The Redemption (Filthy Rich Americans 4)

His eyes turned to liquid, pouring over my face. “By the way, you’re the most beautiful woman here tonight. No one can take their eyes off you.” He held my hand even as I tried to let go. “You look . . . priceless.”

Goddamn him. I tore my gaze away so he wouldn’t see the tears he caused to flood my eyes. He released me, and by the time I’d recovered enough to look at him, he had turned his back and was moving swiftly away from me.

He was heading toward Damon.

Oh, no, you don’t.

I started off, rounding tables and going as quickly as I could without sloshing my martini everywhere, but then Ian stepped into my path, blocking me. I couldn’t stop my frustrated sigh, but he was oblivious.

“Hey, our table’s that way.” He pointed the opposite direction. “We should probably sit down. They’re starting to serve the salads.”

I glanced at the table nearest us and saw he was right. And when I looked back at the other end of the room, I watched with disappointment as Damon and two of his staffers disappeared out the side door. They’d probably left to put the final touches on his speech.

I wouldn’t be able to get to him now. I’d have to do it right after he was done.

Or maybe you don’t, a voice whispered in my head. It wouldn’t be the end of the world to lose and have to go home with Macalister.

Yes, it would be. He’d kept a secret from me when I’d shared everything with him, including my heart.

“Where’s our table?” I asked Ian. “Is it close to the stage?”

Thankfully, it was.

I sat beside him, drank my martini, and picked nervously at my salad while I visualized how I would approach Damon. There were stairs on both sides of the stage, and if he came down the set on the left, it’d spit him out close to my table. I could hop up and ambush him. It wasn’t ideal, but it’d get the job done.

As they served the main course, the music suddenly swelled, drawing everyone’s attention. Vance appeared on stage from behind the curtain and walked confidently to the podium, flashing a winning smile as he turned the microphone on and adjusted its position. He waited for the music to die down before speaking, and it was undeniable how good he looked up there.

He oozed trust and assurance, and I imagined he was just as comfortable here in front of three hundred people, or arguing a case before a jury, as he was anywhere else.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” His speaking voice was crisp and clear. “First off, on behalf of the entire campaign staff, I’d like to welcome—”

A rustling came through the speaker system, interrupting him, but it was gone as soon it had started.

“I’d like to welcome,” he started again, “the volunteers who put in countless hours of work—”

This time, the rustling was louder and longer, and it was followed by a disembodied voice.

“Not now,” the male voice said.

Vance maintained his smile and tried to push through. “And to all those who are here tonight to support—”

A different voice interrupted. It was also male, but it was quieter, as if farther away. “You owe me the truth.”

People seated at the tables exchanged looks, confused. Was this feedback from a different event going on at the hotel?

On stage, Vance cleared his throat, as if requesting the audience’s attention. “We seem to be—”

“Damon, is she your daughter?” the quieter voice asked.

My heart stopped at the question. I recognized that distant voice, just as I was sure Vance did. Oh, my God.

I was about to lose my bet.

But in this moment, it didn’t matter. Everything hinged on Damon’s next words.

“So she says,” his voice answered. “I fucked Colette Alby once, so maybe it’s possible, but Sophia can’t be mine.”

People gasped. Some at the language and some at the content, but I couldn’t breathe. I balled my hand into a fist and pressed it to my stomach like it could stop the hole spreading there. There were plenty of people here who didn’t know me, but it felt like a million pairs of eyes were suddenly staring down.

Across the room, someone leapt up from a table and dashed to the side door, probably a staff person desperate to switch off the hot microphone Damon had no idea was on. Vance stared at the podium like he wondered if there was a way to switch it off from there.

“Why not?” Macalister’s voice demanded. “She’s an incredible woman.”

“Because it’d ruin me. Kristin knows about some of the affairs, but a kid? She’d cut off my balls.”

“Oh, shit,” Ian said, dumbfounded.

The rest of the audience was restless and churning with discomfort. The people at my table looked either miserable or outraged by what they were hearing. Vance backed away from the podium like it was radioactive.