“You never do,” Sebastian says dryly, flagging the bartender for a drink. “Where were you?”
It doesn’t completely surprise me that Sebastian noticed I was gone. He pays attention when it serves him—whether out of habit, suspicion,or that Edmond instinct to catalog threats and assets. He’s like the big brother I never asked for—the kind who’d absolutely rat me out to Daddy if it aligned with his agenda.
“Chasing down a waiter for more of those chocolate desserts.”
Sebastian arches a brow. “And that guy?”
“He got handsy.”
“With you?” There’s a sharp edge to his voice now.
I shrug. “Not me.”
His shoulders ease slightly, but suspicion still lingers in his watchful stare.
“Where’s Mr. Edmond?” I ask, shifting the subject.
“With George Washington.”
“What?”
Sebastian collects his drink. Sniffs it. Then takes a slow sip. “The museum has an oil painting of George Washington.” He tips his head in the direction of a hallway. “Dad wanted to see it before the meeting.”
Mr. Edmond might love America’s history, but he has a more... flexible relationship obeying her laws. At least, according to Athena. But he hasn’t been arrested for anything yet, which only feeds into my belief that the rich and powerful don’t get booked; they get buildings named after them.
“Has the meeting started?”
Sebastian tilts his glass, studying me over the rim. “Not without me.”
There’s always been an edge between Sebastian and his father. Part of it’s generational. Part of it’s a power struggle—one man unwilling to let go, one unwilling to wait his turn.
I’m reminded of the heated argument between Sebastian and his father.“He’s killed for less.”Those four words bring me back to my failed mission—and the man behind it. I search the sea of men in tuxedos around me. Maybe there’ll be some hint of recognition: a mole, a crooked nose, anything that will help me identify the person who hid behind a marble bust.
My gaze sweeps the crowd and stops on the security staff. Maroon jackets, badges, hovering at the edges of the room. Bored and inattentive. Nothing about their posture suggests they’re on alert and looking for me.
Which means... the man upstairswasn’tmuseum security.
My mind replays the earlier events.Someonecaught me trying to break into the Mayer Library. Any decent guest in attendance tonight would’ve assumed I was a burglar and reported me, right? But he didn’t. He chased after me, but only when the real museum security showed up.
Which tells me he didn’t want to get caught either.
The thought rattles through my brain almost as loudly as the drumbeat from the band. The man upstairs wasn’t supposed to be there either. So why was he? Who was he? My questions shudder to a stop when the next question comes: Did he seeme? Like really see me? Enough to identify me?
My fingers fly to my hair, yanking loose bobby pins until the tight chignon falls over my shoulders and curtains my face. I’m no longer annoyed with Athena for forcing me to change out of my dress. If the man from upstairs is looking for me, I’m hoping the clothing change will throw him off. Still, I feel vulnerable. Exposed.
I’mnotas invisible as I want to be.
“I think I’ll go make sure your father has everything he needs,” I tell Sebastian, already moving before he can stop me.
Chapter 5
Ben
Dallas, Texas
Monday night
The alarm spreading through me is shifting into panic. Every worst-case scenario barrels through my brain. Did someone make us? Has our mission been compromised? My pace quickens as I shove through the stairwell door and round the corner—straight into a server. With deftness, he quick-steps to the side and manages to keep all the champagne flutes upright on his tray.
