Page 77 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

Every sleepless night. Every frantic email. Every penny she’d saved (plus a thousand bucks borrowed from Kate). Behind those frosted French doors, a verdict awaited: Founder and CEO of Natalie & Co, or broke youngest Powell daughter, back under Otto’s thumb.

"We've set up a few overflow tables outside with complimentary chicory coffee,” Hans said at the doors. “We'll call you as soon as we have a table ready."

"Thank you," Natalie said, pulse hammering.

Kate swept an arm toward the door. "After you, Daddio."

Foster pushed them open and the patio erupted as a wall of voices belted out the Happy Birthday song. The trio from Vanderbilt banged out the tune and for the second time that weekend, Foster’s eyes brimmed. He turned to his daughters and pulled them in for a trembling hug. Moments later, he was swallowed by a sea of friends.

Natalie made a visual sweep of the space, mentally sorting the group by net worth. Recording executives. Club owners. Restaurateurs. Horse-world millionaires. Real estate moguls.

Some of the deepest pockets in Nashville are in this courtyard. Just need to dip my hand into one.

Drinks and laughter swelled. Natalie and Kate shared a victorious high-five and slipped back into the shade.

"Mission accomplished," Kate whispered. “It’s gorgeous.”

"Uh, yes," Natalie agreed.

"Are you okay? You've hardly said two words all day. Other than your bit of acting in the car, which was amazing, by the way.”

"What? No. Just a lot on my mind. Game Day mode. I'm going to check in with Hans about the food. Also, we’re supposed to have three bartenders out here.”

And her most important task: withholding her late-night discovery of Mr. Lockwood's marital status. No way would she drop that bomb. Let the adulterous asshole serve the role as high-profile guest and nothing more.

After touching base with Hans and security placements, she returned to the patio. The crowd had doubled. Foster stood with a cigar in one hand and a mimosa in the other. Kate stood tucked in the corner with a small group. She caught Natalie’s eye and waved her over. Natalie wiggled her way through the crowd, her smile widening—until she spied a tall man standing beside her sister, only the back of his head visible.

Big Tex. Finally!

Kate beamed. "And here comes the woman responsible for this gorgeous soiree.”

The man turned.

Natalie met his gaze.

The whole world stopped.

The courtyard, the music, the people—everything faded to black. All that remained? London. His hands on her hips. His mouth on her throat. His voice, low and sinful against her skin.

"If I knew your name, I'd whisper it a thousand times. Stay one more night. Dinner, dancing … every room … fall asleep with me."

"Natalie?" Kate’s voice floated in from a far-away place.

Her throat closed. Her vision tunneled. Beads of sweat dotted her neck. Her armpits transformed into Louisiana swampland. Her brain fired off images like an industrial printer gone berserk. Every second of their night, vivid and magical. Then, the shocking realization of the phone call. The voice she hadn’t recognized. The question she’d asked: Is this the boyfriend?

Dash is Kate’s boyfriend.

HER BOYFRIEND.

"Nat, I'd like you to meet Dash," Kate said proudly.

Natalie couldn’t move, frozen as solid as the venison in Foster’s freezer back home. She devoured Dash’s blue eyes, hungry for any sign of recognition on his part.

She found none.

Nothing.

Not a spark.