Page 80 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

“Sounds great. We’ll schmooze en route.”

They waded through the crowd, stopping every few feet to greet old friends and make new ones. Hart turned on his signature charm from the jump. A one-man PR firm, praising Natalie’s design prowess while humbly downplaying his own celebrity.

She hated to admit it: it was irritatingly effective, all the way to him whipping out her business cards, like a magician performing sleight-of-hand.

“Hart! Put that away.” She gave a teasing hiss, playing right along.

“And let these fine folks miss out their chance to get in early on your new business? Never,” he said with a wink.

Hart then launched into a loud elevator speech. How he wouldn’t dream of trusting his next and biggest book launch to anyone other than Natalie & Co.

Guests leaned in. A photographer circled, snapping multiple shots. A woman stood at the edge of the crowd, scribbling notes on a small pad. Natalie caught her eye–Hannah Hunt from Nashville Now. They exchanged knowing nods.

Act natural.

The publicity’s working.

Across the patio, Dash looked her way. Their eyes met for a split second … but then he turned back to Kate.

Seriously? He doesn’t recognize me?

It’s not like he was blacked-out drunk that night.

And my hair alone tends to leave a lasting impression.

A landowner with a cowboy hat the size of a satellite dish asked for a business card. Another guest followed. Natalie hustled to the display table. Half of her cards and business brochures—gone.

Yes! It’s working!

Keep Hart talking.

Don’t stop until this display table is empty.

Natalie pitched to a new cluster of guests. Again, she caught Dash’s gaze. This time he didn’t look away. His eyes, brimming with something that looked an awful lot like pride.

Pride for her?

Or Kate?

Flustered, she lost her train of thought. Hart swooped in and picked up the slack without missing a beat. She quickly recovered and continued the pitch.

A server approached with a drink.

“Special delivery from across the patio,” he said, handing Natalie a martini—one with two jalapeno slices on a tiny wooden sword.

Oh my God. He remembers. The jalapenos are a sign.

Natalie looked across the courtyard. Kate waved a frantic hand at her.

“You’re being paged. Must be time for introductions,” Hart said.

She guided Hart by the elbow toward her father, Kate, and—God help her—Dash.

Breathe.

You can do this.

Foster’s eyes lit up when Natalie and her guest joined their circle.