Page 78 of Lethal Attraction

“Then stop fidgeting,” she hisses.

Emma leans forward, her curls tipping over her shoulder elegantly as she tucks more of her blue cocktail dress around her. “Kids, behave.”

I rest my head back as my eyes trail to the driver who’s trying his hardest to pretend he doesn’t hear our bickering in his backseat. “It’s just nerves.”

The car glides beneath the sweeping stone archway of the venue, and its tires whisper against the circular drive. Beyond the tinted windows, the gala unfolds in a blaze of golden light. Crystal chandeliers shimmer through towering glass panels, and strings of white lights wrap around manicured hedges that frame the entrance. Guests in tailored tuxedos and glittering gowns drift up the grand staircase while photographers cluster behind velvet ropes, flashes illuminating the evening like distant lightening.

The car slows to a stop, and for a moment, none of us move. The silence becomes suffocating in anticipation of what will go down tonight.

“Well,” Taryn says, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from her gown, “too late to fake our deaths.”

Emma laughs softly, though I catch the tension behind it. She checks her reflection in the darkened window, adjusts one of her curls, and squares her shoulders.

My stomach twists. “It’s just a gala,” I mutter. Though I think I’m just trying to convince myself it is at this point.

“Right,” Taryn replies, smoothly masking the question in her tone.

I reach for the handle before shoving the door open and taking a deep breath. The noise hits immediately. Conversations in full swing, music bleeding from the event walls, and the distant clinking of champagne glasses.

And cameras.

Far more cameras than I expected.

A wall of flashing lights erupts near the entrance as another notable guest arrives, drawing the attention of the crowd. The brilliance reflects off polished marble and the sleek black hood of the limousine.

“Showtime,” Emma says.

She exits first with practiced grace, accepting the driver’s hand as she steps onto the red carpet. Taryn follows, every bit as confident as she pretends to be, her sequined gown scattering crimson sparks beneath the lights.

I’m last.

The cool evening air meets me as I step from the car. My polished shoes touch the carpet, and suddenly the enormity of the event settles over me. The grand façade rises overhead, all marble columns, gilded balconies, and glowing windows.

For a heartbeat, I simply stare. Then Emma slips her arm through mine, and Taryn takes my other side.

“See?” Emma says quietly. “We can do this.”

“Yup.”

Together, we turn toward the staircase, our eyes squinting at the camera’s flash that seems to follow our every move. Reporters shout at the crowds, but we quicken our steps until we reach the top.

The doors of the gala stand open before us, spilling warm light into the night, and with hundreds of eyes watching, we begin our ascent. Taryn waves to a few people she recognizes from the hospital as I offer a cordial nod. The whole time, I’m in complete wonder at how someone can afford a place as extravagant as this…

The inside is just as lustrous with polished marble floors and trickling fountains carved from stone. My eyes move upward, toward the top banister where men and women mingle with glasses of something bubbly in their hands.

“Holy shit,” Taryn whispers.

Burton appears in front of us, dressed in a fitted black suit with a bright blue pocket handkerchief. He stops, spreads his hands wide, and smiles crookedly at me. “Reed!”

“Oof,” Taryn comments under her breath before releasing me. “Go, man hug your boss.”

I reluctantly trail down a few steps until the hospital owner can embrace me, hating every second of it as he pats me roughly like a father.

Burton draws back before holding me at arm’s length. “So glad you three could make it! Now the real party can start!”

I must not be masking my expressions well, because Emma points to her lips before mimicking a smile at me. My lips tug up into a forced expression. “Of course—”

Burton steps aside, revealing another man who’s been lingering behind him this whole time. The words die on my tongue as I take in this newcomer. He’s far shorter than I am with dark curls that fall carelessly into his eyes. It’s odd, but he looks out of place in his suit, almost like the doesn’t belong in it with his rough features and crooked nose. His brown eyes hold intelligence that strikes a chord with me immediately. Like he’s constantly calculating the next steps of everyone around him.