JENNIE

While most Mardi Gras balls were lively, with performers from their parades that day in attendance to entertain the guests, this particular party overflowed with a very different vibe.

I looked around me at the rich and powerful who made up the guest list, sizing everyone up, their connections and names more of a résumé than their educations or careers.

And while everyone around me appeared relaxed – due to the heavy flow of champagne, I was sure – it was just a mask on top of their masks.

They weren't calm. They were working. Deals were being made and relationships bought, and the politicians were always on the job.

But still… there was a charge in the air. It was Mardi Gras in New Orleans, after all.

It was the time of year when many locals escaped the city, with the tsunami of tourists clogging the streets and the traffic turning what was normally a fifteen-minute drive into three hours as constant parades blocked your route.

The city and its surrounding areas hosted between forty and fifty parades every Mardi Gras season, and each parade had a krewe – a not-for-profit organization that donated money to build the floats, some costing as much as eighty thousand dollars, while the krewe members enjoyed the privilege of donning masks as they tossed beads and other trinkets into a bedlam of outstretched hands and screaming crowds.

This particular krewe was exclusive, almost aristocratic with its money and political connections. Lawyers, CEOs, judges, you name it… Anyone who was anyone in this city was here tonight. Hence why my brother accepted an invitation.

Mingyu knew that New Orleans society was like a candy-covered chocolate. You had to break through the shell to get to the good stuff.

Deals and relationships weren't made at conference tables or offices. They were settled over glasses of Chivas at a cigar bar or around ten pounds of crawfish at a filthy seafood dive in the Quarter with calliope music from the Natchez steamboat drifting in through the open French doors. People didn't trust signatures so much as they trusted your ability to bullshit while you were drunk.

All reasons I loved this city.

It held the history of weathered storms – of blood, sweat, music, agony, and death by people who expected to fall but knew how to get back up.

I offered the waiter a modest smile as I plucked another glass of champagne off his tray and turned back around, regarding the imitation Degas hanging before me.

Oil on canvas would burn quickly. Very quickly, I mused, inching closer as the chill from the champagne flute seeped through my manicured fingers.

God, I was bored. When I started fantasizing about inanimate objects going up in flames, it was time to call it a night.

But then I felt my phone vibrate against my thigh, and I straightened, pulling away from the painting again.

"Mingyu," I whispered under my breath as I set down my glass on a high, round table and clawed my dress up my leg to get at my phone strapped around my thigh. I hated carrying purses, and since my brother was here with me and had the credit cards, all I needed was a place to secure my cell.

Swiping the screen, I clicked on the text notification.

If you say anything rude, my future is ruined.

I shot my head up, a smile spreading across my face as I scanned the ballroom. I spotted my brother standing in a circle of people but facing me with a warning eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face.

Moi? I texted back, looking at him like I was affronted.

He read the text and shook his head, grinning. I know your vibes, Jennie.

I rolled my eyes at him, amusement tilting my lips up into a smile.

Mingyu most certainly did know my vibes.

But he should've known better. I would never let my brother down. I might have inherited our father's quick temper and our mother's inability not to say things that shouldn't be said, but I was loyal. When my brother called, I came. When he needed me, I didn't ask questions. For him, I would tolerate just about anything.

I shall endure, I replied, my usual sarcasm evident as I met his mischievous hazel eyes.

Mingyu was three years older and about to finish his third year of law school at Tulane. Time and again, he dragged me to benefits, luncheons, and galas as he schmoozed his way through the New Orleans elite, making his connections and building relationships. All so he could secure the right job offers when he graduated a little more than a year from now.

I hated wasting time on things that didn't interest me, but Mingyu didn't have a girlfriend to bore with these functions, so I often stepped in as the dutiful "plus one."

Find something to play with, he teased. And don't get dirty.

I cocked an eyebrow across the room at him, hoping he saw the dare in my expression. Even through my black metal half mask.

If you say so… I taunted with my eyes.

I'd hung in there with Mingyu as he had made the rounds when we arrived, conversing and networking, until they started talking mistrials and mitigating circumstances. That was when I made my escape, choosing to wander and ponder in silence rather than be forced to smile and nod as if I had any interest in what they were talking about.

But now, glancing around the crowd and trying to take Mingyu's suggestion to find something – or someone – to occupy my time, I had to admit I wouldn't even know where to start.

