A couple of seconds later,myphone vibrates in my clutch, and I know it’s him.
“Excuse me,” I say to Waleed and the elites, ignoring Mom’s pointed stare, then make my way toward the empty spot just outside the ballroom’s balcony.
I pull my phone out and look at the screen, and sure enough, I have a new text from Mave.
I click on it.
Mave:Do you seriously want me to stumble around this building in search of you? Where the hell are you, Nettie?
I sigh and glance at him again.
His shoulders are hunched, and the other bodyguards around him are forcing their conversation on him, but I can feel his disinterest and worry even through the distance between us.
I swallow and start typing a response.
Me:Switch to water, Mave.
He replies instantly.
Mave:I will – when you join me at the bar.
I frown a little.
Me:I need some time. I’m trying to woo a potential sponsor, but they’re playing hard to get.
A lie, of course.
Mave:Why? Why the fuck are you helping Miranda by doing good on her brand?
Me:I may loathe my mother, but I still care about Lure, Mave.
It’s funny, though, right? I despise the woman who created this empire, but I don’t hate the empire itself.
Mave:Alright. I’ll give you an hour, and then I’ll come looking for you. I’ll crawl if I have to, but I’ll get to you.
I shake my head.
Me:You’re a dramatic drunk, Maverick. I’ll be there within an hour.
Mave:Fine.
Me:Fine.
A ridiculously boisterous laughter meets my ears, and I immediately snap my head up.
Rizwana.
I may not know much about her, but I do know that laugh. She’s known for it, after all.
I scan the room, and spot her near the stage. She’s chatting animatedly with an elite I don’t recognize, and merely a few feet from her, Christopher Solo is busy conversing with the sheriff and his son. I know he’s keeping an eye on Rizwana and looking for an opening to talk to her, but if he waits too long, there’s a chance she might slip, and I most certainly won’t let that happen.
I brace myself, let go of a breath, and make my way to her.
“And to think, I was going to hire them for my nephew’s–”
“Rizwana,” I greet her with a clinical smile, then look apologetically at the man she’s talking to. “I’m sorry, but can I borrow Miss Hafeez for a moment?”
He nods and excuses himself, leaving me and Rizwana alone.
