Page 89 of Choosing Stella

We’d decided before coming in that we weren’t going to advertise the bodyguard arrangement more than necessary. Anyone who knew Stella had Bancroft protection would know why I was there. Everyone else could see a man in a suit attending a party with a woman in a black dress.

That made anyone paying too much attention easier to notice.

A server stopped beside us with a tray of tiny black cones filled with something pale.

Stella examined one.

“What is it?”

“Goat cheese mousse, pear, and black sesame,” the server said.

She took one. I didn’t.

Stella ate it and raised her eyebrows at me.

“You’re missing out.”

“I’m working.”

“You can protect me and eat cheese at the same time.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“It is.”

She selected another and held it near my mouth.

I stared at her fingers.

“You’re serious.”

“I’m testing your range of abilities.”

I leaned down and took the bite.

Stella smiled.

“Excellent. We can add canapé consumption to the list.”

“I feel more qualified already.”

She laughed softly.

The tightness I’d carried into the ballroom eased a little.

I wanted her to have the ridiculous food, the cocktail, and the chance to stand in a crowded room on Halloween and tease me because my drink offended her. She’d spent the last three days with murder, police questions, an abduction attempt, and reinforced doors.

A man in a dark tailored suit approached from the edge of the ballroom.

He wasn’t wearing a costume. His security credential hung openly near his jacket pocket, and two Exchange employees stepped aside as he passed.

He stopped a few feet from us.

“Ms. Moon.”

The voice was enough. I’d heard it through Stella’s phone two mornings ago.

It was Mikhail Volkov.