Through the laughter and groaning, through the sunglasses and watery eyes… I couldn’t relax.
Not for a second.
The wedding was tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
And unless we found that bloody brooch today, my career was going to fall apart.
I waited for Cleo to distracted the table, outlining the day’s events, and leaned towards Noah.
“We’re out of time,” I murmured. “If the brooch isn’t found today, we’ll have to go to the police.”
His expression sharpened immediately.
The hangover haze evaporated.
“We’ll find it, Holly,” he said. “Let’s check everywhere guests were last night. Someone had to leave some kind of clue behind.”
I nodded, my chest feeling tight.
We slipped out of the room, leaving the hungover wealthy guests to their coffee, electrolytes, and regrets.
Our temples throbbed.
Our steps wobbled.
But the mission was clear.
The private tasting room looked like a hurricane had passed through, gotten confused, doubled back, and then decided to take up permanent residence.
Glitter coated every surface, the tables, the chairs, the floorboards, even the walls. A half-deflated penis balloon drooped sadly in the corner like it, too, regretted last night. A few blinking LED tiaras still flashed from beneath overturned champagne flutes, pulsing like tiny disco distress signals. The room smelled faintly of rosewater, sugar, and expensive shame.
“Wow,” Noah muttered, stepping inside beside me. “This is… something.”
“It looks like a crime scene,” I said grimly.
Staff were only just filtering in, moving tentatively as if they feared the glitter might bite. One of them gave us a look that saiddo not ask how long this will take.
Noah and I stepped further in, instinctively splitting up, him scanning the tables, me checking under the ledges, but somehow still moving around each other with that awkward, charged awareness I could never quite shake.
Every time we reached for the same item, a fallen champagne flute, a crumpled sash, our hands almost touched. And every time our eyes met, I turned away first, cheeks heating for absolutely no reason.
“So,” he said after a moment, nudging aside a pile of confetti with his shoe, “last night was… memorable.”
“That’s one word.”
“You have another?”
“Not one I should say in front of staff.”
I looked over as Noah chuckled, and behind him I caught the faint glint of something beneath a velvet stool.
At first I thought it was just another champagne cork abandoned in the chaos of the night, but then the light caught it properly. A sharp flash of gold.
My stomach tightened.
“Noah,” I said slowly. “Move.”