My brother could work the room like a fine instrument – laughing and shaking hands just like a good ole boy – but I muddled around the edges.

In but not quite in.

There was a time when those roles were reversed.

And there was a time when I cared.

Leaning down, I inched up the sheer red layers of my gown to tuck my phone away in a concealed carry strap secured around my leg. Not that I was concealing a weapon, but it served a purpose nonetheless.

I let the hems of my gown fall back down to my feet, loving the weightlessness of the fabric as it brushed across my legs. Since it was February, it was still fairly cold outside, but I had been unable to resist the indulgence of the flowing, lightweight fluidity of the fabric though it was probably meant for spring.

For a girl who'd spent most of her upbringing in sneakers and tennis skirts, the gown earned me looks from men meant for the woman I sometimes had trouble believing I'd become.

Falling to the tops of my feet, the gown hugged my torso in a crisscross pattern on the front and back, but flared out only slightly below the waist in an A-line fit. It was bright red, and looked perfect with my black metal half mask, which curved over the top of my left eye, down the right side of my nose, and covered half of my right cheek in a lace pattern.

My only other accessory was a pair of diamond stud earrings given to me by my parents when I'd won the US Open junior tournament ten years ago.

Bending over, I slipped my heel off, the only part of the outfit I hated.

I arched my foot and then pointed my toes, rolling my ankle. Everything ached from the pressure of being packed together, and I didn't understand how other women lived in these every day.

Balancing myself on one leg, I grabbed my champagne glass and slid the other foot back into the shoe, but it stumbled out of my hand and fell to the ground.

Sighing, I leaned down to snatch up the heel.

But I stopped midbend, jerking back when someone grabbed my wrist and snatched the glass out of my hand.

"Careful," a low, deep voice warned.

I blinked, my eyes shooting between the hand on my wrist and the floor, where I had spilled half of my drink when I'd bent over.

I moved to straighten, but then I paused, seeing the person set the glass down and immediately kneel in front of me on one knee, avoiding the spot on the carpeting where my drink had spilled.

"Allow me," she suggested.

Ignoring the flutter in my chest, I watched as she took my ankle and slid my foot effortlessly back into my heel, her sure hands setting me right again.

The heat of her fingers spread up my leg, and I narrowed my eyes, a little annoyed that my heart was beating so fast.

She wasn't wearing a mask like most of the other guests. According to my father's general wisdom, it probably meant that she didn't play games or feel the need to be a part of the crowd. She wanted everyone to know who she was. Fearless, bold, a rule breaker…

But my inner cynic would say she'd probably just forgotten her mask at home.

She glanced up at me, a pert tilt to her lips and her hooded eyes taking me in with interest. I knew right away that she was older.

Significantly.

Probably midthirties, judging by the faint lines around her eyes.

And although that wasn't old, it was almost outside of my generation at twenty-three.

I liked that, too. If her hands were sure, maybe her tongue would be, too. Conversation-wise, I meant.

Her tailored wool tux was a black deep enough to make everyone else's here look faded. Her shoes outshined her Rolex, and thank goodness for that. Someone with bling were high maintenance.

And she was gorgeous. The narrow jaw and high cheekbones accentuated her sharp black eyebrows over dark brown eyes.

She was more than gorgeous. She was seductive.

I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my lips.

"Thank you," I said softly, moving my foot back to the floor.

Her fingers grazed an inch higher on my calf before letting me go, and I had to fight the chills that spread over my skin.

She was bold, too.

I held her eyes as she rose, standing tall and not making any move to back off.

"Losing shoes, spilling drinks… Are you normally such a hot mess?" she teased, the confident mischief in her eyes turning everything below my waist warm.

I raised my eyebrows, shooting her a cocky smirk. "Feeling up strange women, condescending remarks… Are you normally so rude?" I asked.

Her eyes held a smile, but I didn't wait for her to answer.

I plucked my champagne flute off the table and glided around her, back to the painting.

If she was the kind of a person I'd hoped she was, she'd follow. She was attractive, and I was intrigued, but that didn't mean she didn't have to work for it.

I tilted the glass to my mouth, taking in the chilled bitterness of the bubbles on my tongue as I felt her watching me.

"You don't appear to be having a very good time," she observed, stepping up to my side.

