Chapter 6 Cybil
Cybil
Dallas, Texas
Monday night
Craig Miller? It takes everything in me to keep my jaw from unhinging. Craig freaking Miller? I must’ve heard that wrong. Had to. But when I spare a glance in Ben’s—not Craig’s—direction—he’s flashing me a smile.
And. Then. He. Winks. Winks!
Does he think this is a game? Some kind of joke? Probably, and unfortunately, I recognize the infuriating glint of humor dancing
in his eyes. There’s only one reason he’d use that name. He’s caught me in my pretense and knows that I know exactly who he is.
Shock doesn’t even begin to describe what I felt the second my eyes landed on Bennett Bradley in the hallway. I thought fatigue
was playing games with my brain. No way was my cousin Rex’s best friend, and the tormentor of my summers, standing in the
same hallway, at the same gala, in all of Dallas—in all of Texas—as me.
But here he is, barely resembling the boy in torn jeans, dusty boots, and T-shirts that I remember. He’s grown into a man
who fills out a tuxedo like a Hemsworth, and dang it if the way he’s looking at me doesn’t stir up something I’d left abandoned
near the old oak tree at my aunt and uncle’s ranch twelve years ago.
I thought I had him almost convinced he was wrong, especially when I saw a flash of confusion settle into the fine lines around his eyes, but like a tick on a bloodhound, he won’t shake loose. Just like when we were kids.
And now he’s standing in front of my boss, sending me what probably looks like a flirtatious wink—and lying.
But I don’t react.
I can’t.
Not here.
Upbeat country music hums in the background, but the air between us is thick with suspicion. Mostly aimed at Ben. Except for
the two men I don’t recognize standing across from Mr. Edmond—their attention is zeroed in on me.
The first man, tall and broad, looks to be in his late sixties. His dark features, sharp eyes, and tailored tuxedo emphasize
wealth, power, and a ruthless intelligence compared to the man next to him. The other man has a lean, wiry frame and a beaked
nose that gives him the look of a vulture.
These are the men Mr. Edmond and Sebastian are here to meet. The kind of men who don’t leave witnesses when things go sideways.
The kind of men whose attention I don’t want. Not when I have a listening device stashed in my clutch.
I cannot get caught.
Clutching the torn slit of my dress, I blow out a slow, measured breath. I’m trying to look casual while my heartbeat goes
into overdrive for reasons I really don’t want to unpack right now. The only thing I like unpacking is a box of chocolates—sweet,
reliable, and never out to ruin someone’s life. Unlike Ben, whose sudden reappearance is about five seconds from blowing everything
up.
Focus. I force my attention to Sebastian, noting the suspicion furrowing his forehead. I need to get Ben out of here before his
juvenile sense of humor gets us both in trouble.
“I’m very sorry, gentlemen,” I say, injecting just the right amount of fluster into my voice. I turn to Ben and grit out,
“Mr. Miller and I didn’t mean to interrupt your meeting.”
Before I can herd Ben back to the gala where I can demand answers from him, the first man’s voice cuts through the room.
“Are you leaving, Mr. Miller?”
It’s deep. Authoritative. Clear. It takes me a moment to realize—he thinks he’s talking to Ben.
“No, sir, Mr. Ramirez,” Ben answers smoothly. “I’m ready when you are.”
I nearly flinch at the name. Ramirez. The Ramirez.
Sebastian hesitates for a second before giving Ben a clipped nod and stepping stiffly aside. “Follow me, Mr. Miller,” he says,
his voice flat, before leading Ben to the conference table.
Wait. What? Ben knows these guys? And they know him? No—not Ben. Craig Miller. The confusion must be plain on my face, but if Sebastian notices, he doesn’t show it. He just turns to me, cool and dismissive.
“You should return to the party, Cybil.”
Heat surges up my neck. Dismissed. Under any other circumstance, I wouldn’t think twice about Sebastian’s power play. I’m
not part of this meeting. I’m not even supposed to be up here. But tonight’s different—and Sebastian’s words slice through
old scars I thought I had healed. Vulnerability I haven’t felt since the last time I saw Ben lances through me, sharp and
unwelcome.
Before I can move, Mr. Edmond speaks up, smooth and unbothered. “Cybil, would you mind finding Margot Stanton downstairs?
She’s handling the Edison project, and I’d like to set up a meeting as soon as my schedule allows.”
His is a polite dismissal, wrapped in an assignment. But the weight of too many old memories pressing against my chest makes
his request sting. I answer in a voice that barely sounds like mine. “Yes, of course, Mr. Edmond.”
Sebastian shifts his attention to Ben and Mr. Ramirez. “Shall we begin?”
