44. NINEAH
NINEAH
THE WOMAN staring back at me in the mirror was elegantly dressed in a custom icy blue gown, her hair pulled into an updo.
The tear drop diamonds in her ears winked in the low light, as did the strand of those around her throat. Poised, coiffed, and painted within an inch of her life, the costume of it all nearly completely hid the thinly veiled rage that burned under the surface.
Not for the first time, I wished I’d have accepted Zajre’s offer to come with me tonight, but even if I had been willing to ask my pregnant best friend to chase down my demons with me, I knew this was a solo mission.
Giving myself one last glance over, unable to even appreciate the couture, I retrieved my clutch from the hotel bed, slipped on the designer mule sandals, then checked my cell.
My SUV was waiting when I exited the hotel lobby.
The driver, a tall, wide gentleman that wasn’t quite the tallest or the widest I’d ever known, opened my door for me and I slid into the back seat.
Several minutes later, the SUV rolled to the front of a historic German venue and I tensed.
“Keep the vehicle close, please. I won’t be long. ”
“Yes ma’am.”
The driver rounded the front and opened my door once more, offering me his hand. I accepted, scanning the chaos in front of me.
Valets ran back and forth, taking keys from the throng of guests in black tie formal wear ascending the steps toward the former museum. Sports vehicles that costed nearly as much as my annual salary sped out of the circular drive and toward what I assumed was likely a private lot.
Live music filtering in from the party that’d begun over an hour prior, a few of those that’d already fulfilled their social obligation and had no interest in sticking around for the theatrics, quietly slinked out of the exits.
I inhaled deeply, entirely too aware of the gown’s boning digging into my ribcage.
Reaching the steps, I turned to my driver.
“If I’m not back in an hour, wait fifteen minutes, then drive off. ”
The man hesitated as though he wanted to protest, but ultimately gave a curt nod. “Yes ma’am.”
I released his hand in favor of my clutch and slipped my phone inside.
Fishing out the bills from the clip, I handed the money to him and started up the stairs.
Percussion instruments kept the beat to Stevie Wonder’s As, as a talented cover singer crooned the lyrics.
I followed the music behind a group of young gentleman in custom-fitted suits holding crystal tumblers of amber liquid who were heading back inside.
Deliberately stepping in a little too far left, I caught the shortest one’s shoe and gasped.
The student-aged man turned in inebriated irritation, but his demeanor shifted when he saw me.
“Je suis désolé, I am so sorry.” My French accent was horrific compared to Abraham’s but I prayed the young man was too drunk to notice. “I guess it is time to put down the champagne. I already owe another man a new dress shirt.”
His eyes glazed over with something stronger than alcohol, he smiled. “Hey, no worries. Are you going inside?”
“Honestly, I think I should probably be heading home.”
The boy’s eyes did a gentle scan of my body. “Why would you do that? The real party’s just getting started.”
I swayed slightly, stumbling in the low mule sandals I could probably run two miles in—not that he needed to know that. “I suppose I could sit for a little while, then?”
Beaming like I’d just promised to show this fetus my B cups, he held out his arm for me like it was a contractual obligation and I gingerly accepted.
I noted more than twelve security agents positioned at every entrance, as well as the few in black tie dress that’d blended into the waning crowd of attendees.
I imagined I only had ten, maybe fifteen more minutes until one of them noticed I wasn’t on the guest list.
The boy who hadn’t told me his name, which was telling in itself, brought me to a corner table I knew meant he’d been the plus one of an obligatory invitation and offered me his seat.
Playing up the pretty accessory who couldn’t handle her liquor, I flashed him an apologetic smile.
“Merci. My date was supposed to be getting me some water, but I guess he got lost on his way to the bar?”
He scoffed like he was personally offended, and then the boy was gone. Probably to fetch a server.
Rolling my shoulders back, I swayed to the music as the band transitioned from Stevie Wonder to a rendition of Beyonce’s Crazy in Love and I took in the party.
The venue had been decorated in a spring theme.
Instead of crystal, chandeliers of silk white and blue wisteria flowers hung from the ceiling.
Potted plants in pearl vases served as centerpieces and even the dance floor itself reminded me more of a clearing a faerie might prance around in than a ballroom.
That was when I saw her.
Medium brown skin. Curls nearly as tight as mine, but lighter in hue. Her massive gown of periwinkle blue lace and tulle twirling as she laughed on the dance floor with an older, beautiful woman with dark skin in gold silk. The girl favored her so closely, there was no mistaking the relation.
That snapshot of a moment sat on my chest like an anvil, intensifying the ache I’d carried for so long, but they weren’t my mission, tonight. I glanced away, scanning the bar for the boy who’d gone to fetch me the water and saw him heading back. Making eye contact, I smiled.
“Ma’am.”
I stiffened.
Turning over my shoulder toward the stern voice, I noted a large man with dark hair who screamed former Spec Ops as he stared back at me.
“Oui. May I help you?”
“I’m going to need you to come with me, please.”
Go time.
Shrugging apologetically at the frowning boy across the room, I stood and the security agent led me out of the main ballroom.
We walked deeper into the venue where we came to a service elevator, and holding a keycard to the reader, he pressed a button until the car doors opened.
I stepped inside behind him and the doors slid shut.
Pressing a button for the fourth floor, he stared straight ahead as we rode the elevator in silence. When the car came to a stop, he exited, halting me with a raised hand.
“Your purse.”
Noting he’d ditched the pleases, I handed him the clutch.
“Arms up.”
I raised my arms as he deftly patted me, then with a slim device that looked like a pen, he scanned me before stepping back. “Clear,” he said for the sake of whoever was on the other end of his comms and nodded at me. “Follow.”
The muscled man who was a carbon copy of so many I’d worked with over the years brought us down a corridor of suites whose owners’ names were engraved in plaques by the doors.
He stopped at the second to last at the end of the hall, swiped his card once more, and the door opened into a small holding area.
“Wait.”
He spoke low into the comm and then a few moments later, the door opened. Following the agent into the room, a cool rush of air conditioning hit my skin. A four-man team of more security held up the walls like two-hundred pound pillars, none of them making eye contact as I came into view.
Sitting in a leather chair in the center of the room, pouring a glass of water from a carafe, a man whose existence I hadn’t been aware just forty eight hours prior, addressed his security. “Leave us.”
The one who’d escorted me into the room interjected. “Sir.”
“Now.”
The agent turned and exited the room and all three of the other personal security detail, clearly surprised by the directive, followed him out. When the door closed behind us, I didn’t wait to be offered a seat and took the other chair at his side. “That was a mistake.”
“Why? Are you planning on poisoning me in my suite tonight?”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. He’d sent his agents away for the same reason I’d left Zajre at home. This was a family matter.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, gesturing to the bar behind him. “Seeing as how you managed to successfully disarm the safeguards at both the checkpoint and the gate entry, I figured at the very least, you’d earned your five minutes.”
“How kind of you.”
He seemed even younger up close, I realized.
His age was listed at forty, but he could’ve easily passed for early thirties the way I was still often mistaken as an intern, the way the girl downstairs in a periwinkle dress looked closer to fifteen than twenty one.
His Black hair had been beaten into submission, only the gentle wave at the nape lending any indication toward his mixed heritage.
His skin was lighter than mine, his nose not nearly as pronounced as my own—something I imagined he took full advantage of when it suited him.
“So,” my older brother began. “I know you didn’t crash this party under some misguided belief you’re owed anything, so why don’t you tell me why you’re here.”