"You know him personally?" I asked.
He picked up a drink from the bar behind him like we were settling in for a conversation he intended to enjoy. "I grew up with that man. Our families go way back. His grandfather and my grandmother were on the same arts council for twenty years." He leaned in, dropping his voice like he was sharing classified information.
"Don’t tell him I said this, but I used to beat him at chess every summer until he was twelve. Then he figured out my strategy and I haven’t won since. The man holds a grudge like nobody I’ve ever met. I’m fairly sure he’s still angry about a game I won in 2004."
I laughed. "That sounds about right."
"You have a beautiful laugh, Anna Wilson," he said, and our gazes held. "So, are you Jace’s date or his hostage? Because with him it could go either way."
"His assistant," I said, chuckling under my breath.
"His assistant," he repeated, taking a slow sip of his drink and looking at me over the rim of his black shades. "Jace always did have taste. He just never had the sense to use it on people before."
"You talk about him like he’s a science experiment."
"He is a science experiment. He’s also one of the smartest people I’ve ever met." He grinned. "So, how’s it working with him?"
"Normal, I guess. The usual stuff." I told him about my work. He was about to say something when Jace appeared beside me.
I didn’t hear him approach. Suddenly, he was just there. Close.
"Christopher." His voice was polite in the way a warning sign is polite. Technically civil. Definitely not inviting you in.
"Jace." Christopher’s grin didn’t waver. If anything, it got wider, like he’d been waiting for this and the arrival only improved his evening.
"There he is. The ghost of Miami’s gaming industry, risen from the dead." He lifted his glass in a toast. "I was just telling Anna about the summers our families spent together. Remember when you fell into the Ashworths’ pond because you were too busy reading a book to look where you were walking? You were so worried about the bacteria in the water that you made your grandmother boil your clothes."
"I was nine." His tone turned dangerously flat.
"You were furious." Christopher took a sip of his drink, completely unbothered. He turned to me like he had just found the world’s most captive audience. "He stood in the kitchen in a towel and a pair of his grandfather’s slippers lecturing everyone about pond parasites. I thought his grandmother was going to pass out from laughing."
I pressed my lips together. Hard. Because the image of a nine-year-old Jace Hunter, wet and furious in oversized slippers, lecturing adults about waterborne pathogens, was the funniest thing I’d heard all evening and I could not,absolutely could not, laugh right now. Not with Jace standing beside me radiating a cold front that could have powered an air conditioning unit.
"Fascinating." Jace’s tone could have frozen the champagne. "Are you quite done with the childhood nostalgia, or shall I fetch a projector so you can show her slides?"
"I have slides, actually. Somewhere. Your mother took photos that summer." Christopher sipped his drink, unfazed by the permafrost coming off the man beside me. He was either very brave or very used to Jace, and I was guessing it was both.
"But I’ll save those for the second date," he added.
"There won’t be a second date," Jace said.
"I was talking about my second date with Anna." Christopher winked at me. "Lunch. Wednesday. Somewhere with good lighting so I can see her smile again."
I blinked. Christopher just grinned, like we were in on something Jace wasn’t.
"She’s not going anywhere with you." Jace’s voice was pleasant. But his eyes weren’t.
"I think Anna gets to decide that." Christopher tilted his glass toward me, looking far too pleased with himself.
Jace turned to me. I could feel those gray eyes boring into the side of my head like a drill. I took a sip of my sparkling water to buy a second. "Actually, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I’d also be a little busy."
"Too bad." Christopher didn’t look bothered by it. "Maybe next time, then."
I changed the subject before Jace’s blood pressure changed the evening. I asked Christopher if he’d mind signing somethingfor Miley. I pulled a cocktail napkin from the bar because it was all I had.
He took it and produced a pen from his jacket pocket. Signed with a flourish. WroteToMiley, addedYour friend has excellent taste, then drew a small star beside it.
When he handed it back, our fingers brushed. He held eye contact a beat longer than any reasonable person should have, then shot me a mischievous grin.
