6. Liam #2
A few nearby heads turn. The conversation beside us falters.
Helena catches hold of the dog’s collar. “She’s really not usually like this.”
I lower myself to Alaska’s level, my hand firm but calm as I redirect her energy. A word. A steadying touch. The dog quiets, tail slowing as her attention settles on me like she’s decided I make sense.
Helena watches it happen, eyes widening.
“And I thought I was good with animals,” she says. “That was…impressive.”
“Unruly dogs are kind of my specialty.”
She smiles at that. “A dog whisperer?”
“A vet.”
Her brows lift. “Oh.” She winds a strand of hair around her finger. “I thought you were one of Victor’s drivers.”
I release a shy laugh. “You’re not the first.”
Alaska presses her head against my knee like she’s claimed me. I absently pat the top of her head.
“She’s usually wary of men,” Helena says, quieter now. “Especially in crowds.”
“Animals have opinions,” I say. “So—you’re Victor’s friend?”
“Was that what he told you?”
“A little more than that.”
She laughs. “Yeah. Victor and I go way back.”
I gesture toward the gala signage. “Animal welfare your thing?”
“I’m an animal photographer,” she says.
“That so?”
“And before you judge, it’s harder than it sounds. Most of the challenge comes with the humans attached to the animals.”
“Oh, I’m familiar with that demographic,” I say. “They’re the reason vets drink.”
She laughs. “Exactly. I love the work, though. The animals. They don’t pretend.”
“You ever consider veterinary school?” I ask.
She presses her lips together for a moment.
For a second, I think I’ve misstepped. Then she exhales and lets the moment pass.
“I’ll stick with photography,” she decides. “It pays bills faster than a vet practice.”
I snort. “That’s depressingly accurate.”
“Let me guess,” she says. “Years of study. Mountains of debt. People assuming you do it for free because you ‘love animals.’”
“And because someone once owned a dog,” I add. “So obviously they know better than you.”
Her eyes brighten. “Oh, they’re the worst.” She glances down at Alaska, then asks, “So, does your clinic need a new poster or perhaps a rebrand?”
I chuckle. “Um, not at the moment. But, you see that gentleman there? He’s the owner of PetBed. I could tell him that his current campaign is terrible, and casually drop your name.”
“Uh…okay. Or I could introduce myself before you torch a brand on my behalf.”
Not afraid to make the first move. I like that. Truly, Victor Rochemont should be thanking God.
“Fair,” I say. “Or, have you heard of Skyward?”
“Oh, yes. The bird sanctuary?”
“Mm-hm. They’re lining up a Christmas campaign. It won’t be a massive budget, being a charity.”
“That’s fine,” she says. “I’ll reach out. Thank you.”
Max drifts back toward us just as Alaska decides she’s done pretending to behave.
“Alaska, sit,” Helena gives the leash a corrective tug which the dog ignores. She purses her lips, then gathers a handful of velvet at her hip and lowers herself into a crouch, managing the heavy skirt.
That neckline…
I drag my attention to the dog. That cleavage will damn me if I’m not careful.
Helena’s hand is now against Alaska’s chest, not forceful, just immovable. I could tell myself she learned that from me. She didn’t. She knew how to handle her dog. Earlier, she likely only stumbled under the weight of everyone watching.
“Good girl,” she says as Alaska finally gives in beside the spill of her skirt. “She’s got…an enormous personality tonight.”
“She’s enjoying herself,” I say.
Helena smiles and I forget what I was about to say next.
Max steps in, and I make the introduction. Their conversation flows to Barney, then move on to Alaska’s ongoing war with birds. Across the room, Victor tries to catch Helena’s eye, lifting a hand through the crowd.
“I think he wants you,” I say.
She follows my gaze. “I suspected as much. Nice to meet you both, Liam, Max.” She turns around and gives the leash a light tug. “Come on, Alaska.” Then she disappears into the crowd.
Max watches her go.
I ask, “How did it go with Mara?”
“She’s fine. She just got engaged,” he says.
“Well, you look too calm for that,” I remark. He does.
“Liam, you remember what I told you those years ago? Mara and I decided to be friends. And nothing has changed.”
A soft chime ripples through the ballroom. Conversations taper. Glasses lower. Bodies reorient. Someone clears a throat near the dais.
