Page 11 of Fight for Me

Anne bit back her retort, striving for patience. “I can’t go all weekend without being able to use the kitchen sink,” she gritted out. Her patience only went so far.

“Then call a plumber.” He hung up.

Asshole.

She had no time for this. She was already late to Maria’s charity event. Grabbing her purse, she went out, locked the door, and caught a cab. No time for dinner. Here’s hoping the cocktail party had food as well as booze.

Fifteen minutes later, she was striding through the W, texting Maria and following her directions on where she was supposed to go.

“Finally,” Maria breathed when Anne stepped through the door. “You’re late, but I made them save a dress for you that’s going to be stunning.”

They were in some kind of back room to a temporary stage and runway built in an expansive ballroom. Women milled all around in various states of dress and undress, their chatter a pleasant hum punctuated by the occasional laugh. Anne saw a few people she knew and smiled as Maria dragged her past them.

She whirled Anne through hair and makeup and went off to dress herself while the hair lady was doing her thing. Anne watched in the mirror and wanted to say something, but bit her tongue. This wasn’t her usual style. She doubted if it wasanyone’susual style. The woman had kept Anne’s hair down, and made several small braids around her face, complete with beads. Add in the dark eyeshadow and lipstick, she felt she looked more like a deserted island savage than a runway model.

Maria showed up just as the hair lady was finished. Whereas Anne looked like she needed a knife and spear, Maria was radiant in a silver gown that left one shoulder bare and a slit that showed a lot of sleek thigh. Her blonde hair was piled artfully on her head and long, glittering diamond earrings hung from her ears.

“Why do you get to look like that and I have to look like this?” Anne complained. “I look like I eat wild game. After I hunt and kill it.”

“Nonsense,” Maria pooh-poohed. “You look wild and sexy. Come, put on the dress.”

Thedresswas anything but.

“I can’t wear this!” Anne hissed from behind the dressing room’s curtain. “It’s not even a dress!”

“It’s a beautiful, hand-knitted lace.”

“It’s see-through!”

“It has more fabric than a bikini and the colors will be lovely with your skin,” Maria said, sipping on a glass of champagne. Where had she gotten champagne? Anne wanted champagne. “Now hurry. Curtain’s up in fifteen minutes.”

“When do I go?” Anne asked grumpily, pulling the fabric over her head. She squirmed until the hem hit mid-thigh.

“Saved the best for last, darling.” She smirked as Anne stepped out. “You need a man.”

“Sothat’sthe reason for the barely-there dress? I knew it. Maria, I keep telling you: I don’t have time for a man.”

“Then at least find time for a decent lay.” Maria was merciless.

“I want some champagne, too,” Anne grumbled. She knew she was pouting. She didn’t care.

“Absolutely! Let’s find you some.”

* * *

Blane swallowed a sigh and made his mouth smile. Why he’d agreed to come to this charity event, he had no idea. As if women’s fashion was his thing. (It was not.)

“Senator!”

He turned, spying the reason why he’d come. “Mrs. DuBois. It’s lovely to see you again.”

Blanche DuBois (yes, really) was a force to be reckoned with in the D.C. social scene. She’d married a senator who stayed a senator for four decades before agreeably passing on. For some reason, she’d had her heart set on marrying Blane off since he’d first met her. He’d declined attending her last four social events (try being a bachelor at a dinner party for couples) and she’d finally cornered him in his office, though how the hell she’d gotten into his office was a mystery itself. The woman was capable of anything. She demanded he attend this event and now that he saw that it was seventy percent women, he knew why.

Oh. And she was loaded.

“So good of you to come, Senator,” she nearly fawned.

As if he’d had a choice, thought Blane a bit uncharitably. She was a decent lady and donated a lot of her time, and considerable fortune, to the party. It wasn’t the worst way to spend a Friday night.

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