Page 80 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

Miriam laughed. “Not in the first thirty seconds.”

“Understood.”

“And you lead.”

I blinked. “Me?”

“You’re very good at translating the human part.”

The compliment caught me off guard. I’d spent years being praised for my ability to figure out what people needed before they asked, but this was different. My throat tightened.

“Rafe is the client,” I said.

“He’s the claimant,” Miriam replied. “Right now, you’re the bridge.”

No pressure, then.

Miriam glanced down at Max. “And bring him. Georgiana pretends to be immune to charm,” Miriam said, “but she lies about that more than she realizes.”

“I’ll keep his tie centered for maximum impact.”

“Good. She respects preparation.”

“Rafe will be thrilled to hear that. Preparation is his love language.”

The sentence escaped before I could stop it.

Miriam’s brows rose.

I closed my eyes briefly. “Professional love language.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

I laughed, nervous now, and looked across the room. Rafe’s attention found mine instantly, and I saw the questions in his eyes. Are you all right? Did it work? Should I come over?

Miriam touched my arm lightly. “Come on.”

As we started toward him, Max marched at my side with senior-counsel dignity, and I let myself feel a small spark of triumph. I hadn’t charmed anyone’s pants off. Technically, all trousers remained in place, which was best for the legal integrity of the evening. But I’d found the door, and the door had opened when I knocked.

Miriam Sorel took my hand as if we had known each other for years and were merely late to something mildly scandalous. It said, Come along, darling, I know where the knives are kept and which ones are decorative.

Across the room, Rafe straightened when he saw us coming, his attention sharpening. He looked at all three of us, as if checking for injury, insult, or possibly treason. When he found none, something in his jaw eased.

I hadn’t realized I wanted him to see that I’d done it.

Not won. Not yet. But found the door.

Miriam lifted her free hand toward him. “Mr. Virelli.”

“Mrs. Sorel,” Rafe said, stepping toward us. His voice was formal, but his eyes moved to me for one brief second. “Ms. Bradley.”

“Mr. Virelli.” Apparently, we were all pretending I hadn’t recently put my hand on his chest and reorganized my nervous system around it.

Miriam looked between us and smiled in a way I didn’t trust.

“Come,” she said. “Georgiana is about to be trapped by a donor who wants to discuss naming rights for the archives. If we move now, she may thank us later.”

We crossed the ballroom together. Rafe fell into step beside me, close enough that his sleeve brushed mine. I didn’t look at him. Looking would have been unprofessional. Also, I didn’t trust my face.