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 looked over 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 for WIC, 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!”