The Scandal and Carter O'Neill. Molly O'Keefe

slightly spellbound. So lovely.

      “All right,” she said, and took a deep breath. “That’s good stuff to know. We can go now.”

      She grabbed his hand and tugged, pulling him down the narrow hallway to the front door where the flashbulbs and journalists waited like sharks in shallow water.

      They pushed through the front door and the flashes exploded. Zoe stumbled slightly and lifted a hand to cover her eyes.

      “Oh wow,” she whispered, sounding lost.

      It wasn’t totally an act when he put his arm around her, curling her toward him.

      “Mayor Pro Tem?” someone shouted. “Are you the father of the baby?”

      Zoe stiffened, a fire igniting in her eyes. It was ugly, the speculation about the baby, and he wished, oddly, that he could spare her some of that—despite the fact that she’d brought it on herself, however unwittingly. She opened her mouth, no doubt about to get them deeper into trouble, and he squeezed her arm.

      “The father of Zoe’s baby is no one’s business but Zoe’s,” he said.

      “How long have you two been dating?” another person shouted and Carter glanced down at Zoe.

      “Five minutes?” she whispered, and he laughed. Flashbulbs exploded again.

      “A few weeks,” he finally said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re going to get some dinner.”

      Questions were hurled after them, but he ignored them. Why he kept his arm around Zoe, he wasn’t entirely sure.

      SHE’D NEVER BEEN TO BOLA, but what Phillip had told her didn’t do the place justice.

      Bola was gorgeous, if one liked art deco, red velvet and mahogany floors, and Zoe did. The dark lighting made her want to purr and sashay across the floor, a mink trailing behind her. She could imagine Carter, his blond hair slicked back, his big shoulders tucked into one of those exquisite tuxes from the era.