“Well . . . request that they reopen the bid.” Liza was now piecing together holes in the story for herself. She didn’t know the whole schema yet, but how dare he try to make her unsure of her cause?

“Do you understand precisely why he needs the money?” Dorsey said slowly, like he was talking to a toddler. Liza couldn’t put a fine point on it, but why did she need to for Dorsey’s sake?

“How do you know he’s raising money?” He must have spies everywhere.

“It’s all he’s ever doing,” Dorsey said flatly.

“I don’t have to tell you anything I’m doing. It’s a violation of the Hotel Washington Treaty,” Liza reminded him.

“You’re right. But you should know WIC and I aren’t cordial.”

“So he’s not invited to the gala?” Liza threw him a dusty box of decorations. “Honestly, Dorsey, if we only invited people that you’re cordial with, then that would leave you in a room with Jennifer and David.”

“It’s your plus-one. I’m not your father.” He looked at her, unblinking. Why does everything seem so intense with him? “I can’t stop you from making terrible choices.” Dorsey shrugged stiffly.

Liza sucked her teeth. He couldn’t even shrug casually. “I wasn’t asking permission.”

“It sounds like you want permission or a reaction,” Dorsey sniped. “I don’t care to give you either.”

Liza snapped her neck back as if she’d been slapped. The nerve of this man assuming she would need his approval!

“It’s your party. I was trying to be respectful.”

“It’s my company’s party.”

“You know what, whatever. I’ll come with whomever I want,” she whispered.

“If we’re doing whatever we want, there’s a thing I wanted to do.” Dorsey shifted the box to his hip.

“If you ask to touch my hair—” Liza warned. But instead, Dorsey leaned in close. Liza instinctively pressed her palms to his shoulders. Her loud, nosy-ass family was right down the hall. He wasn’t going to try to kiss her right now? Her belly plummeted. He dropped his head even lower. She was so afraid that he might try it, and even more afraid that she would let him. She parted her lips. God help her if he was going for it. She closed her eyes in anticipation. The scruff of his chin rubbed past her cheek, but his lips moved past her mouth and whispered in her ear.

Not a kiss.

“Can I ask for a little guidance about gentrification?” Dorsey asked. This close, his spiky lashes shot out like stars and his sandstone skin looked soft and pliant. Liza tried to will her heartbeat to slow down. “I want to understand more,” he said.