Re: Press Table
She stole a champagne flute from a passing waiter, and she pretended to take a sip, and then she held the flute up to his lips and, with another warm laugh, handed it to him. "Might as well drink the champagne. Not like we can afford to buy our own," she said, loudly enough to be heard by two very official looking businessmen. She felt like she was burning the bridge she was standing on, but she'd agreed to do this, and do it she would.
Her smile changed from a flirting, carefully placed one, to something soft and fond at the mention of people wanting him around. "We want you around," she said, and the declaration was all about the family with communicators, though nobody would know that but them. "I told the kid you wanted to talk to that you were looking for him," she told him, her fingers moving to tangle in the ends of his hair, thumb brushing against the nape of his neck. A camera flashed, and she didn't even look toward it.