Page 63 of Don't Tell

She is behind a small bar station to the right of the entrance, in the hotel's event-staff livery — black pants, white shirt, a small black apron tied at the waist. It’s not housekeeping, but a different uniform. Her hair is up. She is pouring champagne from a bottle into flutes on a silver tray.

She looks tired, yet beautiful.

She does not see me at first. When she does, I wink at her, and she flinches for a second, then looks back at the glasses.

I make myself walk to the other side of the room.

I take a glass of wine from the bar, hold it, and let myself be seen by Davies, his two sons, and a collector from Berlin. I make small talk.

Every so often, I steal a glance at her.

She circles the room with the tray. I circle the room with the glass. Our eyes meet at a regular interval that is shorter than wise. She does not linger. Neither do I. The room is full of people who know my face and would notice me staring at the waitstaff, but I keep my eyes on her anyway.

She passes close to me once.

Her tray is half-full. I take a flute from it without speaking. Our eyes lock for a second — maybe two. Her face does not change. She keeps walking.

Christ.My pulse is already at my throat. I need to kiss her.

I take out my phone.

Service hallway. Two minutes.

She takes the tray back to the bar station, sets it down, and picks up an empty bottle as though she is going to refill it. She disappears through the staff door at the side of the room.

I finish a sentence with the man from Berlin and excuse myself. I walk down the service corridor like a man about to take a phone call.

She is 20 ft. past the staff door, in a doorway that puts her out of the line of sight from the kitchen. Her arms are crossed. Her chin is up.

Closing the distance, I kiss her.

Brief and charged, her hands go to my lapels. My hand is at her waist. She tastes like the mint she has been holding in her mouth. I don’t let go for longer than is safe.

I pull back. "You look beautiful."

"I'm wearing a uniform like every other staff. It's nothing new or special."

"Doesn’t change the fact that you look beautiful."

She straightens her collar and presses the back of her wrist to her mouth to check her lipstick. Turning, she walks back through the staff door without looking back.

I wait thirty seconds and follow her out.

Brandt finds me before I find him.

He is at my elbow with a glass of champagne. We have known each other for six years. Brandt has the permanent tan of Mendocino summers.

"Cade Nightingale. Even though you confirmed your attendance, I’m still surprised to see you here. You’re a hard man to pin down."

"Good evening, Eli."

"You’ve not been to one of my openings since I opened. And here you are at a Davies viewing. I’m wounded."

"You'll recover."

"Where is she?"

“Before that, I want you to look at these again.” I take out my phone and show him two of the scans — the hands and the lobby corridor.