Page 65 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

Inside, Natalie grabbed a glass of champagne and parked herself in a balcony niche overlooking the Grand Ballroom. Her party of one didn’t last long. People swarmed her, everyone enchanted by her dress and mask. At times she wondered if she was spying for Otto, supporting the arts, or running for public office.

When her flute emptied, she slipped to the nearest bar. She ordered another champagne, squinting to read the label for her report to Otto.

Damn. They splurged. Big time.

When the line thinned, Nat let herself flirt with the bartender. Jaxon. With an x. A total hunk with biceps for days, dark curly hair, and a mustache to rival Magnum PI. He bragged about top shelf liquors while she typed notes and snapped pics, including one of him (for research, obviously). She scored his business card before moving on to Phase II: appetizers.

She’d just tucked her clutch under her arm when a tall man appeared beside her.

"Can I get a Sprite or Seven-up? Or club soda?" His hands braced the bar. His fox mask hid most of his face, but the sheen of sweat on his neck and his slight sway told her he wasn’t drunk.

This man was ill.

Natalie took a step toward him. "Sir, are you okay?"

He nodded but said nothing.

"Can I go find someone for you?"

"No … I just need a minute," he said, his voice like sandpaper.

Natalie’s event-planner instincts kicked on. She'd witnessed guests go down time and again for a number of reasons. She scanned the balcony for a chair, then remembered an ottoman in the ladies' room.

The man downed the soda in one gulp and held the glass out.

“More,” he whispered, his knuckles bone-white on the bar.

“This guy needs a cold cloth of some kind," she said to the bartender.

Jaxon worked quickly, shaking a wet cloth with ice in a cocktail shaker like a pro. He tossed it to her.

"Sir," Natalie said softly, touching the man’s arm. “This will help. May I?"

Heat radiated off him as she held the cloth to the back of his neck. His quiet sigh signaled relief. He lifted his hand, covering hers as he pressed the cloth more firmly against his skin. Her heart drummed a sympathetic beat.

Poor guy! Please don’t let this be the flu. I cannot get sick.

"Better?" she asked.

He lifted his face. The fox mask didn’t hide the pain in his glassy eyes. Her chest tightened and an unusual feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Blue eyes. Her greatest weakness.

I bet those eyes sparkle when he's actually conscious. Poor guy!

"I think I know something else that’ll help. One minute."

She turned and hustled to the ladies' room. An attendant eyed her suspiciously from her perch on a stool, as Natalie hoisted the ottoman.

"Wow!" She wrestled to gain comfortable positioning. "This thing is heavier than it looks."

The attendant shot to attention. "Ma'am, you can't take that.”

"There’s a sick guest. I promise to bring it back. Could you get the door for me?"

When she got back to the bar, the man was gone. Her eyes swept the balcony, but Mr. Fox had vanished.

Well, at least he's not face down on the floor.

Natalie returned the ottoman. As she turned to leave, the attendant gasped.