I have no choice but to leave. Doing anything else would only raise flags and bring more unwanted attention to myself. Who am I kidding? More flags are waving now than when the marching band takes the football field for the halftime show. But I’m the only one who sees them.
Panic swells inside me. What is Bennett Bradley doing here? Why is he in a meeting with my boss, Sebastian, and a man named
Mr. Ramirez? And why do they believe he’s Craig Miller?
I need answers.
With a shaky breath, I subtly unclasp my clutch and offer a polite, empty smile to the room. Then, as I step toward the door,
I let my heel catch the edge of the rug. I stumble forward, grabbing at a side table while my clutch spills across the floor.
Again. Wallet, phone, bobby pins, and the tube of lipstick scatter like confetti. Perfect.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, trying to sound mortified.
Mr. Edmond moves to help, but I wave him off. “I’ve got it,” I insist, crouching as gracefully as I can manage in this dress.
Ben doesn’t move. He just watches, hands in pockets, like he’s enjoying the show. And it’s a harsh reminder of exactly why
I never wanted to see him again. I scoop up my things—everything but the lipstick—and shove them back into my bag. Mr. Edmond stretches his hand to help me up.
“One too many glasses of champagne, I guess.” I give a sheepish smile as he pulls me to my feet.
I haven’t touched a drop of champagne. But between nearly getting caught earlier and Ben’s unexpected reappearance, I feel
drunk on stress.
Ben’s eyes track me, a tiny frown pulling between his brows. I ignore him and the rest of the men watching me as I back out
of the library. The door closes behind me and I exhale for the first time in minutes. Finally, something went right.
I slip my phone from my clutch. With one tap, I activate the recording device hidden inside the lipstick. Wherever I am in
the museum, it’ll transmit the audio and upload it straight to Athena’s server. I don’t have to be anywhere near that room.
Or Ben. Ever again.
A small, smug smile tugs at my lips. Mission accomp—
“Cybil.”
I freeze.
Sebastian stands in the doorway, holding the lipstick between his fingers. “You forgot something.”
Ice floods my veins. I walk back and take the lipstick from him, forcing a tight, casual smile. “Thanks. That’s my favorite
lipstick.”
Suspicion gleams in Sebastian’s eyes. I meet his stare without flinching. After a beat, he smirks and closes the door on me.
Annoyance churns in my gut. My night—my mission—has been ruined twice.
I retreat down the hall, my heels clicking over the polished floor. Once I reach the elevator and get inside, the doors close
and I let myself slump against the wall. This night cannot get worse. I dig through my clutch, find my emergency stash of
M&M’s, and rip the packet open with my teeth. I pour in a mouthful directly from the bag, letting the sugar calm the rising
tide of humiliation and panic.
I’m not supposed to feel this way anymore. Small. Left out. Forgotten. The girl who wasn’t enough. I twist the ring circling
my thumb. I’m not that girl anymore.
The elevator dings, and I swipe at my eyes before the doors slide open. The gala is still in full swing—laughter, music, champagne.
It all feels overwhelming, and I need space. I make quick work of locating Margot Stanton and scheduling a meeting before
I weave my way through the glittering crowd to escape into the cool night air of the sculpture garden and sink onto a bench
near the exit.
It’s nearing midnight, but only a few guests are trickling out, collecting their cars from the valet or catching a rideshare.
I envy them. I’d love nothing more than to exchange this dress for pajamas and crawl into bed. I look at my empty M&M’s bag.
With more chocolate.
But no. Upstairs, Ben Bradley is sitting in a high-stakes meeting, under a fake name, and I’m here with an empty bag of candy
and no new information to give to Athena—
Except . . . that’s not true.
I have names.
Ramirez and—Ben.
Something doesn’t feel right. What’s he doing in there? Lying?
I pull out my phone and hover over a text to Rex. They were best friends once. Maybe he knows something. But it’s late—dragging Rex into this mess feels wrong. He’s nosy. He’d want answers I can’t give. Definitely not a good idea.
Instead, I google Ben. And get—nothing. Full name? Nothing. Facebook? Dead end. Instagram? Ghost town. I even check DateDash, the cursed dating app Joy signed me up for after my coffee shop date with a guy whose idea of fun was showing me his vintage
dental tool collection. In what world is tooth extraction romantic?
But the app gives me nothing. Apparently, glowed-up Bennett Bradley doesn’t need a dating app to meet women. And I doubt he’d
be dating women who think flossing is a love language. Not that I care. I don’t. And to prove it, I shove my phone into my clutch just in time to spot movement across the courtyard.
Ben.
He’s walking alongside Ramirez and the vulture-faced man, heading toward the valet. The meeting’s over? That was fast. Too
fast.