Off the Record (Record #1)(20)

“Thank you. Thank you,” Senator Maxwell called out, quieting the crowd. “I’d like to take a moment to thank Senator Abbot for his kind words of welcome. I have a feeling I’m going to miss those lunches more than you are.”

After a short pause to let the clapping die down, he continued. “Thank you again for coming out to the fifty-third annual JJ gala. I’m pleased to be the opening speaker for the night, especially since this event has so much personal connection to my family.

“Many of you probably don’t know that my middle name is Jefferson, or why my great-grandmother insisted that it continue throughout the years. The firstborn son’s middle name was Jefferson in every generation since the seventeen hundreds on her side of the family, and she can trace back her own lineage to President Thomas Jefferson himself. I am very proud to be Brady Jefferson Maxwell Jr. and that my son, Brady Jefferson Maxwell III, has similarly taken up his namesake and entered politics.

“As a descendant of the Jefferson household, I would like to formally welcome you. The gala has always held a special place in my heart for the rekindling of the past and the mingling of political company from both sides of the political spectrum. Our differences and how we handle the compromises make this country what it is today. I’m proud to be here tonight celebrating the achievements of the United States and this great state of North Carolina. A toast to you,” he said, pointing at the crowd. “Enjoy the evening.”

Now that his speech was over, Liz allowed her eyes to drift away from the elder Maxwell and out across the crowd of tables. She was excited and afraid to find him. Mostly because she hadn’t called him.

The card had been sitting in her wallet all week, screaming her name. She couldn’t allow herself to call, and certainly not after the article she wrote. What had she said about him? Hypocritical. Power hungry. No vision. Interests lying in how deep his pockets could stretch, not with the people. The comments were true. His record showed as much, and his ambitious desire to move up the political chain so quickly screamed that he was a man after power. Just like every other politician out there. Don’t be fooled by his pretty face and charming speech.

Speaking of a pretty face, there he was.

Brady was seated at a table a row in front of hers on the other end of the room, and they were facing each other. He was matching his father in a tuxedo, and he looked perfectly put together. Her heart accelerated all on its own. Liz wondered if he knew she was here. It was unlikely, and she felt as if that gave her the upper hand somehow.

Dinner was served a moment later, and the room fell into hushed conversation mingled with the sounds of forks scraping against plates, glasses being refilled, and waiters’ hurried feet. Liz tried to get into the conversations at her table, but none of the women was working on campaigns she was going to be following, and so she spent a lot of her time staring off at the handsome man across the ballroom and enjoying her roasted chicken.

The plates were cleared away, and the keynote speaker, Jeffrey Bakker, founder of the bipartisan organization People for a Better North Carolina, took the stage and delivered the final speech of the evening. Liz was surprised that he was such a good speaker and was able to engage the audience so easily. She wouldn’t have expected these events to be entertaining. As he spoke his final words and walked offstage, the lights dimmed slightly and the party began. This was what she had been waiting for, the part where everyone finally socialized.

Most of the room gravitated toward the dance floor as music filtered in through the speakers. She had read about the event from what little information she could glean and knew that the night began with a traditional waltz. Fifty-three years of this event and they were still doing ballroom numbers around the room.

Liz, on the other hand, veered in the direct opposite direction. No way was she dancing. She didn’t exactly have two left feet, but the last time she had willingly danced was when her mother had stuffed her into ballet lessons at the age of five. Two years of that nonsense and she had stripped quickly out of tights and grabbed a tennis racket. At least she could hit things that way.

Instead, she found the dessert table. Her favorite. She stared at the long table of desserts and zeroed in on the cheesecake. There was something about cheesecake. She couldn’t say no to it—and it was Oreo. Double trouble and totally worth it. She didn’t care if she had to spend all weekend in the Rams Head gym and on the tennis courts.

Liz took a piece and began to walk toward a group of people standing off to the side. She recognized one of the women as a press director for the governor’s campaign. Handy person to know.

As she was about to interject herself into the conversation, she felt someone tap her shoulder. She stopped with her mouth open and turned around in surprise.

“Liz Dougherty,” Brady said with a smirk, his big brown eyes staring straight through her.

Liz tried not to miss a beat, but something about him made her insides turn to mush. She hadn’t expected him to address her in public.

“You seem to be everywhere, don’t you?” he asked when she didn’t say anything.

“I try,” she said, trying for nonchalance. “And you’re following in Daddy’s footsteps, Mr. Jefferson.”

“That’s Senator Jefferson to you,” he responded.

Liz laughed. “I didn’t know you were related to the Jefferson family, Senator.”

“Someone didn’t do her homework,” he said, tsking her as if she were a schoolgirl. “Whatever will we do with you?”