My nerves calm. I escort her inside and wait in line to tell the hostess my name. I realize tonight's going to be great, and it's just what I needed.
The hostess, a woman with a nose ring and dark hair, chirps, "Welcome to the Belmont. Do you have a reservation?"
"Dr. Mercer," I announce.
She scans her tablet, then nods. She grabs two menus. "Yes. Right this way." She leads us through the crowd.
We're almost at our table when something in the room shifts. A bright, breathless, impossible-to-ignore laugh cuts through the restaurant.
My stride falters, and hairs on my neck rise. I glance around the restaurant.
Seraphina notices. She murmurs, "Is something wrong?"
My chest tightens as my eyes zoom in on Blue. She sits near the long window at a huge table. A dozen women fill the seats. Charcuterie boards, half-drunk cocktails, and menus sit in front of them.
Blue commands the space without trying. Her silky, azure-blue dress clings to her body in liquid curves. The sculpted bodice looks effortless, but the engineered whisper-thin bodice can't be ignored. Each line stitched into the interior is a secret known only to the wearer. The neckline sweeps into a softened V. It's low, but not crude, and frames her upper chest like a deliberate invitation rather than an accident.
Across her bare left shoulder, an asymmetrical panel of hand-embroidered cobalt glass beads shines bright. They scatter down the bodice like falling stars, concentrated at the top and dissolving as they reach the waist. When she moves, the beads catch the light, creating a subtle, mesmerizing shimmer that draws attention without begging for it.
Her blue hair has the red strands twisted up, exposing her graceful neckline. A few strands escape and skim her cheek.
The room narrows until there's nothing left but Blue.
I must be seeing things.
Her laughter drifts again, and my balls tighten.
Seraphina's voice snaps through my trance. "Friend of yours?"
I turn away from Blue. "No."
Her eyes turn to slits.
I move her toward our table and pull out a chair.
She takes her seat, and I sit across from her, within sight of Blue's table. It's far enough to pretend distance, yet close enough that every rise and fall of her voice threads into the air around us.
Seraphina studies me. "Should I guess, or will you spare me the effort?"
"Client," I say.
"That answers nothing," she replies.
"You know my work is confidential. I don't ask you about private corporate meetings," I remind her.
"Touché," she says, pursing her lips.
The waiter arrives.
Seraphina asks, "Should we get a bottle of Barolo?"
I nod, but the entire exchange blurs when, from the corner of my eye, I see Blue rise.
Blood rushes through my veins. Unable to help myself, I glance over.
Her friends barely look up. She says something to them and motions toward the back, and her steps angle unmistakably toward our section.
Her stride is unhurried, her posture deceptively relaxed, but I catch the tension under the surface. Her spin has an extra degree of straightness. Her gaze sharpens with focus and locks into mine. Her lips curl at the edges.
