The ballroom was well lit, not that it wasn't to be expected to be. The marble floor shining making it look warm and welcoming, with gold and crystal chandeliers polishing the ceilings that held home to many a cloud and angel painted onto it. It was the perfect place for the $2000 plate dinner. This was a charity fund-raiser, and to attract wealth it had to scream wealth. Many people had come to see the turn out to fund-raiser. Many politicians, celebrities and ineradicably rich people attended these fund-raisers, for various reasons. Some to help the needy, some to look like they cared and in turn boost their careers, others just to meet with people and exchange gossip.
Tory couldn't say she was here for any of those reasons. She was here on family commitment; her father was here to boost his career and she didn't delude herself for one second to think he cared for anyone but himself, he was desperate to become Mayor.
Hence the reason she was here as well as the rest of the Blake family. Her mother had always worshipped her father, she would always follow him. Her younger brother was there too—having just started college, Rick Jr. tried to look like he was bothered about what their father was doing, although Tory suspected he'd rather be out having a life of his own. And then there was Tory herself. She was in PR, and of course with her father's helpful pushes she got to that career choice, but that was unimportant. Twenty-five and Daddy still rules the roost. It annoyed her. But guilt trips were often dealt, it terms of 'Oh honey we paid for that school you wanted so desperately to go to, can't you come to a dinner for me. It's dinner, nothing big." Even though every time he dealt that, he didn't realise that he had basically drove her to an out of state college with his various ideas to 'make a difference', as he put it. Of course the current Mayor was there, trying to show everyone he was good for re-election, as well as others trying to take his place. Then there was him.
They'd been looking at each other from across the room since she got there. Maybe it was the fire-engine red, tight, thin strap dress she's wearing, or it could be the silky, blonde ringlets that gracefully touched the tops of her shoulders when her head dipped slightly, but whatever It was that drew his eyes to her, it never strayed, drawing her attention to his back clean cut hair and elegant dark, grey suit, then to his eyes; eyes of the deepest blue, holding the deepest promises. In fact the whole look of him shrieked sexual fulfillment. He seemed to have an air of arrogance to him, confident almost that he could make any woman fall to her knees, begging for something only he could give. Looking at him, she tried to keep her temperature under control; he looked like he was doing much the same. If he was anyone else they could drain their thirsts off each other. But they couldn't.
She couldn't go to him and she knew that. He was one of the reasons her father had wanted the family to go the fund-raiser. Callum Andrews. He was also up for Mayor, and her father was getting worried about the polls. At first her father had thought it was funny that Andrews would even try for it, insisting someone as young as thirty-three would never be accepted as a candidate, never mind Mayor itself. Then soon after that Andrews had come up with the campaign of the 'young being able to help the young, because the young are the future' basing it on help for schools and educations, shelters and runaways. Her father had decided when Andrews and himself, Rick Snr. Blake as he said at the time, were level pegging in the poles, he would use as an angle that Andrews didn't have to use. Family. That was his trump card. After he had pulled that one out he had been scarily gleeful saying about how the young these days didn't settle down as quickly as they use to, giving him the advantage. It was Saturday now, and he had started 'Mission Family' on Monday. It had a whole five or six days for the city to see how caring Candidate Blake was about his family. As he had said, this dinner would be perfect for the world to meet them.
The papers had never had any pictures of his family. The reporters had asked about that during the week. He had simply said he cared too much about his family to put them in the directness of the papers, and had finished it by saying how his family, caring for him so much, had insisted on going with him to this dinner and any other one as proof of their support. She was in PR so she knew why it worked—it was about love, saying how a family man who loves his family enough to do that and his family do that for him in proof of their love, would of course love the city just as much if not more so, saying he has enough love for everyone. It was clever. When she had told him how low it was, her father had simply responded with, 'If he is going to use his looks, I'm going to use what other thing the women audience wants. I'm going to use their idea of love.' She couldn't blame him; if he wanted to win he was going the right way about it, she thought as she made her way to the nearest waiter carrying a tray of champagne flutes, only to get there and find them all gone and the waiter looking apologetic.
"Champagne?" came a deep voice from behind her. Turning quickly she lost her balance slightly only to have the owner of the deep voice draw an arm around her, not quite gripping her because of a flute glass graced both of his large hands. Andrews' hand, she discovered as she raised her eyes.
"Maybe champagne isn't a good idea if you're feeling dizzy," he said, tightening his grip with his arm the best he could with a glass still in his hand. Tory could feel the heat from his arm seep though the thin fabric of her gown and give her skin goose bumps, causing a blush to seep up her neck. Shaking him off, she crossed her arms over her breasts to hide the way her nipples had puckered at the mere glance of his arm on her back.
"I'm not dizzy," she lied. She became dizzy whenever she looked at him but she wasn't going to let him know that. "Thank you," she said, taking one of the flutes from his hands.
A lazy smile strayed onto his lips. "How do you know that was for you?" he asked with mischief glinting in his blue eyes.
Horror swept though her, could he just have been asking if she still wanted some since there was other waiters? Oh god-
"Er? Female Intuition?"
"Good guess," he said clinking his glass slightly to hers, a small smile playing on his full lips.
Relief burst though her, then horror again. This was her father's enemy, why was he being nice to her? Could it-? Could it be he didn't know who she was? Who she was connected to? Who gave her half her genetic information? Well that was getting a little too far, but did he?
"Callum Andrews," he said, sticking his hand out to her, and enfolding her hand in an electric buzz, causing her to flinch slightly and remove her hand quickly. Looking back up at him she saw awareness and humour.
"Your Blake's daughter aren't you? Victoria Blake? Am I right?"
Okay, that knocked that 'not-knowing-who-I-am' theory, Tory thought to herself. "Tory," she said, holding the flute close to her bosom.
"Tory," he acknowledged quietly with a husky drawl.
Her skin heated. She didn't understand it how could she be reacting like this, and all he had done was say her name. She was becoming increasingly aware of the panties she had discarded so she wouldn't have panty lines.
She gulped. "Nice to meet you, Andrews" she said, trying to distract herself.
"Callum."
"Excuse me?" she questioned.
"Callum," he repeated. "Call me Callum"
"Maybe" she said ambiguously.
