“Mark, I know you want to be very good with me, and I’m fine with that. But I also want to be a little bad with you. Maybe we could compromise and just be careful.”

“What are you suggesting exactly?” And why was I simultaneously so worried and so turned on?

“The fundraisers have themes. Maybe we could play a little, sneak off for a sexy tryst?”

“At the fundraisers? Where the paparazzi actually are? That was one of the two places I promised Braden we would never be intimate. The other one was the office. I’m obviously doing a great job so far.”

“You discussed where we would be intimate with Braden?” Uh oh. She didn’t sound happy. I knew there were rules!

“I wanted him to give me his blessing. He’s one of my best friends and you’re his sister. He said he was happy for us, but he asked that we please don’t mess around at the office or when we’re representing The Justice Project.”

“Well, your intentions were good,” she said. She no longer sounded annoyed and I relaxed again. “Just for the record, though, I don’t consult with my brother about my sex life.”

“I’m glad, believe me. Still, he has a point when it comes to not letting it interfere with work. I was thinking that we should also limit sex to weekends, just for now. I don’t concentrate very well when I’m exhausted, and until I get used to being with you, I have a feeling I’m going to be keeping us busy at night.”

“That’s good,” she said breathily, looking a little dazed. I smiled and she seemed to give herself a mental shake. “I mean that’s fair. Okay, only on weekends for now, not in the office, or at fundraisers, but maybe we can have a sexy tryst somewhere else?”

“I’m sure I could come up with something,” I said and she smiled a distinctly happy smile.

Chapter Nine

Beth

The fundraiser the following evening was being held at the Gerard estate. Like my own family, the Gerard family had established a private charitable foundation that supported various worthy causes and community-based projects.

Mark and I looked like we had just stepped out of the Roaring 20’s. He was nattily dressed in a maroon blazer with white stripes, white trousers and a black bow tie. I wore a mauve-colored dress cut in a drop-waist style, with ropes of pearls around my neck and a sequined band with a feather on my head.

We exited our car, and once again, faced a gauntlet of waiting journalists and photographers, a necessary evil to bring publicity to a cause. They stood waiting in a roped-off area just outside the festivities, and one had to walk a path right through them to get to the party. I felt like I was navigating between the Scylla and Charybdis.

The onslaught started with the more serious journalists who were interested in a political tidbit. “Ms. Pierce, when will your father be back in the district?… Ms. Pierce, is your father planning to?… How is Senator Pierce planning to vote on?…”

Then came the paparazzi and the tabloid reporters, who were less formal with their address. “You’re looking quite handsome this evening Mark,” said the female journalist who had eyed him up the week before. “Will you be a regular attendee at these functions going forward?”

“As long as Ms. Pierce can put up with my company,” he answered and I reached out and took his hand and cameras started clicking everywhere.

“So, you’re confirming that the two of you are an item now?” shouted the same obnoxious guy with the slicked down black hair and bling who had been at the art museum. Once again, he was standing next to the brassy haired reporter.

We didn’t bother to answer him; we just put our heads down and kept walking toward the party. The questions didn’t stop, though. The reporters and paparazzi just shouted at us more loudly as we retreated.

“Any wedding plans?”… “Any political ambitions of your own Mark?”

As we got closer, I saw that the trees outside the mansion had been strung with lights, and a jazz quartet was playing on the porch. People were milling about holding champagne flutes, and laughter filled the air. It was like a scene from another era.

“Well, this is impressive,” he said, leaning down to speak into my ear, so that I could hear him over the din of the crown and the lively jazz music.

“Paul Gerard is famous for hosting fabulous parties. Looks like this one will be no exception,” I answered as he led me up the stone steps to the entry of the mansion. I nodded to the mayor on the way in.

When we got inside the massive entry hall, there was even more music, more champagne and a bigger crowd. A stage had been set up in the center of the room and four women dressed like flappers did a lively Charleston there. Mark plucked two glasses of bubbly from the tray of a passing waiter and handed one to me, as he looked around taking everything in. The Gerard mansion was the perfect setting for a party of this type, as the décor was Art Deco and quite elegant.

As with the previous event, we didn’t need to do anything other than find a place to stand. People “working the room” made their way over to us and we chatted with some new people and some from the weekend before. Our conversations always wound their way back to the mission of our practice and the difference we were making, and I had a feeling that we had impressed some important potential donors. Mark was doing a fantastic job charming people, and we made a great team. I was actually having a very good time, until I turned around and saw Caitlin bearing down on us.