CHAPTER 13
Professional Boundaries
The email from Aster Hall arrived at three sixteen that afternoon, wrapped in corporate politeness and scented with trouble.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes, thank you again for attending last night's Founder's Circle fundraiser.
We are following up regarding a brief security concern after the event.
Our contracted security lead, Mr. Marcus Vale, noted that you may have witnessed activity near the east service corridor.
If convenient, he would appreciate a short statement for the venue record.
Daniel read it twice before handing his phone to Elise.
She stood by the living room windows in leggings and an oversized sweater, the soft domestic version of the woman who had glowed beneath chandeliers.
The contrast made his pulse stumble. Last night she had been black silk and champagne.
Today she was bare feet and uncertain eyes.
Both versions of her belonged to him, and somehow that made the thought of Marcus noticing either one feel unbearable and irresistible.
"A statement," she said.
"Professional."
"Very."
Neither of them smiled.
Daniel took the phone back. "We did not witness anything."
"We witnessed him."
He looked up sharply.
Elise covered her mouth with one hand. "I did not mean that the way it sounded."
"Yes, you did."
The admission hovered there, too honest to retract.
Daniel opened the contact information at the bottom of the email. Marcus's direct number was listed beneath the venue coordinator's signature. He could feel Elise watching the screen. The kitchen card had moved in his mind from object to invitation, from invitation to test.
"I can reply by email," Daniel said.
"That would be easiest."
"Easiest is not always the point."
Elise folded her arms, but not defensively. More like she needed to hold herself together. "What is the point?"
Daniel did not answer right away. He was not sure he liked the point. He was not sure he understood it. But since morning, every time he imagined ignoring the card and the email, a strange disappointment opened under his ribs. Not relief. Disappointment.
He tapped the number.
Elise whispered, "Daniel."
The call rang twice.
"Vale." Marcus's voice came through low, even, and unmistakably awake.
Daniel turned on speaker. "This is Daniel Rhodes. My wife and I received your follow-up through Aster Hall."
A brief pause. Not confusion. Recognition. "Mr. Rhodes. Thank you for calling."
Elise's eyes closed at the sound of him.
Daniel saw it. Marcus could not. That made it worse. That made it theirs.
"We are not sure we saw anything useful," Daniel said.
"You saw enough to know the corridor should have been closed," Marcus replied. "I would rather document the concern properly. Venues listen more carefully when guests speak."
There it was again: restraint, professionalism, the kind of control that made every unsaid thing louder.
"We can send a written statement," Daniel said.
"Of course." Another pause. "Or I can meet you somewhere convenient and take it down myself. Fifteen minutes. Public place. Clear boundaries."
Elise opened her eyes.
Daniel's mouth went dry. Clear boundaries. Marcus had named them as if he knew exactly how much they needed the phrase.
"When?" Daniel asked.
"Tonight, if you want it handled quickly."
Elise looked at him, and Daniel understood with a sudden dangerous clarity that the question was no longer whether Marcus would cross a line.
The question was whether they wanted to stand close enough to see the line at all.