Sebastian stands in the doorway, holding the lipstick between his fingers. “You forgot something.”
Ice floods my veins. I walk back and take the lipstick from him, forcing a tight, casual smile. “Thanks. That’s my favorite lipstick.”
Suspicion gleams in Sebastian’s eyes. I meet his stare without flinching. After a beat, he smirks and closes the door on me. Annoyance churns in my gut. My night—my mission—has been ruined twice.
I retreat down the hall, my heels clicking over the polished floor. Once I reach the elevator and get inside, the doors close and I let myself slump against the wall. This night cannot get worse. I dig through my clutch, find my emergency stash of M&M’s, and rip the packet open with my teeth. I pour in a mouthful directly from the bag, letting the sugar calm the rising tide of humiliation and panic.
I’m not supposed to feel this way anymore. Small. Left out. Forgotten. The girl who wasn’t enough. I twist the ring circling my thumb.I’m not that girl anymore.
The elevator dings, and I swipe at my eyes before the doors slide open. The gala is still in full swing—laughter, music, champagne. It all feels overwhelming, and I need space. I make quick work of locating Margot Stanton and scheduling a meeting before I weave my way through the glittering crowd to escape into the cool night air of the sculpture garden and sink onto a bench near the exit.
It’s nearing midnight, but only a few guests are trickling out, collecting their cars from the valet or catching a rideshare. I envy them. I’d love nothing more than to exchange this dress for pajamas and crawl into bed. I look at my empty M&M’s bag.With more chocolate.
But no. Upstairs, Ben Bradley is sitting in a high-stakes meeting, under a fake name, and I’m here with an empty bag of candy and no new information to give to Athena—
Except... that’s not true.
I have names.
Ramirez and—Ben.
Something doesn’t feel right. What’s he doing in there? Lying?
I pull out my phone and hover over a text to Rex. They were best friends once. Maybe he knows something. But it’s late—dragging Rex into this mess feels wrong. He’s nosy. He’d want answers I can’t give. Definitely not a good idea.
Instead, I google Ben. And get—nothing. Full name? Nothing. Facebook? Dead end. Instagram? Ghost town. I even checkDateDash, the cursed dating app Joy signed me up for after my coffee shop date with a guy whose idea of fun was showing me his vintage dental tool collection.In what world is tooth extraction romantic?
But the app gives me nothing. Apparently, glowed-up Bennett Bradley doesn’t need a dating app to meet women. And I doubt he’d be dating women who think flossing is a love language. Not that I care.I don’t.And to prove it, I shove my phone into my clutch just in time to spot movement across the courtyard.
Ben.
He’s walking alongside Ramirez and the vulture-faced man, heading toward the valet. The meeting’s over? That was fast. Too fast.
I fumble to pull my phone back out and open my camera app, trying to snap a photo. The glare of the lights makes the image fuzzy. Ramirez and the vulture slide into a black Mercedes. Ben shifts and I can’t get a clean shot of the license plate.
I scramble forward, ducking behind a potted tree to try again, but before I can snap a photo, the Mercedes peels away. Ben lingers for a moment—and then a woman in a black dress approaches him. They talk. Or... itlookslike they’re talking. It’s weirdly stiff. Not flirtatious—but not casual either. A black SUV pulls up and Ben takes the keys from the valet.
The woman melts back into the gala. And I’m left wondering who she is—and why she’s making my stomach twist.And why didn’t I get a photo of her?
I hate how distracted I am because ofhim. Ben’s already getting into the SUV. Before I can overthink it, I hustle after him—but the torn hem of my dress catches under my heel and I nearly face-plant. It’s likemy wardrobe has a personal vendetta against me tonight. Regaining my balance, and a smidge of dignity, I glance up in time to see Ben’s brake lights flash red—and then he’s gone.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” A thin man with a pencil mustache steps around me, pointing to a blue Prius with an “I Brake for Speed Bumps” bumper sticker. “That’s my Uber.”
“Sorry,” I mumble as I step back, but when the door opens, a flash of inspiration hits. Or at least that’s what I’m going to call it as I watch the man fold himself into the back seat of the Uber.
And before I can talk myself out of it, I climb in after him.
“Hey! What are you doing?” he squawks.
“Howdy, folks. My, what a handsome pair you are,” the Prius driver chirps. She’s a white-haired woman with thick glasses and enough tie-dyed bear stickers on her dashboard to qualify for Grateful Dead sainthood. “Fun night?”
Fun? I snort. “If running into the guy who excels in being a major pain in my side counts as fun, then yes. Totally fun.” I open my clutch and pull out all the cash I have. “I’ll pay you”—I count it fast—“one hundred and twelve dollars to follow that black SUV.”
“No,” the man beside me whines, shoving his phone in my face. The Uber app glows accusingly. “I’ve already paid forty-six dollars for Debbie to takemeto my apartment. Get out of my Uber.”
“Y’all are gonna have to speak up,” Debbie says, cupping her ear. “I gave up my hearing for Jerry Garcia.” Her car smells faintly of peppermint and cats, and there’s a collage of tabbies dangling from her rearview mirror. “If you two wanna get cuddly back there, I won’t hear a thing,” she adds brightly.
“Ew,” I blurt. The guy next to me gives me a look like I’d be lucky. I roll my eyes. Though, if he doesn’t have a finger dental drill from the 1870s, he’s a step up from the last guy. Barely.
