His eyes flicked between her and her ride. She didn’t give him a chance to argue. Moving through the front doors like she owned the place, Dizzie tugged off her gloves and shoved them into her bag.
She pressed her hand against a nearby scanner. “Urgent delivery for Portia Tremaine.” A flash of heat warmed her hand as the system scanned her palm. She pulled away when she heard the familiar hum of her record being accessed as the computer confirmed her identity.
“ID verified. Dizzie, no surname. Tremaine Corporation courier. Access granted. Ms. Tremaine is in the penthouse. Proceed to Elevator 12.”
Tucking her bag close, Dizzie checked her ocular display. Barely five minutes left.
Elevator 12 opened as she approached. Although the car was programmed for her destination, she pressed the button for the penthouse anyway. Though she knew it had no effect, Dizzie punched the close-door button repeatedly. Other passengers would only slow her down.
Hyperaware of the clock ticking away, Dizzie reached into her bag, double checking that the high-priority package was still there. Thicker than the average envelope, the squishy bubble wrap covered a solid core.
What was it?
Dizzie sighed. Not her business.
Finally—finally!—the elevator stopped. “Penthouse level,” a computer voice announced as the doors opened into a different world.
Floor-to-ceiling windows ringed the perimeter. The inky darkness of Puget Sound bled into the riot of colors from the city. Of course the wealthy company owners and the uber-rich investors who ranked above them on the social ladder would party up here, where they could look down on all the little people.
Her nose twitched. Even the air smelled different up here, a heavy mix of perfumes that smelled and tasted worse than exhaust.
Zeroing in on the doors to the ballroom, Dizzie double timed it over the lush carpeting, her heavy boots not making even a whisper of sound. “Urgent delivery for Ms. Tremaine,” she told the guards posted outside the grand wooden doors. Keeping a firm grip on her bag, she lay her free hand on another scanner.
After the scan cleared, a guard held out his hand for the package. “I’ll take it to her.”
Dizzie shook her head and tightened her grip. “Nope. Package says deliver to Portia Tremaine.” A quick up and down look. “You’re not Portia Tremaine.”
He scowled. “Wait here. I’ll send someone to find her.”
Dizzie hated these power games. All she wanted to do was deliver the package, collect her bonus, and get back to her room. And none of that could happen if he didn’t let her do her job.
She bit back a sigh and smiled instead of rolling her eyes. “Of course. Though if this package is late, I’ll be sure to tell Ms. Tremaine why.”
The guy finally moved, but she was excruciatingly aware of her time—and her bonus—ticking away. He left the door cracked open.
She peered into the ballroom. The rich, the beautiful, and the weird mingled in the grand space. High and low tables were scattered around the periphery, covered by white tablecloths and floral centerpieces that each probably cost more than she’d make in a month. A band—a live band!—played on the far side of the room, while guests swayed and danced on the gleaming dark marble floor. Lights flashed here and there as newsies captured images of the event.
She surveyed the sea of guests with their bright, stylish clothes and outrageous body mods. Light from the chandeliers reflected off adornments created from base metals and circuitry. More than one person sported unusually colored hair, but her attention was caught—and held—by an elaborate updo sculpted from twinkling filaments.
Dizzie shifted her focus from the truly unique hairstyle. As much as she’d love to people watch, the package wasn’t going to deliver itself. She had minutes to find the boss’s daughter in this mass of people. Tall and blond, Portia Tremaine shouldn’t be too hard to find. If only Dizzie could see over the crowd.
Still no sign of the guard.
Screw this.Dizzie slipped into the ballroom and took a hard left, putting as many people and plants as she could between her and the guards at the door.
Scanning the crowd for the Tremaine heir, she still couldn’t get a good-enough view.
Dammit! She wasnotgoing to lose this bonus because she was short. Dizzie scrambled onto an abandoned chair at one of the perimeter tables, ignoring the surprised looks of people nearby.
“C’mon. C’mon! Where are you?” She didn’t have time for this.
Yes!
A familiar-looking icy blonde stood with a companion near the edge of the dance floor. “Gotcha!” Dizzie jumped off the chair and threw herself into the crush.
Chapter2
Killian St.John stood near the edge of the dance floor with Portia, waiting for Tommy to return with their drinks. He stared into his empty glass. How to get that last drop of amber liquid from the bottom of the glass to his mouth? He’d once seen a girl with a tongue modification that curled out six inches. That would have been useful.
