Page 124 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

She whipped around toward the main door, colliding with the last person she ever expected to see.

His eyes widened. "Natalia?"

"Roman?"

You. Have. Got. To. Be. Effing. Kidding. Me.

"You look surprised," he said.

"Shocked is more like it," she answered.

He reached out and touched her arm. “This makes twice in how many days? Can I buy you a drink?"

"I doubt your wife would like that." Her sarcastic tone cut like a razor.

"I'm here with a couple of racing buddies. What about you?"

Natalie craned her neck around Roman's large frame, praying her eyes met Dash's. "I'm meeting someone. He should be here any minute."

"I'd like to meet him. Let me buy the two of you a drink."

"I don't think so."

"One little drink? For old time’s sake? Surely you can make time for an old friend."

“You and I are not friends.”

Roman’s gaze ran up and down the length of her body. "He must be treating you well. You look more beautiful than ever."

He reached out and stroked her shoulder. Clearly he'd had quite a bit to drink. Her mind searched for something to say. Something polite and ladylike but she found no such words. Hundreds of vulgar, offensive comebacks came to mind. He’d ruined her career. Poisoned her level of trust. Treated her like one of his racing trophies.

He's not worth it, Nat. Not even close.

She dropped her shoulder and his hand fell away. Without wasting another breath on this asshole, she pushed by him and continued to the entrance. She grabbed hold of the door handle and swung it open with all her force, coming face to face with the tall, dark, and handsome object of her deepest desire.

His face ran through a gamut of expressions. First, confusion. Then shock. Then, the smile. That lethal smile that killed and revived her multiple times in London. But ultimately, confusion circled back. He looked past her, eyeing the crowd. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to not jump into arms and kiss him into oblivion.

“There’s no one else. It’s just me,” she said, her heart beating a post fifty-yard dash level.

“I don’t understand,” Dash began. “What are you … I mean, Noah said you were out with some guy named Blaine.”

Several customers jostled between them. Natalie took him by the hand and pulled him away from the door.

“I couldn’t let you have all the fun with your Win her Back party, could I?”

“You knew?” he asked, his tone raised in disbelief. “Who told you? And how’d you know I’d be at this bar?”

“No one. I figured it out on my own. I may have intercepted a couple of text messages between Noah and Miranda, too. Then I got in touch with Cecil⁠—”

“Wait, Cecil knows about this?” His voice jumped several octaves.

“He knows everything. He’s my co-conspirator, along with Blaine Sheridan, who is just a friend and a mighty fine actor. And just so there’s no hard feelings, Cecil’s picking up the tab for the entire shindig. He gave me his Platinum Card and told me to go all out.”

Dash stood stone faced, digesting this information. “That sneaky sonofabitch. So, me showing up at the party and you not being there⁠—”

“All part of our plan,” she said, her smile as wide as humanly possible.

“And the others?”