Page 73 of One Wrong Move

My steps slow as I approach the bottom of the stairs. I’m scanning the room, looking from person to person. I don’t recognize anyone. Most look about my age, some are older, and a few younger.

It’s a good thing I didn’t throw on my blazer. But perhaps I should have worn heels instead of my ballet flats. People are dressed to the nines.

I run my hand down the banister. So far I can’t see him. Not in the living room, nor in the adjoining kitchen…

But then I spot him.

Standing in the doorway to the study, hands in his pockets, talking to the two men whose faces I cannot see. He’s nodding to whatever they’re saying, but his eyes are locked on me.

Watching me descend the stairs.

I smile at him, excitement rushing through my veins. It’s been a long week without him.

His lips curve in response. It’s a tiny reaction, but it’s there. A silent hello.

I wind my way toward the kitchen island where I usually have my breakfast. Right now, the space is teeming with people. A woman in an apron is pouring more glasses of champagne, and the expensive stone countertop is laden with canapés and snacks.

As house parties go, this is a far cry from the small dinner parties Dean and I used to host.

I grab a flute of the bubbly and a small cracker with some kind of pâté on it. Catch the snippets of conversations around me. Something about the investing season is almost over and stocks are a winter sport drift my way, and I wander to the back door that leads to the garden.

I don’t know how to introduce myself. Hi, I’m Nate’s… live-in friend?

His art adviser. That’s what he called me at the gallery, and it’s not incorrect. False impressions and all that. Maybe it’s time I learn to use them to my advantage, too.

“You came,” Nate says.

I turn to find him beside me, with his own glass of champagne in hand. He looks calm, serene even, his face pleasantly neutral.

Like he knows he’s being watched.

“You’re back,” I say. “And considering all I had to do was walk down the stairs, it wasn’t hard.”

He looks down at my dress, and a smile plays on his lips. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you. Um, who are all these people?”

“I have no idea,” he says.

I roll my eyes. “Okay, that can’t be true. Who put the guest list together?”

“My assistant, the party planner, and my brother,” he says. “I made a few additions.”

“Really?” I look over my shoulder, eyes halting on a group of beautiful women standing by the dining room table. “Who?”

“You, among a few others.”

I nudge his shoulder. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I wasn’t going to confine you to your bedroom.”

My gaze meets his. “Haven’t seen you all week.”

“No. I’m sorry about that. The trip had to be extended.” He sighs, eyebrows scrunching together. “Our supplier in Berlin was delayed getting to the meeting, and we couldn’t come to a… solution. I had to stay longer to hammer it out.”

Despite the otherwise pleasant expression on his face, there are faint circles under his eyes and tenseness to his jaw.

He’s wearing a mask.

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