Page 83 of Peyton's Price

His carefree grin was usually enough to make her drag him off to the nearest closet, but she couldn’t think straight.

Peyton’s heart was pounding, but she couldn’t say anything.I could be wrong.She might not know that girl. But she could be right, too.

“Are you certain everything is all right?”

She blinked, snapping out of her distraction. Matthias studied her, concern dampening his expression.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice a touch too high. Peyton patted him on the shoulder. “Go back and finish your business. With any luck, we can both be in the tub by midnight.”

With that as a lure, Matthias nodded and left, accepting her upbeat attitude a little too readily.He doesn’t know you as well as Liam.Not yet.

Peyton’s hands shook. She hurried in the direction of the girl in the yellow dress—the one who bore a remarkable resemblance to the one she’d seen in the trafficker’s dungeon.

* * *

For the firsttime in her life, Peyton was outright rude to a host.

When Iver offered to show her the private pieces he kept in his bedroom, she ‘accidentally’ crushed his toes with her stiletto. She topped the move by tripping and falling against him, soaking him with her full glass of champagne.

“Oh, no! I’m so sorry,” she cried, waving over a waiter and asking him for a napkin. “These stupid shoes are too high.”

“Eh, well, accidents happen,” Iver sneered, dropping the unctuous tone and showing his irritation. He took a step and winced.

A flash of guilt assailed her. Peyton helped him to a chair. “I think we need some ice, too,” she suggested when the waiter returned. A few other guests clustered around them. Taking advantage of the bustle, she snuck away, resuming her scan of the guests.

Why are they so many people here? Shouldn’t big oil deals be brokered in the privacy of boardrooms? Muttering under her breath, Peyton pressed her clutch to her stomach in a vain effort to stop the butterflies wreaking havoc there.

The salon was a bust. Ditto for the kitchen, which, unlike her friends’ parties, was devoid of guests. The only people in there were a small group of harried catering staff who didn’t appreciate the interruption.

The living room was full of milling guests, but no girl in yellow. Peyton was starting to think she had imagined the young woman until she spotted her on the arm of a short and thin man almost three times her age. Possibly four.

Please be her father.Skirting the crowd, Peyton circled the small group by the fireplace. She pretended to examine the volumes on the shelf next to the door so she could cast covert glances at the pair.

She couldn’t decide if it was the line of her jaw or the expression of absolute misery on her face, but Peyton was almost certain she was right about the girl’s identity. She became convinced of it when the sweaty man in the suit shifted to cup the girl’s ass.

The poor thing’s lips tightened with embarrassment and shame. The girl lasted a few more minutes before murmuring something to the man and excusing herself. Peyton straightened, dodging a man who appeared to be about to ask her a question. She hurried through the foyer, following her quarry down to the bathroom.

By the time Peyton was inside, the girl had locked herself in the stall in the back. Her stifled sobs broke Peyton’s heart.

She tapped on the door. “Hello? Can I come in?”

“I’m fine,” the girl said in a shaky voice.

But I’m not sure I am.

“Um, I think we know each other, and I’d like to help you.” Peyton lowered her voice to a whisper. “Is it you?”

The door opened slowly. The girl’s mascara had run all over her cheeks. “Is it me who?”

Peyton took a deep breath, fishing a tissue out of her purse. “Do you recognize me?”

The girl shook her head.

“Not from the—” Peyton hesitated. If she were wrong, she was exposing herself, but her gut told her this was the girl and she was in trouble.

“From…from the prison,” Peyton finished in a rush.

The girl’s eyes widened. “You’re a criminal?”

---