Page 82 of Cruel Lies

"This is Calista Meadows. She built a predictive analytics engine that's going to put half the fraud investigators in this city out of work."

Not "my date."

Not "Todd Bradshaw's ex."

Not a woman who was cheated on.

Calista Meadows. A woman whobuiltsomething.

The first time he does it, I feel my whole spine straighten up on its own. The silver-haired museum woman lights up and asks me about the engine, like she truly wants to know. When I hear myself explaining it, I realize I sound like a person who knows what she's talking about.

Because I do.

Ronan stands beside me while I talk. He gives me space when I need it and support when I need that. The hand on my waist is the reassurance I need, and his presence lets me know I'm not alone.

When the museum woman drifts off, I lean in close to him. "You keep introducing me by my company."

"That's who you are."

"You could introduce me as your date."

"I could, and it would reflect quite well on me to have such a beautiful woman agree to share my company." He picks two glasses of champagne off a passing tray and hands me one. "But you're not here as an accessory. You built a thing that caught a criminal nobody else could catch. That's the most interesting bio in this entire room. Why would I lead with anything else?"

Well, alrighty then, Mr. Rico Suave.

I don't really have an answer for that. I take a sip of the champagne instead.

The night goes on and it keeps being like this. Someone tries to corner Ronan about business and he handles it with two sentences and a hand on their shoulder. Somehow, it's enough that they go away happy.

A woman I don't know looks me up and down in a way that's not friendly. Ronan just steps a half inch closer to me and the woman's whole face resets into a smile.

He never leaves my side. Not once. When I need to find the ladies' room, he walks me to the door of it and is standing right there when I come out, hands in his pockets, surveying the crowd.

"You didn't have to wait," I say.

"I know. I chose to."

At some point, they bring out food. It's small and fancy and there's a lot of it, but Ronan ensures that we get to try everything. He remembers, from the aquarium, that I don't like fennel, and I watch him quietly move a plate away from me before I even see the fennel on it.

He listens. He always, always listens.

By the time the plates are cleared, I've forgotten to be nervous.

I came in braced for a whole evening of holding my breath, and somewhere in the middle of it, I just... stopped. Because every time I looked around and felt the room start to close in, Ronan was right there, and the room opened back up.

As dinner concludes, the band shifts into a slow number. Couples start drifting toward the dance floor in the middle of the ballroom. Ronan sets down his glass and holds out his hand, but before he can ask, I catch motion in the distance.

Two people, near the far edge of the dance floor.

Two people Irecognize.

Todd is in a tux, standing stiff, holding a drink he isn't drinking. Next to him, in a gaudy gold dress, is Paula. Her honey-blonde hair is done up. She's got a smile on her face, but it's tight and forced. Even from here, I can sense her discomfort.

They haven't seen us. Not yet. Todd is scanning the room like the social climber he is, always looking for a leg up.

"Ronan," I mumble.

He follows my eyes. His face doesn't change, but I feel the shift in him. It's under the surface. Controlled.