Chapter 30
The reception was opulent in the way all diplomatic gatherings were—too much gold, too many chandeliers, and far too many people pretending to care.
Savannah smiled for the third time in as many minutes, nodded politely as an Asian businessman praised her “emotive phrasing,” and let the compliments wash over her like cold rain.
She was exhausted, not from the performance, but from this.
The talking. The pretending. The game. Then there was her asshole stepfather.
It was bad enough she had to stay “on” all the time, schmoozing all these people, but now she had to worry about the Senator ruining her.
Or worse. The migraine had been building since the end of her performance and she rubbed her forehead.
If only she could escape with Sawyer and he could rub the peppermint oil into her temples again.
She clutched her champagne flute filled with water tighter, her eyes drifting across the crowd.
Sawyer stood near the entrance to her right, tall and sharp-eyed in his tux, posture relaxed but his gaze constantly shifting.
Nearby, Hoot moved with casual grace past a dessert table, pretending to examine the pastries.
Eggs leaned against a pillar, chatting up a bored-looking translator. All of them were watching. Waiting.
And all of them looking far too hot in their tuxedos. It was probably the worst time to notice such a thing, but here she was. They exuded a casual sexiness that was undeniable, but she knew they were ready and waiting.
Waiting for the Senator.
She hated that her body still hummed with the leftover rage and betrayal from what Sawyer had told her in the car. That Simpson had been sent here to ruin her. And her stepfather had orchestrated it. Or at least enabled it. Cold, calculated, and efficient.
The walls began to close in.
“You good, Savi?” she jumped at the sudden voice in her ear. Sawyer had given her one of their comms for a “just in case” scenario. She wore the crescent shaped hair clip as well, giving her an added measure of protection. “Migraine?”
She raised the champagne flute to cover her mouth, preventing anyone from seeing her speak. “How’d you know?”
“I can see it,” he replied, his voice soft and gentle, filling her with warm fuzzies. That was her Sawyer. He’d always “seen” everything about her. Apparently, he still did.
“I’ll be better when we can leave here,” she stated.
“Soon.”
Another group of businessmen approached, each with words of praise in their accented English.
After several minutes, she needed a break.
She murmured an excuse and stepped away from the knot of men, crossing toward the far corner of the ballroom where the lights dimmed and the chatter faded.
Her fingers brushed the smooth curve of the wooden pendant in her pocket—yes, this gown had pockets!
—trying to anchor herself with the memory of the day he’d given it to her.
This will protect you when I can’t. The echo of his promise, soft and sweet, lingered in her thoughts.
If he only knew how much that little pendant had done for her over the years.
It was like he’d infused it with some kind of magical charm.
Like Voodoo. The thought brought a sudden smile to her lips.
“Going somewhere?”
The voice slid through her like a dagger wrapped in velvet, killing her smile in an instant. She turned.
The Senator.
His expression was taut, stretched too tightly across his face, like he was barely holding something in. Panic, maybe. Or rage. Probably both.
“I don’t want a scene,” he said low, grabbing her arm. She winced as his grip tightened, a vise around her wrist, painfully strong.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already pulling her toward a side panel along the wall. Before she could shout, a door swung open and closed behind them, muting the sounds of the reception.
The service corridor was narrow and dimly lit. Smelling faintly of cleaning solution and old wood polish. Aside from the bodyguard that was always by the Senator’s side, she was now alone with a man who was clearly at the end of his rope if he dared to act in front of all those people.
“You need to listen,” he snapped, voice trembling not with weakness but with fury barely contained. “You’ve ruined everything.”
Savannah yanked her arm back. With a pretense of pushing the hair from her face, she located the large sapphire adorning her hair clip and surreptitiously pressed it, proud of herself for remembering.
Then she met the Senator’s steely gaze, her own eyes unwavering, a silent challenge passing between them.
Without words, she was declaring that this time she would never again be intimidated into submission.
“You sent someone to frame me for espionage, and I’m the one who ruined everything? ”
“I had a plan!” His voice echoed off the cold tile. “All you had to do was stay quiet. Smile. Play the fucking piano. Let me handle the real work. But you couldn’t do that, could you? You had to get involved. Stick your nose in. Bring that damn boy with you—”
“His name is Sawyer,” she hissed. “Not ‘boy.’”
The Senator’s face twisted. “You think he cares about you? He’s using you. Just like me. Just like everybody around you. You were supposed to a tool—an asset. Not a liability.”
“You wanted to burn me to save your career,” she said, quiet now. The words hurt coming out. “You’ve been using me all along.”
He advanced a step and grabbed her once more, his fingers digging painfully into her wrist. His eyes gleamed.
“You think they’re going to protect you when this all crashes down?
You think those men out there care? They don’t.
Your mother doesn’t either. And I certainly don’t give a fuck about you.
Listen here, little girl. If I go down, I’ll make damn sure you go down in flames with me. ”
Her back hit the wall. Her heart was pounding now, but she didn’t flinch. “You’re scared,” she said softly. “You know it’s over. You’re unraveling.”
A stinging backhand sent her head reeling back, the impact against the wall jarring her senses and leaving her breathless.
The swift and brutal blow took her completely by surprise and she saw stars for a moment.
He’d been abusive, yes, but he’d never hit her before. His abuse was verbal. Not physical.
The door behind them burst open.
Sawyer. With Hoot behind him. Then Eggs rushed into the hall from the other end.
Guns drawn, faces dark with fury.
Hoot quickly dispatched the bodyguard, who was no match for the former special forces operative.
“You touch her again,” he growled, voice low and deadly, “and I’ll make sure you never raise your hand to anyone ever again.”
The Senator froze.
Savannah stepped away from the wall, breathing hard. Her gaze locked with Sawyer’s, the air between them crackling not with fear, but with something earned. Something sharp and solid and steady.
She wasn’t alone anymore.
Thanks to the earpiece, every word, every threat, had been recorded. By morning, the world would know the true Senator Harlan McNabney. He’d lost the last of his power.