Page 6 of The Liar in Room 5

I might’ve been young at thirty-two to have already made partner at the firm, but I’d managed to do it while holding a few boundaries that allowed me to have somewhat of a life. I intended to reinforce those with a vengeance because all emails could wait until this evening. Sundays between noon and eight belonged only to me.

I parked my car underneath a tree and made my way inside. I collected a glass of champagne from a server circulating through the crowd and headed farther into the house. Drink in hand, I stepped out of the server’s route and looked around for the host. When I spotted him alone across the room, I made a beeline for him. Dragging Phoenix away from people wasn’t the easiest task.

“Handsome, you made it,” he said before leaning in to kiss both my cheeks.

Neither of us was European, but that never stopped him from being a fabulous man of undetermined age.

“I’m so glad there’s such a nice turnout today. Lots of money raised means more help distributed.”

“No need to sell it,” I said dryly. “My donation has already cleared the bank.”

“Excellent. Your support is always appreciated.” Phoenix grinned.

He took a moment to straighten his perfectly straight collar and smooth his completely unwrinkled pants.

“There’s a guest I’d like you to meet. He’s…interesting.”

“What’s the pause mean?”

“The pause?” His arched brow was doing a lot of work.

“Stop repeating my words and answer the question, please.”

I tucked Phoenix’s hand into my elbow and led us toward the buffet set up on the other side of the room.

“If you’re going to make me work for it, I need sustenance.”

“All in due time, lovely.”

He declined the offered plate with a wink but helpfully advised which of the small bites were best. I’d skipped breakfast and lunch, so I piled my plate high to make up for it.

“Okay, tell me about the pause,” I repeated.

Phoenix studied a tray of fruit as if the answers to the universe were hidden there. After adding strawberries to my plate, he said, “I’d rather you figure it out for yourself.”

If it had been anyone but Phoenix, the lack of clarity would have grated on me. No one pushed Phoenix at a pace he didn’t want to go, so I forced myself to swallow my bubbling objection.

He led me to one of the occupied tables along the side of the room with two open chairs. The men already sitting there were deep in conversation but looked up at our approach.

“Phoenix, please join us. Andy and I were just discussing pickleball,” the older man said with a beaming nod to the younger one at the table. “You play, don’t you?”

Andy almost imperceptibly winced when he heard his name.

“I’m afraid it’s been a while since I picked up any kind of racket,” Phoenix answered with a laugh, “but I was never particularly good at it.”

Andy, who looked like the consummate businessman at lunch, glanced between us.

“Walter loves it though,” he said with an encouraging smile and the smoothest delivery.

Andy was exceptionally well-dressed for a Sunday afternoon. His hair was styled to gelled perfection. His pants were pressed with a crease down the center. His polo shirt stretched across his shoulders, emphasizing his tight physique. His biceps weren’t overly large, but it was obvious he worked out. There was the faintest hint of stubble on his cheeks, and his shoes were polished to a mirror shine.

“Do you play, Andy?” I asked.

Before answering, he schooled his features into a bland, pleasant expression.

“Love it,” he answered brightly. “I just wish I had more time to play.”

Walter beamed at his enthusiasm.