Page 20

Her lips twitch.

“This is the fireplace.”

She exhales sharply. “I did wonder.”

“And these are books.”

“Are they?”

“Some of them. Others are things disguised as books.”

This time, she laughs.

I don’t. I wasn’t joking.

I walk behind my desk and indicate one of the leather chairs in front of it. “Sit.”

She obeys, perching on the edge.

I remain standing and look her over once more. The uniform does its best to erase her. Black dress. White collar. Practical shoes. Hair restrained. Body hidden beneath lines chosen for modesty and function.

It fails.

Not because the uniform is revealing. It’s not.

Because Ella Hart is difficult to erase now that I’ve noticed her.

I take my seat.

She settles her hands in her lap. Her fingers are clenched so tightly her knuckles have gone pale.

“I need your help tonight,” I say.

She widens her blue eyes. “My help?”

“Yes.”

“With what?”

“The Vexley Foundation gala.”

She drops her jaw. Okay, so she didn’t expect the gala. Did she expect something else? Did she think I would ask about Audrey? The slap?

I probably should ask questions.

A staff member was on the floor with a red mark on her cheek. Audrey was lying. Ella was terrified. Any competent fixer would ask.

But unfortunately, I don’t have the time. Not today, at least.

“One of our attendees canceled this morning, and she was scheduled to accompany a major donor. I need a woman to fill the chair.”

Ella tilts her head. “A chair.”

“Yes.”

“At the gala.”

“Yes.”