Because it was the only touch he could get away with.
Straight ahead, across the tile floors of the lobby, they made their way into the section of the hotel that held events. A barrier had been set up, and they followed other guests through the metal detectors and Norah gave her name so they could be admitted to the secure area. Marshall bemoaned the lack of hisown sidearm. He’d considered trying to stash one in the hotel earlier in the week, but judging by the amount of security, it was a good thing he hadn’t.
The foyer had white marble floors accented with black tiles. At least a dozen Christmas trees with gold ornaments lined the foyer in front of floor-to-ceiling mirrors interspersed with towering white paneled doors. The doors to the Grand Ballroom were wide open, with security in black suits standing at each door.
Arm in arm, they walked into the ballroom. Light fractured across crystal chandeliers and reflected off gaudy gilded corbels at the top of the two-story columns supporting the balcony of the enormous room. Senators and CEOs mingled in curated clusters. Security staff glided along the periphery, earpieces glinting. The air smelled like flowers and expensive whiskey.
Glittering danger.
“Norah.” The man’s voice cut cleanly through the hum of conversation. “You look stunning.”
Marshall turned with her. Hale had found them before Marshall could finish his first sweep.
Richard Hale wore his tux like he was born in it. His silver hair was perfectly combed, and his cufflinks caught the light. His smile was warm enough to thaw ice. Only his eyes didn’t match the temperature. They were bright and assessing, taking in everything at once.
“Thank you,” Norah said, shoulders straightening. It made her appear professional, composed, and just a shade more eager than she probably realized. “Richard, this is?—”
“Marshall Kincaid,” Hale supplied, already extending his hand.
Norah’s head snapped toward Hale. “You . . . know Marshall?”
“Not formally,” Hale said smoothly. “But a man in my position makes it his business to know who the up-and-coming players are.” His hand stayed outstretched, the picture of urbane good humor. “I believe you met with our Mr. Simmons not too long ago, is that right? It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Kincaid.”
Stephen hummed in Marshall’s ear. “Well, that’s not ominous at all.”
Marshall took the offered hand. Firm grip. Dry palm. No tremor. The guy was either ignorant of Marshall’s real identity or very used to lying.
He blinked once, keeping his expression neutral. “That’s right,” he said. “Simmons was very helpful. Nice to meet you as well, Mr. Hale,” Marshall said. “Norah’s told me a lot about you.”
Hale’s smile sharpened by a millimeter. “Has she?”
Norah flushed. “All good things,” she said quickly. “Marshall is very interested in corporate leadership principles.”
“I consult with companies during times of...transition.” Marshall knew that was corporate-speak for downsizing and mergers. “She speaks very highly of your mentorship over the years.”
Norah patted his arm. “Marshall’s been helping me...think through some important decisions.”
Hale’s attention flicked to her for a heartbeat, then back to Marshall. “Of course he has. That’s what boyfriends are for, isn’t it? Reassuring us we’re not walking into disaster.”
“Phone,” Stephen murmured in his ear. “Right front pocket, jacket. Dark case, iPhone.”
Marshall filed it away. Distance: three feet. Angle: off. Too many eyes.
“I make it a rule to keep Norah as far from disaster as possible.”
Hale chuckled, as if Marshall had said something charming instead of completely sincere. “Well, you’ve chosen a very capable woman to worry about. Norah’s one of the sharpest minds I’ve had the privilege to work with.”
“She is,” Marshall agreed. No argument there.
Norah’s fingers tightened around his arm. “Richard’s being generous.”
“He’s being accurate,” Hale said. He reached out, brushing an invisible speck of lint from her bare shoulder in a gesture that made Marshall’s jaw want to lock. “You’re an asset to this firm, Norah. Tonight is only going to showcase that.”
Stephen hissed in his ear. Marshall’s suddenly clenched fists agreed with the sentiment.
He shifted slightly, putting himself just half a step closer to Hale, as if adjusting for the noise level. His gaze flicked over the older man’s shoulder, mapping the room, counting exits, noting the two private security types hovering just inside the periphery with the relaxed stance of men who could draw in under a second.
He forced his tone to be casual. “Big night for you, sir. Morris looks like she’s got every power broker in DC in this room.”
