“Well, I’ve got huge love bites on my neck, and I’m feeling a little sore from?—”
“Get to the point, Saph. What’s the story with you two?”
“I’m seeing him again.”
“Oop, hang on, babe, another call’s coming through. I need to grab this one, but I’msohappy for you both.” I squealed into the phone, grinning as Saph’s excitement bubbled through the line.
We said our goodbyes, and I switched over, the smile still tugging at my lips when the next voice hit my ear. Low. Familiar. Brotherly.
“Vee.”
“Jules, you sound chipper. What’s up?”
“Oriental lilies, orchids, or roses?”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“I’m at a florist. Need your help. Picking flowers for a special woman tomorrow.”
“Easy. Go with a mixed bouquet of roses. Different colors. Romantic and bold. Saph loves that.”
“Who said they’re for Saph?” Julian growled.
I smirked into the phone. “Please. I already know. Get her the roses.”
He exhaled, a smile tucked into the sound. “Thanks, Vee.”
“Hey, I’ve gotta run,” I chirped, the double beep cutting through Jules’s laugh. I ended the call and switched lines, half-expecting Sapphire to gush more about round two with my brother. “Saph?—”
“Saph?” a gruff voice boomed through the line, low and heavy like a foghorn.
“Brenton,” I said, sitting up straighter. “What can I do for you?”
“The Scott family is hosting a fundraiser tonight for Saint Luke’s Cathedral. Alistair called personally, inviting a representative from our firm. Trouble is, it’s my wedding anniversary. I need you to go in my place.”
My gut tightened. “I’m sure there are others in the firm?—”
“If I wanted someone else, I would’ve asked them.” His tone cut clean. “When a Scott extends an invitation, we show up. Can I count on you, Vera?”
“Yes,” I murmured, already regretting it.
“Good. Royal Mirage Hotel. Grand ballroom. Seven sharp.”
I swallowed. “Dress code?”
“It’s safer to overdress. You’re clever and confident, so I’m sure you’ll wow the room.”
“Thanks.” The unexpected compliment had me grinning despite the knot forming in my stomach.
Seven p.m.
I scanned the ballroom, picking out faces I’d only ever seen on magazine covers, news panels, and glossy TV segments. Politicians. CEOs. Socialites who treated scandals like accessories. Lester Harbor’s elite filled the room, at least two hundred of them packed beneath glittering crystal chandeliers. Gilded mirrors bounced back the opulence, while the royal-redcarpet carried the faint, sweet trace of rose petals, as if even the floor had been perfumed for their arrival.
The guests sparkled in designer gowns and tailored suits, laughter floating above the clink of champagne flutes. Handshakes and polished smiles passed between them like currency. I worked the room, greeting a few of the firm’s clients and slipping into polite, empty chatter from the weather to politics and Saint Luke’s Cathedral back when it was the city’s crown jewel. A local band filled the background with familiar tunes, their rhythm smoothing over the hollow conversations.
I’d gone with a backless maxi dress, the deep halter neckline framing my cleavage just enough to draw eyes. Metallic-gold pleats shimmered every time I moved, catching the light and setting off my tan. My hair fell in loose waves over my shoulders, a soft contrast to the bold dress.
He’s here.The thought flickered through me, sparking a rush of heat that curled low in my belly. I didn’t need to see him to know. I could feel it. A shift in the air, the weight of someone watching. Then a hand, broad and warm, pressed against the bare skin of my lower back. A jolt shot up my spine.
