Page 31
Birdie links her arm through mine. “You belong anywhere you walk into, Cass.”
“That sounds like advice people give before a person walks into traffic.”
My attention moves toward two men standing near the drive. Their vineyard jackets blend with the staff uniforms, but neither shows much interest in the wine or arriving guests. One watches the road while the other surveys the pavilion entrances.
“There are more guards than I expected,” I murmur.
“Maybe rich people need protection from other rich people.” Birdie squeezes my arm. “They could begin dueling over the last bottle of merlot.”
A woman in a blazer steps away from the reception table as we approach. Her hair is pulled into a sleek ponytail, small gold hoops frame a welcoming face, and her block heels cross the stone as if she has solved every crisis that could occur tonight and scheduled the next one for Monday.
“Cassie Brewster and Birdie Lawson?” she asks with a warm smile. “I’m Tessa Morales. We spoke on the phone.”
“Thank you for letting us use Connor’s invitation,” Birdie says as Tessa takes the cream card from her. “His plans changed unexpectedly.”
The explanation sounds thin enough to see through, but Tessa only checks our names on a tablet. “I’m sorry he couldn’t attend. Andrei was looking forward to continuing their conversation, but we’re glad you’re here in his place.”
A chill runs down my spine at her words. “Continuing what conversation?”
Tessa’s brown eyes meet mine, and interest enters her professional smile. “I only know they had dinner Tuesday evening. Andrei keeps business discussions private, which is useful for our clients and occasionally inconvenient for his executive assistant.”
“Did Connor schedule another meeting with him?” I ask, trying to sound curious instead of desperate. “He didn’t mention one to me.”
“Not through me, although that doesn’t mean they hadn’t planned to speak.” Tessa hands the invitation to an attendant and gestures toward the pavilion. “Let me introduce you before the presentation begins.”
Her easy welcome loosens a fraction of the tension across my shoulders, which makes me distrust my own judgment. Nice people work for dangerous men every day. They probably receive excellent dental insurance and learn not to open certain doors.
We enter beneath a cedar arch woven with grape leaves and white roses. Candlelight glows across long tables dressed in ivory linen, while copper bowls overflow with pears, figs, and late-season flowers. Servers move among the guests with trays of sparkling wine, and music from a string quartet rises above the conversation. Beyond the pavilion’s open side, amber lights mark the vineyard rows beneath a violet sky.
The scene would feel romantic if I weren’t calculating how many places on the estate could conceal a body.
Andrei Dragorin’s wealth isn’t loud or glittering. It’s built into the road, the buildings, the uniformed staff, and the seamless way forty influential people are welcomed without seeing the work required. Money on this scale buys privacy, loyalty, attorneys, and the power to erase inconvenience before anyone outside the gates knows it existed.
Connor could have discovered a secret here. Andrei could have decided my brother had become an inconvenience.
The thought stings my skin as Tessa guides us toward a silver-haired woman arranging place cards near the center table. She wears a cream dress beneath a sage cardigan, with pearl earrings and a gold cross at her throat. She notices one chair out of line, corrects it with her hip, and addresses Tessa before the younger woman can introduce us.
“You have not eaten since lunch,” she says, her Russian accent warm but firm. “There are mushroom tartlets passing three feet behind you, and you continue pretending not to see them.”
“I was waiting for you to notice,” Tessa replies, accepting one when a server comes near. “Sofia Dragorin, this is Cassie Brewster and her cousin, Birdie Lawson. They’re attending in Connor Brewster’s place.”
Concern touches Sofia’s hazel eyes when she hears his name, although her welcoming smile remains. “Andrei mentioned that Mr. Brewster might not come tonight. I hope he is well.”
“We hope so too,” I answer as Birdie’s fingers brush mine in warning.
Sofia takes both my hands as if we have arrived for Sunday dinner instead of a business event. Her fingers are warm, her nails short from garden work, and rose perfume clings lightly to her cardigan.
“Then we will make certain you are welcomed for him,” she says. “Come, you need wine before people begin explaining wine to you.”
She chooses two glasses without consulting us before Tessa introduces Reid Walker, who approaches in a charcoal suit with an open-collared white shirt. He has the athletic build of a man who spent years outdoors before someone gave him an office, and his hazel eyes move from Tessa to Birdie with open interest.
“Reid runs everything Andrei doesn’t want to admit requires another person,” Tessa says before biting into her tartlet.
“That description is going into your annual review,” Reid replies, although humor softens his face as he offers Birdie his hand. “You restore furniture in Aldermere.”
Birdie accepts it, surprise lifting her eyebrows. “You know my work?”
“I looked at your website after your call on Thursday. The walnut desk with the hidden compartments was impressive.” Reid keeps her hand for a moment before releasing it. “Did you ever learn why it had seven?”