Her subtle cologne drifted through my nostrils, and my eyelids fluttered for a moment.

"On the contrary…" I gestured to the imitation Degas with my champagne. "I was just contemplating how some gasoline and a match would improve this painting."

She laughed under her breath, and I loved how her eyes shimmered in the dim light of the ballroom. "That bad, huh?"

I nodded, sighing. "That bad."

Standing next to her, I felt the full measure of her size. I was no shorty at five seven, but even in heels, I still came only to her shoulder. Her chest was wide but lean, and I loved that I could make out the muscles in her upper arms when she crossed them over it. Even through her tux.

She looked down at me with the stern expression of a superior. "Do you often have pyrotechnic fantasies?" she asked, looking amused.

I turned back to the painting, absently staring at it as I thought about her question.

Pyrotechnic fantasies? No.

I had lots of fantasies, pyrotechnic and not, but how obvious would I be to tell her that? It was a cheap response to a leading question. I wouldn't be so obvious.

"I don't want to start fires," I assured her, staring at the Degas with the flute against my lips. "I just like standing in the middle of burning rooms."

Tipping back the glass, I finished off the champagne and turned to set it down, but she took the base of the flute, stopping me.

"How long would you stay?" she inquired, her eyes thoughtful as she took the glass from my hand and set it down on the table. "Before you tried to escape, that is."

"Longer than anyone else."

She looked at me quizzically.

"How about you?" I questioned. "Would you join the mayhem in the mad rush for the exit?"

She turned back to the painting, smirking. "No," she answered. "I'd already be outside, of course."

I narrowed my eyes, confused.

She grinned at me and leaned in to whisper, "I set the fire, after all."

My jaw ached with a smile I refused to bestow on her. I didn't like surprises, but she was interesting, and she looked me in the eye when she spoke to me.

Of course, I wasn't as interested in her answers as I was in her ability to keep the conversation going. I could indulge in small talk, but this was more fun.

I let my eyes drift away from her.

"I'm sorry you don't like the artwork," she said, regarding the piece on the wall.

My thigh quivered with the vibration from my phone, but I ignored it.

I cleared my throat. "Degas is a wonderful artist," I went on. "I like him. He aimed to depict movement rather than stationary figures in many of his works."

"Except this one." She nodded to the piece of the lonely woman sitting in a bar.

"Yes, except this one," I agreed, gesturing to L'absinthe. "He also tried to show humans in isolation. This one was called ugly and disgusting by critics when it was unveiled."

"But you love it," she deduced.

I turned, slowly moving along the wall, knowing she'd follow.

"Yes, even when he is copied by bad artists," I joked. "But luckily no one here will know the difference."

I heard her quiet laugh at my audacity, and she was probably wondering whether or not to be insulted. Either way, she struck me as the type of a person who didn't really care. My respect probably wasn't what she was after.

I felt her eyes wash over my back, following the lines of my body down to my hips. Other than my arms, my back was the only part of my body left bare by the fabric and crisscross work.

Turning through the open French doors, I walked onto the wide, candlelit balcony. The music inside slowly became a faint echo behind us.

"You don't really care about Degas, do you?" I asked, turning my head only enough to see her out of the corner of my eye as I walked to the railing.

"I couldn't give a fuck less about Degas," she stated without shame. "What's your name?"

"You don't really care about that, either."

But then her hand grabbed mine, pulling me to a stop. I turned halfway, looking up at her.

"I don't ask questions I don't want the answers to." It sounded like a warning.

I curled my fingers, feeling my heart skip a beat.

While I'd gotten the impression this person had a playful side, I now understood she had other faces, too.

"Jennie," I acquiesced.

Turning back around, I pressed my hips against the railing and gripped the banister, feeling her behind me.

I breathed in, the scent of magnolias from the ballroom filling my nose along with a tinge of the ever-present flavor indigenous only to the Quarter. Aged wood, stale liquor, old paper, and rain all combined to create a fragrance that was almost more delicious than food on a quiet morning walk down Bourbon in the fog.

"Wouldn't you like to know my name?" she asked.

"I don't ask questions I don't want the answers to," I replied quietly.

I felt her smile even though I couldn't see it.

I stared out over the Quarter, nearly losing my breath at the sight.