The speech rolls on. Gratitude. Causes. Spectacular numbers that draw murmurs of approval. Servers weave through the crowd again, offering fresh champagne, small plates disappearing as quickly as they arrive.
Generosity performs well in rooms like this.
Applause follows. And somewhere between the second refill and the final clink of glasses, I catch myself scanning the room.
Looking for Helena Mercer.
The ballroom thins out. Laughter fades. Music softens. The last of the champagne is drained.
“We’re heading out,” Max says, nodding toward Marcus and Iris.
Victor lingers with Helena and me as we move toward the exit. Alaska’s patience runs out first. The “faux springer” as Helena calls her, jerks on the leash, nose to the ground, determination unmistakable.
Helena grimaces. “Ugh. Nature calls.”
She follows the dog toward the side of the hotel, heels clicking faster as they leave the spill of light from the entrance.
“Well,” Victor says, watching them go. “That was fun. I forgot how well New York could throw a party.”
“Better than Paris?”
“Absolutely.” He glances at me, then tips his chin in Helena’s direction. “So. What do you think?”
“She’s—”
The noise hits first. Alaska’s frenzied bark tears through the quiet, rapid and wrong.
Then her voice. “Get away from me!”
Victor and I move at the same time. We round the corner and the night explodes.
Helena staggers back, one arm thrown up as Alaska rears and strains at the leash. A man stands in front of them, his face distorted beneath a nylon stocking pulled over his head. He lashes out, boot snapping forward.
Alaska yelps.
Helena surges into him, shoving hard, raw fury driving her movements.
“Hey!” Victor shouts, charging into the fray.
The attacker jerks his head up. For half a second, his gaze locks on Victor’s through the stretched mesh. Then he turns and bolts.
Victor tears after him, dress shoes skidding as he sprints into the dark.
“Shit!” Helena snaps.
She kicks off her heels, shoves the leash into my hand, and moves to follow.
Is she out of her damn mind?
I catch her arm and hold fast. “No. You stay here.”
“I’m not letting him fight alone,” she fires back, trying to wrench free, her eyes locked on the stretch of street Victor vanished down.
She sees someone in trouble and steps in, no waiting to be told what to do. Hellion and angel. God help whoever stands in her way.
I hold her there. “He knows what he’s doing,” I assure her as something pricks at the edge of my attention.
She snatches Alaska’s lead from me. “Then go help him. Don’t just stand there.”
I pull my phone one-handed, already dialing. While it rings, I position myself between her and the street. Across the road, a man stands apart from the spill of movement. He watches with a calm that doesn’t belong.
“See that man there?” I say. “The one pretending he’s checking his phone?”
Her gaze snaps where I point.
“The second I leave you,” I continue, “he makes a move.”
The call connects.
“Police. Attempted assault outside the Baccarat Hotel,” I say, then give the details before hanging up.
“He’ll go after Victor,” she insists as the man glances around.
“No.” I snap photos without bothering to hide it. “Police are on their way.”
Sensing the attention, the man turns and melts back into the night.
Footsteps pound.
Victor reappears, hauling the masked man by the collar. He throws him to the ground and yanks the nylon from his face. The man groans, his features already swelling, blood streaking his lips.
“Oh shit,” Helena breathes.
She rushes to Victor, her hands skimming his jacket, searching him. “Are you okay, Jag?”
“I’m fine,” he says. “He’s not.”
“There was a second man,” I say. “I sent you his picture. I’ll pass it to the police.”
Victor checks his phone, then leans in to murmur something to Helena, guiding her a step aside. His attention is now back to the attacker.
“I’ll stay with him,” I say when Victor hesitates.
He nods and turns fully to her. From the way his shoulders close in, I know he’s checking her.
Sirens arrive, blue and red washing over the street. I drop beside the man on the ground, my fist clenched.
“Whoa, man,” he slurs through a swollen mouth. “I just wanted to scare her, okay? That’s it.”
“Well, you scared the wrong woman,” I say. “When they ask who hired you, you’ll tell them. Because you won’t want me coming back.”
His breath stutters.
The police take over, and when I straighten, Helena is already folded into Victor’s arms.
I stay where I am, Alaska’s leash looped around my hand.
So much for playing the hero.
He’s my friend. He deserves a win. I want that for him.
Still—
The sting catches me off guard.
And I don’t shake it as easily as I should.