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I never thought I’d say this, but I’m actually glad Mr. and Mrs. Black are throwing another cocktail party this weekend. Helping my mom with preparations and heavy cleaning before the event on Saturday night takes my mind off things, at least. It’s a welcome distraction.
She handles logistics while I spend most of Saturday morning and afternoon scrubbing, polishing, and dusting. In the early afternoon, I overhear Samuel and Audrey having an argument in his study, but I just turn the other way and make a beeline for the library instead. Whatever marital problems those two have, I don’t want to get in the middle of them. And as long as he doesn’t drag my mom into it, Samuel and his wife can be as dysfunctional as they want as far as I’m concerned.
At 6:30, I sneak upstairs to freshen up, then head back down to start greeting guests. Mom gives me a shoulder squeeze and a smile as she hustles by to deal with some last minute arrangements.
“Thanks, Low,” she whispers, but she’s gone before I can answer.
I loiter in the massive grand foyer until the first couple arrives. I recognize them from the first party the Blacks threw. Apparently, the husband is a big deal in real estate, whatever that means. His wife has huge bambi eyes and clings to his arm like she literally needs the support as I lead them into the ballroom.
I’m sure they didn’t mean to be the first arrivals—no one ever does—but luckily, the next guests arrive just a few minutes later. From there, I fall into a routine of greeting, taking coats, and ushering people into the large ballroom where the bartender is already hard at work.
Lincoln and his parents are late, just like last time. Tonight, Audrey is wearing a sleek silver dress with a high neckline and an open back. Samuel is wearing a dark gray tuxedo with a dark shirt underneath, making him look formal and imposing. Whatever fight the two of them had earlier has either been resolved or put on temporary ceasefire, because Audrey gazes at him with open adoration as they come down the stairs. It’s honestly a little creepy, considering I know how the two of them normally act around each other.
When Lincoln steps off the stairs, I don’t feel so bad for ogling him this time. I feel more like I have a right to now. The suit he’s wearing changes his entire appearance, making him look older and more commanding. I honestly prefer him in his usual relaxed jeans and t-shirt—or nothing at all—but I can’t deny he looks mouthwateringly good dressed to the nines like this.
I just returned from escorting a few guests to the ballroom, so thankfully no one is waiting on me as I pause in my tracks to stare. Audrey ignores me as Mr. Black smiles brightly in my direction, and when they turn to head toward the ballroom themselves, Lincoln steps closer to me. He dips his head, his breath tickling the shell of my ear, and tingles race across my skin at the feeling.
“You’re the most gorgeous woman here, Low. Best dressed too.”
My lips twitch, and I have to press them together to hide a smile. I’m just wearing my stupid black and white maid’s uniform, and although the cut is flattering, it’s nowhere near as fancy as what all the guests are wearing. But the look on his face when he steps back makes me positive he means it.
I have to resist the urge to grab his lapels with both hands and kiss the fuck out of him. It’s all I want to do, but his parents don’t have any idea we’ve been hooking up, and neither does my mom yet. So I just tug my bottom lip between my teeth and jerk my head toward the ballroom.
“Better not be late, sir.”
His eyes flash with heat, and he looks like he’s having to use just as much restraint as I am when he pulls away. Good. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who feels a little consumed by the connection between us.
I watch him walk away—and check out his ass as he does, I won’t deny it—and a moment later, the next guests arrive. Dax and Chase show up with their parents, and the twins greet me with enthusiasm, flirting with me openly as I escort them all to the large ballroom. I’m not quite sure how to handle it, and from the looks their mom and dad shoot me, neither of the older Lauders are a fan of this new development.
Dax whispers to me that the code word is “crab cakes”, and that I should find them out back later once the party gets going. I hide my laugh in a snort and watch him and his brother join Lincoln on the other side of the room.
When River and his parents arrive, I can’t keep my gaze from flicking to his dad. He looks a lot like River—the same gray-blue eyes and broad, strong features—but he has an demeanor that suggests he’s barely tolerating everyone around him. It makes me instantly on edge, and I wonder if this is part of why the quiet boy always sounds tense when he talks about his dad.
As far as I know, River hasn’t picked up on anything new about Iris or the investigation into her death for a few days, and when he catches my eye, he shakes his head slightly.
Still no news, I guess. Damn.
They’re one of the last families to arrive, and Mom and I start circulating around the ballroom, offering to take empty glasses and fetching refills. I’m getting better at avoiding the wandering hands, although they still fucking piss me off. I have a pretty good mental list of the people to steer clear of from the last party, although when I have to squeeze past Judge Hollowell to reach a woman who’s impatiently tapping her empty wine glass, he surprises me by not copping a feel.
Huh. What do you know? Maybe he developed some manners in the past month.
Or maybe that’s
giving him way too much credit.
I suppress an eye roll and work to keep my expression neutral as I head toward the bar with the empty glass. My mom worked hard to make this party a success, and I want to be here to support her.
Just as I deliver the wine refill to the bitchy woman, the doorbell chimes. I barely hear it over the rumble of conversation in the room, but Mom perks up a the sound too, so I know I didn’t imagine it. I give her a wave to let her know I’ve got it before heading toward the front of the house.
When I pull open the door, I frown.
It’s not more party guests.
It’s four cops.
At least, I’m assuming they’re all cops. Three of them are dressed in uniform, and the fourth is just wearing a suit and tie—but he’s the one who flashes a badge at me as they all step forward.
“Good evening.” He nods curtly. He has deep set eyes, a receding hairline, and a thin, straight nose. “I’m Detective Leland Dunagan, Fox Hill police department. May we come in?”
