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Oh god. Those wordsflattenedher. Suddenly, she found it difficult to breathe and wanted to rip free of his arms to run to Jace.
Instead, she remained where she was even if she sent him a sidelong look.
“My partner and I had irreconcilable differences,” she told him. “I wanted to take the company in one direction and she had other plans.”
Like stealing what we both built. Now she might be dead.
“The business world is fickle. People come and go on our teams, but I sense our collaboration on your software design is here to stay. We’re going to make a lot of money from this, Bronte.”
She bobbed her head and tried to focus on her feet not getting tangled in her gown as her new partner whirled her across the floor.
Money was good. Staying alive was better.
ChapterThirteen
Jace had never been edgier in his life. There were too damn many couples on the dance floor, and he was having a hard time keeping Bronte in his sight.
Not to mention the chatter in his ear between Jaren and Ross was distracting as hell. Jaren thought he saw something suspicious and left the room to follow a man. Meanwhile, Ross was feeding him intel on the person of interest, and none of it was relevant to the current situation.
“Unless it’s Bronte’s former partner or the guy walks up and identifies himself as The Broker, do we care?” Jace muttered to himself under his breath.
He fixed his stare on Bronte’s green dress, noting her position in the room before shifting his attention to the people around her. Nobody looked out of place. Plenty of people had brought their spouses to the show. How many of these things had he worked over the years? More than a handful, and enough to know that they were usually dull and security was simply a precaution.
Except The Broker was somewhere in this room and probably watching Bronte too.
He was looking across the room, over Bronte’s head, when he saw Jaren slip through the doorway. His brother positioned himself along the wall and struck up a conversation with the woman closest to him.
Jace glanced back to Bronte. The song ended, and she and Morgan broke apart. She craned her neck, searching for Jace, and he pushed forward to reach her.
As soon as she saw him, relief washed over her face. She made an attempt to hide it, but anybody watching her would have seen. God, he wanted to get her out of here.
They started toward the table. In his ear came Ross’s deep voice. “Hold up. Bronte left her purse hanging on her chair.”
Jace came to a dead stop. Bronte whipped her head around to look at him. Alarm flared in her eyes, and adrenaline spiked in his bloodstream.
With a hand on her spine, he guided her past the table, grabbing her purse on the way by.
“Meet me at the east door and I’ll take the purse,” Ross said.
“Copy.”
“What is going on?” Bronte twisted to look around.
“It may be nothing. It may not. We’re just taking precautions.”
She glanced at what he was holding and went pale. “Oh god. I left it hanging on the chair. You don’t think somebody tampered with it, do you?”
“That’s what we’re about to find out.” He steered her—like a vacuum—through the crowd to the east door. At that moment, Ross strode by.
Jace passed off the purse, which Ross tucked inside his jacket. He walked out.
Heart hammering, Jace guided Bronte to the bar and grabbed a glass of champagne for her. When he held it out to her, she didn’t immediately take it. He stared at her harder, and she seemed to jolt back to herself.
Wrapping her fingers around his, she let out a hasty breath. “I don’t like any of this, Jace.”
“Drink the champagne, Bronte.” He grabbed a glass for himself and clinked it against hers in a mock toast meant to keep her in character.
Her eyes widened, but she seemed focused again and sipped the bubbly. “To…good champagne?”
