant.”
I look at her dark hair tied high above her head, her bold makeup, her black-and-red embroidered kaftan dress, and the gold jewelry she’s adorning, then incline my head a little.
“Thank you. And you look positively breathtaking, yourself. I’m in awe of your outfit and aesthetics.”
She’s a little surprised by my compliment. “I appreciate you noticing that.”
“Of course,” I say. “Your designer did a lovely job in terms of showcasing authenticity.”
Again, she’s taken aback by my words, but I mean every single one of them.
She may be a bitch, but I can at least praise the person who designed her dress. But when I think of where most of her wealth comes from, and how she pays for the privileges she has, it makes me sick to my stomach.
And brings me back to the reason I’m even talking to her to begin with.
“You’ve actually caught me at the wrong time, Miss Adler,” Rizwana tells me.
“Hm.” I arch a brow. “How so?”
“I was actually about to head out to get some fresh air. I need a break from all of this.” She gestures around us. “I think you understand.”
She thinks I’m here to breach her pre-election promotion session, which is laughable, because I give zero fucks about any of that.
I glance around, but don’t see her bodyguards nearby. A small miracle, really.
“Well, that’s a coincidence, then, because I was just about to head out myself,” I say, then give her another clinical smile. “Join me, Miss Hafeez; I insist. I would love to know more about your fashion preferences and designer’s details.”
She opens her mouth, then thinks better of it and shuts it. She knows she can’t deny an Adler at an Adler gathering. It makes for a bad rep.
“I would love to,” she voices instead, then motions behind me. “Please, lead the way.”
“Excellent!” I turn, letting go of a relieved breath, then shoot Dorran a quick text as I start making my way to the ballroom’s exit.