Page 55 of Pride and Protest
“Ma.” Liza wanted to scream. “He’s not a contestant onThe Bachelorette, he’s just a guy I’m seeing, okay?”
“A guy who didn’t meet you when you came to his city,” Bev shot back.
Liza waved at David in the distance, using any excuse to leave her mother. His blond hair was slicked down, and his face more somber than Liza had seen before. She realized she was getting closer to a throng of reporters and cameras and was attempting to back up when the man in the center of the throng spotted her. Dorsey’s gaze was sharp and perfunctory; he lookedover the Bennett clan with cool disinterest until he met Liza’s eyes. When his eyes met hers, Liza’s head buzzed pleasantly. Dorsey was in a soft wool Continental tuxedo with peak lapels. His beard was neatly trimmed, which was the exact opposite of his devil-may-care raven’s wing hair, coiffed perfectly to look as if he’d just tumbled out of a French model’s arms. It was probably a thousand-dollar haircut—and, jeez, she sounded just like her mother. He took the remaining steps toward her, and the cameras and reporters seem to flow behind him like a cape in the wind. Wordlessly, Dorsey held out his hand rather dramatically to her, and the crowd parted to see her. She took his hand with a tremor because she didn’t know what else to do. It seemed like the entire room had quieted to a hush. Cameras popped all over them, and Dorsey squeezed her hand, bringing her attention back to him—back to those inky eyes.Is he talking?Everything was suddenly underwater.
“Save me a dance, Liza?” Dorsey asked. His dark eyes twinkled and reflected the lights in the room. Even with all his chivalrous grace, his hand still shook when it held hers.
Is he nervous?
“I got you something. It’s at your table. I’d love to talk about it.”
Liza nodded dumbly. He nodded in return and went back to his speech regarding upcoming changes for the company.
Did I just agree to that dance or acknowledge a gift?She had meant to return his earlier pettiness with a slight of her own. But damn if he didn’t trick her with the cameras and the crowd. She would have agreed to anything under those conditions.
Liza elbowed her way out of the mass of people. He would forget he ever asked; there was too much commotion for him to remember. He was the host, after all. Liza looked around forWIC, not wanting him to see her being dazzled by his greatest foe.
Chicho’s warm hands clamped on her shoulders. “Did I just see Dorsey ask you for a dance in front of all of those people?”
“Yes, because he knew I couldn’t say no, which is exactly what he wanted.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” Chicho bit into a flower, then realizing it wasn’t fancy, tiny food, put it back on the plate.
“What’s the difference?” Liza changed the subject awkwardly. “I’m so excited for you to meet WIC!”
“Yeah, if I ever meet him. The night’s going to be over before he comes. He better be worth all of this waiting.”
“Chicho, you sound like my mom. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately.”
“You know Hot Boy’s not coming,” LeDeya said as she neared the girls.
“What are you talking about, Deya?”
“I saw the message come through on your phone.”
Liza opened up her tiny clutch to find only her lipstick and a Ziploc bag, just in case the buffet was legit. She must have left her phone with Janae. She sighed. “Okay, fine, let’s just enjoy the night.”
Disappointed, Liza tried to settle into the evening and enjoy herself. She saw David take Janae all around the room to meet his friends.Good for Janae.He was just the type of man she needed. She saw the robin’s-egg blue box sitting prettily at her assigned seat. She already knew she couldn’t accept whatever this was. A Tiffany necklace? Liza felt a little let down. Ostentatious gifts like this really weren’t her style. It felt like it was out of some rich-guy playbook.
Liza’s belly jumped when she heard his soft baritone behind her. “Liza. I’d like to introduce you to Gigi, my sister. Gigi’s getting her MBA at Wharton.” Dorsey took a half step back.
“In a sprint to build a better mousetrap, eh?” Liza smiled.
Liza, what the hell are you saying?
“Something like that.” The young woman seemed embarrassed. She fanned her eyes and Liza realized she looked like she might cry. Was the joke that bad?
“Gigi, Liza is—” Dorsey started but was interrupted by Gigi wrapping her arms around Liza—cutting off her breath.
“I am just so... Wow! You look like you have a filter on. You are really...” Gigi said.
The girl couldn’t seem to string together a full sentence. Liza didn’t know how to respond to any of these half thoughts. Not that she could, as Gigi’s embrace threatened to produce a real-life faint. Liza took in a short breath, and Dorsey pulled his little sister to a respectable distance.
“It is truly an honor to meet you, Liza. Dorsey just goes on and—” She stopped abruptly, as if she’d been jabbed. She held her hand to her heart. “It is a pleasure.”
“Same. This dress is gorgeously put together and you look lovely in it,” Liza said. His sisterwasa lovely thing. Long and graceful, with prominent front teeth, skin as brown as wet bark, with the kohl-rimmed eyes of a Bedouin—she was runway striking. They shared no blood, but the woman had something of Dorsey in her bearing. The straight shoulders and imperious nose. Gigi twirled around.
“Same to you. Who are you wearing? Ihaveto get the name of your stylist,” Gigi gushed.