A sea of people covered Bourbon Street like a flood, with barely enough room to turn around or maneuver through the masses. It was a sight I'd rarely seen in the five years I'd lived here, preferring to avoid the French Quarter during Mardi Gras in favor of the local hangouts on Frenchmen Street.

But it still had to be appreciated for the awe-inspiring sight it was.

The streetlamps glowed in the late-evening air, but they served only as a decoration. The neon lights of the bars, jazz clubs, and restaurants – not to mention the throngs of beads flying through the air from the balconies and down to waiting hands – cast a colorful display full of light, music, excitement, and hunger.

Anything went during Mardi Gras. Eat what you want. Drink your fill. Say anything, and – I blinked, feeling her move to my side – satiate all of your appetites.

Mardi Gras was a free pass. One night when rules were taboo and you did whatever you wanted, because you'd wake up tomorrow – Ash Wednesday – ready to purge your sins and cleanse your soul for the next six weeks of Lent.

I envied their carefree revelry, wishing for the courage to let go, stop looking over my shoulder, and laugh at things I wouldn't remember in the morning.

"Such chaos," I commented, observing the crowds stretching as far as the eye could see down in the street. "I've never had a desire to be in the midst of all that."

I turned my head, meeting her eyes as I swept my long, dark brown hair over my shoulder.

"But I like watching all the commotion from up here," I told her.

She narrowed her eyes. "That's no good," she scolded with a hint of a smile. "Everyone needs to experience the madness of the crowds down there at least once."

"As you sidestep the puddles of vomit, right?" I shot back.

She shook her head, amused. Leaning her hands on the railing and cocking her head at me, she asked, "So what do you do?"

"I finish my master's degree in a couple of months," I replied. "At Loyola."

A moment of apprehension crossed her eyes, and I cocked my head. Maybe she had thought I was older than I was.

"Does that bother you?" I asked.

"Why would it bother me?" she challenged.

I tilted the corner of my mouth in a smile at her game. "You didn't follow me out here for the exercise," I pointed out, both of us knowing damn well where the night between two consenting adults could lead. "I'm still in college, for a couple of months anyway. We might not have anything in common."

"I wouldn't worry," she replied, sounding cocky. "You've held my interest this far."

My eyes flared, and I looked away, tempted to either laugh or chastise her in anger.

"So what do you do, then?" I inquired, not really caring.

She stood up straight and slid her hands into her pockets as she turned to me. "Guess," she commanded.

I peered up at her, also turning my body to face hers.

Guess.

Okay…

Letting my eyes fall down her neck and chest, I took in the black three-piece tux with the silk necktie fitted around the collar of her white shirt.

Every hair was in place, and her statuesque face gleamed alabaster in the candlelight.

Her shoes were shiny and unmarred, and the face of her Rolex, with its black alligator-skin strap, reflected the colorful glow of the Christmas lights across the street, which probably remained up all year.

It was virtually impossible to tell exactly what she did for a living, but I could venture a guess.

Stepping up, I reached out with soft hands and slowly opened her jacket at the waist, seeing her arms fall to her sides as she probably wondered what the hell I was doing.

Looking up at her, I tried to keep my breathing steady, but the heat in her eyes as she looked down at me made it difficult.

I inched forward, my body nearly touching hers, and then I licked my lips and let my eyes drop to her waist.

"Well," I played, "I was going to say junior partner, but that's a Ferragamo belt."

Her chest moved with her suddenly shallow breaths. "And?"

I looked up, meeting her mischievous eyes again. "And usually it's BOSS or Versace for this set." I nodded toward the ballroom, indicating the gentlemen inside. "But if you can spend four hundred dollars for a belt," I clarified to her, "I'm going to say senior partner instead."

She snorted but made no move to take my hands away.

"You're a lawyer," I finally stated.

She squinted her eyes, regarding me. "You seem to know a lot about belts," she observed, "and how to spot money."

I almost rolled my eyes. She either thought I was a debutante, used to expensive things, or a woman on the prowl for a rich man.

I was neither.

"Don't worry," I assured her, leaning back against the railing. "If you're lucky enough to get anything out of me, it will come free."

Her body tensed, and she tilted her chin up, looking at me like she wasn't quite sure what to do with me. I dropped my eyes, grinding my fingers into my palms and trying to calm my nerves.

