2
Nico
Iwatch her disappear from the room, and tell myself that’s the end of it.
The smart play is obvious. Let her go. Forget the whole thing happened.
Except I can’t.
I stand there in the private lounge with my whiskey getting warm and my brain replaying every detail. The way she barged in looking for a bathroom and ended up triggering my security system. The complete lack of recognition when I introduced myself. The fucking audacity of insulting my gala, calling it, and I quote, “corporate savior cosplay.”
I should be offended.
I’m not.
I’minterested, which is infinitely more dangerous.
Callahan appears in the doorway again. “Everything all right, sir?”
“Fine.” I drain the rest of my whiskey. “Just heading back out.”
He doesn’t believe that I’m fine. I can tell by theway he doesn’t quite hide his smirk as he steps aside to let me pass.
The gala will be winding down soon. The crowd has already thinned to the diehards and the truly desperate networkers.
As soon as I step back into the main event space, the familiar pattern begins.
People notice.
People move.
It’s not respect. It’s recognition. Calculation.
Elspeth appears out of nowhere, touching my arm with the kind of casual familiarity that comes from working together four years. She’s holding court with two men in tuxedos, probably securing another round of investors for the Q4 expansion. She nods, obviously wanting to draw me into the conversation with the men.
But I simply return her nod and keep moving.
I’m not looking for anyone in particular.
Except I absolutely am.
I find her at the bar. Bree, flushed and slightly disheveled, with her lipstick smudged. She’s holding a glass of champagne, and standing next to a woman in a bright yellow dress who’s gesturing wildly while talking, but Bree hardly seems to be listening.
She’s looking right at me.
I should leave her alone. Let her enjoy the rest of her night. Should turn around and go back to my private lounge.
The friend checks her phone and makes a face. Probably realizing how late it’s gotten. Bree nods, finally breaking eye-contact, and says something I can’t hear from this distance. She finishes her champagne and sets the empty glass down on the counter. They both start moving toward the coat check.
This is where I demonstrate the self-control that’s gotten me through a decade of hostile negotiations and corporate warfare.
This is where I walk away.
My feet carry me toward the coat check instead.
Callahan materializes beside me without being summoned. “Sir?”
“Tell Indira we may have passengers,” I say. She’s my driver.
