“Can you not?” I grumble.
She grins, steering us toward the breakfast buffet. “Oh, I absolutely can, because you disappeared last night and left meto fend for myself at an international peace gala. That is not very best-friend behavior.”
“I didn’t disappear,” I defend. “I just… went to bed.”
“WithJames,”she adds pointedly.
Heat creeps up my neck. “Lower your voice.”
“So that’s a yes?” she laughs.
I busy myself with pouring coffee I don’t really want—anything to avoid her gaze. “It’s not a big deal.”
“That blush says otherwise.”
I risk a look at her and immediately regret it. She’s watching me with that knowing expression, the one that means she’s already pieced things together and is now just enjoying my discomfort.
“You slept with him,” she announces triumphantly.
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” She giggles. “God, Kate. I leave you alone for one evening, and you hook up with the silent photographer. That’s two times in a row now.”
“It wasn’t—“ I stop myself, exhaling through my nose. “Can we not do this right now?”
“Fine,” she relents, far too easily. “Later then. But for the record, I’m proud of you.”
I blink. “For what?”
“For living a little. For not overthinking everything into paralysis.” She nudges my shoulder. “Even if you have terrible taste in emotionally unavailable men.”
I snort despite myself. “You’ve known him a whole thirty seconds.”
“And I clocked him immediately,” she replies. “Broody. Quiet. Avoidant. Probably allergic to follow-up conversations.”
My chest tightens. She’s mostly joking, but the words land closer to the truth than I’m comfortable with.
After breakfast, our chauffeur picks us up and drops us off at the venue without James.
After going through security, we find seats near the main conference room as people begin filtering in, their voices low and movements more deliberate than they were yesterday. I set up my notebook and headset, hands moving from muscle memory while my mind lags half a step behind.
“He’ll be here,” Addison says casually, as if reading my thoughts when she sees me check my watch for the tenth time. “You’re wound way too tight over this.”
“I’m not.”
“You are, but I get it. First international assignment, first gala, first mysterious one-night stand who turns into a coworker. It’s a lot.” She smiles.
I swallow. “It just feels… off.”
She studies me for a moment, her teasing expression softening into something more serious. “Kate. You’re safe. We’re okay. Security is tight, the talks are going well, and whatever you’re feeling is probably just nerves.”
I want to believe her. I really do, but as the minutes stretch on and James still doesn’t appear, the unease sharpens instead of fading. It curls low in my stomach, like my body knows something my brain hasn’t caught up to yet.
When an announcement crackles over the speakers—a brief delay before the final session begins—the room stirs with mild irritation.
Addison perks up instantly, professional instincts kicking in. “Oh, okay. Something is definitely up.”
The delay stretches from minutes into something heavier. People stop pretending it’s routine—conversations lower, shoulders tighten, phones come out and stay out. I catch fragments of words drifting through the room—security, confirmed, stand by—nothing concrete, but enough to set mynerves on edge. The air feels charged now, brittle, like it might crack if someone breathes too loudly.