Why did I say that?

We weren't in a bar, where it would be assumed that if we got along we might go home together. She was flirting, and I was flirting, but I shouldn't have been so forward.

Even if it was what I wanted.

I may not do relationships, but that didn't mean I didn't like to lose myself in someone for a night. And it had been too long.

She stepped up, and my breath caught when she positioned herself in front of me, planting her hands on the railing at my sides.

Leaning down into my space, she spoke softly. "For such a young woman, you have quite a mouth on you."

And then her eyes fell to my lips, and my knees nearly buckled.

"I can stop if you want," I taunted in a quiet voice.

But she grinned. "Now, what fun would that be?" she shot back, still staring at my mouth.

I inhaled, bringing the scent of her into my lungs as my brain turned fuzzy with the aromas of spice and sandalwood.

"Tell me," she started, "if I'm a lawyer, how do you know that?"

"Well." I straightened. "Your nails are clean, so you don't work in labor," I pointed out, nudging my way out of her hold and walking past her to the stone vase filled with flowers. "Your clothes are designer and tailored, so you make money." I looked her up and down, taking in her appearance. "And it's New Orleans. You can't walk two feet without bumping into a lawyer or a law student."

I drew the flower petals between my fingers, feeling their silky softness as I sensed her approach my side.

"Keep going," she insisted. "What brought me here tonight, then?"

My jaw tingled with a smile. She liked to play.

That was odd, actually. I wasn't used to someone who knew how to keep my attention.

"You were forced," I answered, thinking about the person I wanted her to be. Not one of those stuffy men inside, smoking cigars and patting themselves on the back. I wanted her to be different.

I went on. "You don't really know any of these people, and they don't know you, do they?" I ventured. "You felt obligated to attend tonight due to family pressure or maybe by your boss's request."

She watched me, a hint of something I couldn't place in her eyes.

"You're just waiting," I continued, "trying to determine when you can politely abandon the uptight political conversations, bad food, and roomful of people you can't stand."

She leaned against the railing again, regarding me as she listened.

"You're restless," I stated. "There are other things you wish you could be doing right now, but you're not sure you should or you're not sure they're things you can have." I raised my eyes, meeting hers.

She stared back in silence, and I desperately wanted to know what she was thinking.

Of course, I'd been describing myself this whole time, but her gaze was locked on me, never breaking eye contact.

I moved closer to her, the February chill finally catching up with me.

"What will I do when I leave tonight?" she asked.

"You won't leave alone," I determined. "A person like you probably didn't arrive alone."

She cocked an eyebrow, challenging me, but she didn't deny it.

I stared at her, waiting for her admission. Was she here with someone? Was she bold enough to come on to me with another woman around?

She wasn't wearing a wedding ring, but that didn't mean she wasn't attached.

"And you?" She reached out and took a lock of my hair between her fingers. "Who are you here with?"

I thought about my brother, who'd probably been calling me, since I'd felt my phone vibrate twice.

"Never mind," she refuted. "I don't want to know yet."

"Why?"

"Because…" She looked up, focusing over my head out in the distance. "You distract me, and I like it. I'm having fun."

Yeah, I was, too. For the first time all night.

Attendees laughed and danced inside, while the two of us, alone in the cold night with only a few other people lounging around the large balcony, carried on with our stolen moment.

"I should really get back, though," I suggested, pulling away.

My brother was no doubt looking for me.

But she reached out and grabbed my hand, narrowing her eyes. "Not yet," she urged, looking behind me toward the ballroom.

I stopped, not making a move to take away my hand.

She stood in front of me, her chest nearly touching mine.

"You're right," she whispered, her breath falling over me. "I don't really like a lot of those people, and they don't really know me." Her voice turned hoarse. "But I like you. I'm not ready to say good night yet."

I swallowed, hearing the soft trickle of a slow jazz tune drifting out from the ballroom.

"Dance with me," she commanded.

She didn't wait for a response.

Sliding a hand around my waist, she guided me in, and I sucked in a sharp breath, my body meeting her for the first time.

Raising my arms, I put my right hand on her shoulder and my left hand in her as I let her lead me in a small circle, remaining in our own small, private space. Chills broke out down my arms, but I didn't think she noticed.

I let my eyes fall closed for a moment, not understanding what made her feel so good. My hands tingled and my legs felt weak.

