The Bevy's neon glow wrapped around me as we stepped inside. Emerald-green booths hugged the walls, chandeliers glimmered with golden light, and orchids floated delicately in tall vases. Politicians, lobbyists, and high-powered couples filled the space, but the moment Jameson led me in, I felt every gaze slide our way.
I tightened my grip on his arm. "You really brought me into the lion's den," I whispered.
He smirked. "No lions here. Just good drinks and good jazz."
The host, dressed in black silk, rushed us past the waiting line. Jameson whispered something low, and suddenly we were gliding to a private booth near the stage. A bottle of champagne was already chilling in a silver bucket.
"This feels like a setup," I teased, slipping into the booth.
"Only if you think amazing jazz and champagne count as scandal." His grin was infuriatingly confident.
I laughed, though part of me still couldn't believe I was here, in his world, the mayor's world. And yet, under the music and soft lights, it didn't feel political. It felt… intoxicating.
The first glass of champagne fizzed against my lips, bubbles tickling my throat. Jameson raised his glass to me. "To fairytales that start at galas."
I clinked against his. "And to the frogs who never make it to princes."
He chuckled, leaning closer. "Careful, you're going to ruin my reputation as a heartbreaker."
I arched a brow. "What reputation?"
His laughter melted into a look that lingered, bold and searching. My pulse tripped under the weight of it.
Before I could deflect, the stage lights dimmed. A smooth piano run poured through the speakers, followed by Alex Isley's voice, soft and sultry. My breath caught. Robert Glasper. Alex Isley. Live.
"You know them?" Jameson asked, studying my expression.
I smiled. "Are you kidding? 'Good Morning' was on repeat all through grad school."
Something shifted in his face, softer now. "Then I'm glad I brought you."
When he offered his hand, I didn't hesitate. His palm was warm, steady, pulling me into the small clearing near the stage where other couples swayed. His hand slipped to the curve of my back, guiding me gently, like he'd done this a thousand times.
"Relax," he murmured.
"I am relaxed," I lied, though my pulse thundered.
The music wrapped around us, the crowd blurring until it felt like only the two of us existed. I let my cheek graze his shoulder, inhaling cedarwood and champagne, and the world fell away.
"Is this a date?" I whispered, half teasing, half desperate to know.
He didn't answer with words. Instead, his lips brushed mine. A feather-light touch at first, testing, before deepening. Heat rushed through me, and suddenly the music wasn't enough to cover the way my body arched into his.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched mine with something raw, something unguarded.
We stayed like that, suspended, until the song ended and polite applause brought the world back into focus.
The jet hummed beneath us, smooth and steady as it cut across the night sky. Through the window, fireworks burst in bursts of silver and gold, glittering over the capital. I pressed a hand to the glass, awe spilling out of me.
"Wow."
Jameson leaned over, his breath warm near my ear. "Not as beautiful as you."
I rolled my eyes, but my lips curved anyway. "Do you practice these lines, or do they just come naturally?"
"Only when I mean them."
And then his mouth was on mine again, harder this time, hungrier. My glass slipped from my hand onto the tray table as he pulled me into his lap. The world narrowed to heat and touch, champagne fizzing in my veins.
His hand slid along my thigh, fingers skimming dangerously close to the lace of my dress. I gasped when he pressed past the fabric, finding the heat of me.
"Jameson…" It came out half warning, half plea.
He swallowed the rest of my words with another kiss, deep and consuming. The jet, the fireworks, the champagne it all blurred until there was nothing but us, colliding like we were the only two people alive.
When the pilot's voice finally broke through the intercom, announcing our descent, I tore myself from Jameson's arms, breathless and flushed. My reflection in the dark window looked like someone else someone reckless, someone glowing.
I smoothed my dress, trying to summon composure. "That didn't happen."
He chuckled low, smug and devastatingly sure of himself. "Oh, it happened."
And the way he looked at me like he'd already decided this was only the beginning made my heart stutter in a way that terrified me more than any scandal ever could.