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After all, I’m here as another man’s date.
I take another sip of water, though what I want is wine. More wine. Enough wine to make me bold. Maybe even a little reckless.
Mr. Stanley is still busy with his meal. He’s not looking at me. He doesn’t seem to care that I’m here. Apparently I pale in comparison to the filet.
I’m good with that.
What does Nathaniel want?
A man like that doesn’t ask a woman like me to meet him in an empty office because he wants to kiss her. He asks because there’s some kind of business.
Maybe help for my mother.
That thought decides it for me. Sure, I can still feel the whisper of his breath against my flesh, still feel the way my pulse raced when he looked at me…
But Mom is more important than all of that.
If there’s even the smallest chance Nathaniel wants to help, I can’t ignore it because I’m afraid of looking foolish.
I set down my fork and dab my mouth with my napkin. “I need to excuse myself,” I say to Mr. Stanley.
“For what?”
“I beg your pardon?”
He leans back. “Where do you need to go?”
Seriously? “Ladies’ room,” I say. “I’ll only be a moment.”
He narrows his bloodshot eyes. “A woman should never announce that she’s using the bathroom.”
Heat flashes across my cheeks. “Then I won’t.” I stand before he can respond and walk toward the corridor before he can make another rude comment.
I move between tables, past candles and flower arrangements and servers carrying plates beneath silver domes. The ballroom is louder now that the presentation is over. People are eating, laughing and praising the foundation.
I reach the edge of the ballroom and slip beneath one of the arched openings into the corridor.
The hallway is lined with dark wood and muted gold wallpaper. A few closed doors break up the walls.
Across from the ballroom.
That’s what he said.
I scan the doors.
One sits almost directly opposite the arched entrance, set slightly back in a shallow alcove.
My pulse jumps. This must be it.
I stop in front of the door.
What on earth am I doing?
A maid doesn’t slip away from a gala to meet Nathaniel Vexley in an empty office.
A woman with sense doesn’t either.
But a woman with a sick mother might.