There was rarely ever a time when I felt drawn to someone. I'd felt attraction and passion, and I'd enjoyed sex, but I'd never opened myself up to someone long enough to connect.

Now I found myself not wanting this evening to end any way other than in her arms.

That's where I wanted this to go. I didn't need her name, what she did for a living, or her family history. I just wanted to be close to someone and feel good, and maybe that would be enough to satisfy me for the next few months until I needed someone again.

Shaking my head slightly, I tried to clear my thoughts.

Enough, Jennie. She was good-looking and interesting, but I didn't see anything in her that I hadn't seen in any other person.

She wasn't special.

Looking up, I asked, "You're not enjoying the party, so what would you rather be doing right now?"

She shot me a small, sexy smile. "I like what I'm doing right now."

I rolled my eyes, covering up how much I also liked her holding me close. "I mean, if not this?"

She twisted her lips, looking me over like she was thinking. "I'd be working, I guess," she answered. "I work a lot."

So she'd rather be doing work than schmoozing and drinking at a Mardi Gras ball? I dipped my head, breaking out in a laugh.

"What?" She pinched her eyebrows together.

I met her eyes, seeing the confusion. "You prefer work," I stated. "I can relate to that."

She nodded. "My work challenges me, but it's also predictable. I like that," she admitted. "I don't like surprises."

I instantly slowed, nearly stopping our dance.

I said the same thing all the time. I never liked surprises.

"Everything else outside of work is unpredictable," I added for her. "It's hard to control."

She cocked her head and brought her hand up to my face, running her thumb along my cheek.

"Yeah," she mused, leaning in while her hand circled the back of my neck possessively. "But there are times," she said softly, "when I like to lose control."

I closed my eyes. Jesus.

"What's your last name?" she asked.

I opened my eyes, blinking. My last name? I had kind of liked keeping specifics off the table. I didn't even know her first name yet.

"Jennie?" she pressed.

I narrowed my eyes. "Why do you want to know that?"

She stepped forward, charging me slowly and pushing me backward. I had to keep backing up so as not to fall. "Because I intend on getting to know you," she said. It sounded like a threat.

"Why?"

"Because I like talking to you," she shot back, her voice thick with a laugh she was holding in.

I hit the wall behind me and stopped, glancing over at the people sitting at the table across the balcony.

She closed the remaining distance between us and dipped down until her face was a couple of inches from mine.

I locked my hands behind my back, instinctively tapping the wall with my fingers and counting in my head. One, two, three —

"Do you like me?" She cut me off, a playful tilt to her lips.

I couldn't keep the smile off my face. I turned my head, but I knew she saw it anyway.

"I don't know," I answered casually. "You might be too much of a gentleman."

The corners of her lips curled, looking sinister, and she threaded her hand around the back of my neck and through my hair, gripping my waist with the other and pressing her body to mine.

"Which means I'm still a person, only with more skill," she whispered against my lips, making my breath shake. "And there's only one place I won't be careful with you."

A whimper escaped, and I felt her hand tighten in my hair. She stared at my mouth, looking like she was ready to eat.

"I think you like me," she whispered, and I could almost taste her hot breath. "I think you even want to know my name."

She inched in, and I braced myself, so ready for it, but then suddenly she stopped and looked up.

"Lisa, there you —" A woman's voice stopped midsentence.

I twisted my head to see a beautiful blonde, maybe seven years older than me with a slightly surprised but not angry look on her face.

Lisa.

That was her name.

And I shifted, forcing her hands to drop away from me.

Lisa straightened and looked at the woman.

"They're about to start," the blonde told her, clutching her small purse in both hands in front of her. "Come inside."

She nodded. "Yes, thank you, Rosé."

She cast me a quick look before spinning around and walking back inside the ballroom.

Well, she must not be her wife.

Not that I thought she had one anyway, with no wedding ring, but she'd called her Lisa, which meant she was familiar with her.

I smoothed my dress down and touched my mask, making sure everything was in place.

"She's a date," she pointed out. "Not a girlfriend."

I shook my head, finally looking up at her. "No need to explain," I said lightly.

I was glad she wasn't married, but if she wanted to misbehave while she had a date in the next room, that was on her. I wasn't going to feel embarrassed.

But I was disappointed.

