Page 41 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

With a venture capitalist from Boston, I’m competitive.

With an ambassador’s bored daughter, I’m playful.

With Vaughn Vale, the yacht’s owner, I’m Maxwell Shaw at full strength.

Vale is in his late fifties, silver-haired and trim, with a face designed to appear trustworthy in photographs. He likes control, but he likes admiration more. I approach only after two other men have finished competing for his attention, then begin by commenting on the yacht’s stabilization system rather than the yacht itself.

Within three minutes, he’s explaining modifications he personally chose. Within five, he’s referring to people we both supposedly know by their first names. Within seven, he’s clasping me on the shoulder and telling me I absolutely must join the private table upstairs.

Success.

Figuring out what each person wants and giving them a bit of that isn’t difficult. I notice. I adjust. I give people the version of me that makes them feel most like the version of themselves they want to be. Vale believes he invited me because I’m interesting. Danielle believes she helped me because I treated her like a person. The tech founder believes I understand him. The ambassador’s daughter believes I find her irresistible.

Every connection works exactly as intended.

Last night, Reese let me see the part of herself she believes makes her unlovable. The part of herself she works hardest to hide. Tonight, I’ve shown six people six different versions of myself, and every one of them thinks we made a genuine connection, all while I’m hiding virtually everything real about myself.

I catch Ledger’s eye across the room. He gives the smallest nod toward a woman in a dark green gown speaking with two men near the bar. Celeste Alati.

I’ve known where she is since I stepped aboard. What I haven’t done is approach her. At first, I was waiting for the right opening. Now I realize I’ve been watching her watch everyone else.

Celeste barely looks at the man currently speaking to her. Not directly. Instead, her attention keeps drifting beyond his shoulder—to who greets someone entering the room, who makes space for whom, who gets interrupted and who doesn’t. When Vale crosses behind us, her gaze tracks the hand he puts on another guest’s shoulder. When the technology founder laughs at something I say, she notices him leaning closer. When the ambassador’s daughter catches my arm as I move away, Celeste notices that, too.

Not me, but their reactions to me.

Something Reese said at dinner slips into my head. Maybe it wasn’t anything they did when they met—it was what they were paying attention to before they met.

I smile. Of course.

Celeste has built a career around introductions. She doesn’t decide someone has influence because they tell her they do. She watches the people around them. So, I stop worrying about getting Celeste’s attention. Apparently, I already have it.

I drift close enough to join the edge of Celeste’s conversation, but I don’t turn Maxwell’s charm on her. I let one of the men finish a story about a government contract, add a dry observation when it fits naturally, and then let the conversation move on without trying to hold the floor.

Celeste acknowledges me with a brief glance. Most people want to be liked. Celeste wants to know whether liking someone creates an advantage.

So, I don’t charm her. I let her wonder why I haven’t tried.

The man beside her gets called away, leaving the two of us looking out through the glass at the lights along the harbor.

“You’re Maxwell Shaw,” she says.

Not a question. I turn my glass slowly between my fingers. “That depends who’s asking.”

Her mouth curves. “Celeste Alati.”

“I know.”

That, apparently, was the correct answer. “I assumed you would.” She looks toward Vale, who is laughing with a cluster of guests across the room. “Vaughn likes you.”

“Vaughn likes anyone who appreciates his stabilization system.”

“He doesn’t invite anyone who appreciates his stabilization system to his private table.”

I glance toward her. “Then perhaps I’m more charming than I realized.”

“I doubt you’ve ever underestimated your own charm.”

“Not for long.”