Speaking of alcoholics . . .
Valentina strode past the group with a pep in her step. The woman was a hurricane in a Hervé Léger dress. Over her shoulders she wore a pink faux-fur coat, which was far too warm for this weather. Her disregard for societal expectations was a breath of fresh air—a middle finger raised high to all the disapproving whispers and wandering eyes.
One look from her deep brown eyes, fringed with those ridiculously long lashes, and she could get whatever she wanted.And make no mistake, she always did. It didn’t matter if it was a drink, a favor, or a secret—Valentina knew exactly how to get it.
Her warm, mocha-toned skin glowed under the evening sun. Her thick, glossy hair, the color of a rich espresso, was tied in a low ponytail that swayed with her head.
As I stepped up to the bar cart, I overheard Valentina’s conversation. Margot had taken the opportunity to bombard her with questions and invitations. It was painfully obvious Margot was seeing dollar signs—or, rather, Cillian’s money.
“Margot, isn’t it?” Valentina drawled. “Lovely to see you again. Though, wasn’t it just last week at that dreadful charity gala?”
Margot blinked. “That was my gala, Valentina,” she said, shocked Valentina would say such a thing.
“Uh-huh,” Valentina mumbled, acting as if she hadn’t just insulted the woman. Typical. Valentina could insult you with a smile sometimes. She didn’t really care how her words came out.
Margot got over it and then took her time ranting to Valentina, completely disregarding her time and social cues. Valentina looked like she was slowly withering away while she listened.
Eventually, Margot’s relentless droning finally died down, replaced by a strained laugh. I glanced over, expecting to see Valentina approaching. It wasn’t me she was coming for—it was the margarita.
I poured one for her. It wasn’t the smartest idea to give an alcoholic a drink, but Valentina was a grown adult who was fully capable of making decisions for herself.
As she drew closer, the faint scent of her flowery perfume grew stronger. She stopped by my side and took the drink straight out of my hands. “Thank you,mija,” she said. Her Colombian accent blended with her New York City grit.
“Where do you think she gets her enthusiasm from?” I asked with a laugh as we both turned our attention to Margot across the patio. She’d already returned to the main conversation, dominating everyone who spoke.
“The depths of desperation, most likely,” Valentina mused as she took a long sip. “And God forbid if you miss the gallery next month.”
She looked past me. Her posture stiffened, and her jaw clenched.
I instinctively turned to see what had grabbed her attention.
It was Max. Once again, I felt it was too soon.
With a sigh, I took a hesitant sip of my margarita, and so did Valentina. But instead of a sip, her hand shook, sending the entire glass forward. A splash of ice-cold liquid ran down my chest.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” she shrieked, her apology lost beneath the ringing in my ears as the icy liquid continued its descent, turning my clothes into a sticky mess.
She gasped, her eyes widening in horror. She fumbled for a napkin, but I swatted her hand away gently.
“It’s okay.” I forced a smile, bringing my gaze nervously toward the house. The back door was shut, and Max was nowhere to be seen.
“I can run inside and find something,” she said quickly.
“It’s fine, really. I’m sure there’s a spare dress in my mother’s closet I can find.”
In fact, I’d be more than willing to go look.
“Are you sure?” she asked, looking near the gate on the side of the house.
Valentina kept me occupied for a few minutes before finally letting me excuse myself inside. It was getting cold, the mosquitoes were preparing to attack me, and the margaritashe’d spilled was making my skin sticky. Why wasn’t she letting me go change? It felt like she was deliberately stalling.
Finally, she let me go, and I headed for the same door Max had gone through.
Once inside, I passed by the living room, where I couldn’t help but notice a couple of my father’s most imposing security guards in a heated debate over ... a hard drive? They didn’t notice me, or if they did, they clearly didn’t care. Obviously, they wereincrediblygood at their jobs.
Once I’d finally reached my mother’s closet, I flung open the doors, hurrying to get this sticky dress off my skin. Within seconds, I’d shed the tequila-drenched tennis dress and slipped into a simple blackChaneldress.
Now onto the real mission: recon.