I looked around, avoiding her gaze, and hugged myself, rubbing my arms. The cold had turned bitter, and it sank into my bones now.

I hadn't wanted the night to end, but it was over now.

I'd liked it when I didn't know her name. I'd liked it when I was waiting to find out.

She leaned in. "I —"

But then she stopped, looking up with a scowl on her face, as a voice came over the microphone from inside.

"Give me your last name," she demanded quickly, pinning me with a hard stare.

"Now, what fun would that be?" I replied with her same sarcastic remark.

But she didn't see it as funny.

She shifted, tipping her head up and listening to the man on the microphone and looking hurried.

Why did she look so nervous?

"Shit," she cursed, and then leaned in to me, planting her hands on the wall behind my head.

"If you leave," she warned, "there will be nothing holding me back when we run into each other again."

A shiver ran through my chest, and my thighs tensed.

But I hid it well.

"In your dreams," I shot back. "I don't like lawyers."

She grinned, straightening and looking down at me. "I'm not a lawyer."

And with a smug look, she walked past me, back into the ballroom.

I let out a breath, my shoulders falling slightly. Damn it.

I was both sick with disappointment and filled with unspent lust. What an asshole she was for leading me on when she had someone inside.

I'd acted like I'd known she hadn't come alone, but I hadn't really believed it. Perhaps she thought she'd get my number, take her home tonight, and call me tomorrow.

But that wasn't going to happen.

Sex happened where and when I wanted it. I didn't wait for men who put me on a menu.

I felt my phone vibrate again, and I ignored it, knowing Mingyu was probably pissed I'd disappeared for so long.

Stepping into the lively ballroom, with glasses clinking and people laughing, I ignored the speaker on stage when I peered over the crowd and spotted my brother by the tall double doors.

He had on his coat and held mine in his hand, and he looked aggravated. I moved swiftly over to him, turning around so he could put my wrap on me.

"Where were you?" he complained.

"Playing," I mumbled, not even trying to hide the teasing in my voice.

The speaker onstage droned on, slurring his words, and the audience laughed at his jokes, everyone else drunk enough to find them funny.

"Well, I want to get out of here before the NOPD parade comes down Bourbon," Mingyu reminded me, and then turned to fiddle with his phone.

I'd forgotten about the parade.

At midnight on Mardi Gras, the New Orleans Police Department – in their fleet of horses, dogs, ATVs, cars, trucks, and officers – walked the entire length of Bourbon, clearing the streets, an act that signaled the end of Mardi Gras and the beginning of Lent.

Partygoers filtered down the side streets only to return as soon as the police had passed by. We had gotten a hotel room on Decatur for the night to avoid traffic back to school in Uptown, but we needed to hurry if we were to get through the crowd before the police blocked our route.

"Come on," he urged, making his way out the doors while I began to follow.

"So, ladies and gentlemen!" the loud voice boomed behind me. "Please help me welcome someone who I hope will soon be announcing her candidacy for the United States Senate next year!" Everyone started clapping as he shouted, "Ms. Lisa Manoban!"

I spun around, my eyes rounding as I saw the person who had just pinned me against a wall outside step onto the stage.

Holy shit.

"Damn, I didn't know she was here," my brother said, coming up to my side.

"You know her?" I asked, glancing at my brother before turning back to the stage.

"You've never heard of Lisa Manoban?" he scolded. "She owns the third largest construction company in the world, Jennie. Rumor has it, she's running for the Senate next year. I wish I could've met her."

A politician?

Jesus. I'd stepped into that one.

I should've been embarrassed. These people were clearly her friends – or associates – and the ball was, at least in some small part, in her honor. I'd insulted the food, the attendees, and while everyone seemed to know exactly who she was, I'd had no idea.

I tightened my wrap around my body, seeing her give the crowd a playful look I was already familiar with.

And just then, I stilled, seeing her eyes catch mine, and heat rose in my cheeks at the slow, self-satisfied smirk spreading across her face.

She started to speak, but I no longer cared to listen.

If you leave, there will be nothing holding me back when we run into each other again.

I arched an eyebrow at her and then leaned over to the empty round table next to the exit and blew out the small candle sitting there. Smoke drifted up, filling the air with its pungent scent.

And without a backward glance, I left the ballroom, my brother following behind.