Page 17 of Filthy Liar

I nod silently, and she strides away as elegantly as she arrived.

Then I take a deep breath, pull out my phone, and start to dig into everyone’s favorite space billionaire.

Fourteen hoursand a quick eyebrow wax plus shopping trip later, I jump out of a hired town car in front of Jeff Mayfair’s D.C. residence. After last week’s rumors that he might be running for office, he’s hosting a fundraiser tonight for the former Secretary of State—who actuallyisrunning, against the incumbent President for the nomination of their own party.

I had been vaguely aware of Mayfair’s support for her before, but while I was at the salon this afternoon, I did a deep dive.

If he ends up being outed as another Lively, this support will absolutely backfire for her. Either he’s confident in his innocence, or his ego is unchecked. Both could be true at the same time.

As I suspect, there is security at the door, checking invitations. As I hoped, some people have paper cards, but most are showing the invites on their phones. Now I just need to figure out a name that might be on the list as a backup to plan A…

I fall into step behind a slow moving group. “It’s a shame Elaine couldn’t join us,” one says.

What are the chances Elaine can be a thirty-something in a dress with no back? I’m going to find out. Stopping to ostensibly dig my phone out of my purse, I let them get ahead, then climb the stairs to the front door.

I listen to the conversation as each guest checks in.

As the person in front of me gets the all clear to move ahead, I curse politely. “I’m so sorry,” I say to the security guard, showing him the black screen of my phone. “I drained the battery watching TikToks on the car ride over. Can you believe it?”

Laughing, I lean forward, trying to see if I can spot an Elaine on his list. No such luck.

“Name?”

I ignore the question. “Do you think I could just plug my phone in here? I have a charger with me.” I glance around. No plugs. Excellent. “I’ll just…”

I move to slide past him.

A solid arm stops me. “Ma’am, this is a private party—”

“I know! I told you, the invite is on my phone, which isdead, so I just need to plug it in.”Come on, buddy, look at my tits.But he doesn’t. Damn it. “Right. Okay, look up my name. It’s Elaine…”

“Elaine!” My heart sinks at the too-cheery familiar voice. Jason is never cheery. And it’s a sharp kind of cheery that I absolutely recognize as furious underneath.

Of all the billionaire fundraisers, of course he had to be at this one.

He steps into view and slides his arm around my shoulders, a heavy shackle locking me in place next to his body. “She’s with me.” He beams at me as I tense up. “Glad you could make it,Elaine.” He provides the security guard with a last name that apparently works, and with a dangerously reassuring squeeze on my shoulder, he ushers me inside.

He ducks his head so his mouth is right next to my ear. “Don’t make a scene.”

It’s a silky threat, a promise that this will get so much worse if I don’t play along. What’s the worst that could happen in a crowded party full of business and political elite?

I know the answer to that, but we’ll pretend I don’t. Despite the fact I ran last night, and I’ve shown up right in front of him once again—God damn it—there is a very slim possibility Jason still thinks I’m the secretary who just didn’t show up for work one day.

“Hey,” I say casually. “Thanks. My phone—”

“Is dead, I heard.” He steers me to the top of the staircase.

My heart pounds in my chest as we pause there, overlooking the party. There’s only one way to play this, and it’s light as air. “Small world, bumping into you twice in as many days.”

His fingers tighten again on my shoulder. If I don’t have bruises, I’ll be lucky.Once upon a time, I quite liked the bruises he left on my skin…

“We didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday,” Jason says, his voice heavy with irony.

But I don’t have any other choice. I keep brassing it out. “We don’t really have anything to talk about…”

“Of course we do. It’s been a long time, and you disappeared. I was worried about you.” Was. Past tense. No longer worried about me, now worried about what I’m doing here.

I don’t respond, because all the pieces have clicked together in my brain.

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