Page 54

Mr. Stanley is grotesque.

It’s not a word I like, but I can’t think of a kinder one. His tuxedo strains across his middle despite being clearly custom-made. His jowls sag over a tight collar. Sparse gray hair is combed carefully across his scalp. He licks his lips as he looks me over.

“Ms. Hart,” he says. His voice is low and thick.

I force my hand forward. “Mr. Stanley.”

His palm is greasy. Seriously.

“It’s a pleasure,” he says.

I smile…or try to. “The pleasure is mine.”

His smile widens.

He pulls out my chair for me. I sit, and he lowers himself beside me with a faint grunt.

I tuck my clutch into my lap and wish I were anywhere else. One night in the sun be damned.

“You look very lovely this evening,” he says.

“Thank you.”

He scans me head to toe, stopping for an endless moment on my breasts. “That color suits you.”

“Thank you.”

“Metallics don’t work for everyone, but on you… Simply elegant.”

“Thank you,” I say for the third time.

I resist the urge to look around. Where is Nathaniel? Or even Arthur? Anyone?

“So,” I say, because I don’t know what else to do, “have you attended this gala before?”

Mr. Stanley leans back, the chair creaking beneath him. “Many times.”

“I see.”

Okay. I wore out that topic.

“And what do you do, Ms. Hart?”

I clear my throat. “I work for Vexley Holdings.”

He lifts his unibrow. “Oh? And what do you do there?”

“Administrative staff,” I say.

Not a lie, exactly.

“Ah, yes. Good support is hard to find these days. The Vexleys must think highly of you.”

My cheeks warm. “I certainly hope so.”

A server comes by with a tray of champagne in flutes. “Champagne, ma’am?”

“Thank you,” I murmur, taking one. Now at least I’ll have something to do with my hands.