Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“I love your dress,” Marist said to Emery.
“Thank you.” She gave Marist a once-over. “And I still love your hair color.”
Because Marist’s hair was a dark green, and Emery had been fascinated with it when they met at the awkward family dinner last month.
“This is going to be great when Dad gets here with Sophia,” Royce said with heavy sarcasm. “Not at all uncomfortable.”
He was right, but I tossed a hand up. “What’s he supposed to do? He can’t not come.”
“Hey, remind me again why Wayne’s hosting this thing.”
I gave my brother a pointed look. “You know why.”
I’d pulled Royce aside two weeks ago, told him I’d been approached by Wayne about the vacant seat, and asked him for a favor. Take the asshole out for lunch to help get him off my back. I’d left out the part where I was being blackmailed, but since Wayne had such a grating and pushy personality, Royce believed the meeting would solve my problem and Wayne would leave me alone.
“How was your lunch?” I asked him.
He returned my pointed look. “You can imagine how it was.”
When more people began to arrive and fill up the tent, the volume of conversations rose above the music. I turned to Emery. “Should we go find Tiffany?”
She gazed up at me and her shoulders lifted with a preparatory breath. “Yup.”
Tiffany Lambert looked a lot like her older sister. She had the same honey-brown hair and heart shaped face, but she seemed more youthful and energetic than Jillian, probably because she didn’t have as much pressure on her shoulders.
I wondered if people thought the same when they compared me to Royce.
We found her standing near the bar station surrounded by friends, and I motioned to her, making it clear I had something urgent to discuss. She nodded, excused herself, and came over.
“Hey, what’s up?” Her curious gaze went from me to the woman at my side who she did not recognize.
“This is my girlfriend, Emery,” I started.
Tiffany’s eyes widened with concern, because Emery had her fingertips pressed to her temple and her eyes closed. “Is she all right?”
“No,” I said. “She’s had a migraine come on just now.”
“Oh, no.” Tiffany gave Emery a sympathetic look, even though Emery’s eyes were closed.
“Do you mind if I take her in the house,” I said, “and let her rest in one of the guest rooms until she’s feeling better? I’d take her home, but I think the car ride would make it worse.”
Emery’s voice was strained, selling the lie. “I took some medicine, and it usually conks me out for a few hours.”
Tiffany considered the request only for a moment before gesturing toward her home. “Of course.”
We followed her up the path to the house, and Emery hung on to me like I was the only thing keeping her upright. She was so good at it, I had to remind myself she wasn’t in crippling pain.
The staff member waiting at the back door listened dutifully as Tiffany explained one of the guests wasn’t feeling well and she was escorting us upstairs to someplace quiet to rest. The house was supposed to be off-limits to the partygoers, but a Lambert could overrule that, and an excited thrill shot through me as the guy waved us through and we climbed the steps.
Wayne and Serena’s bedroom was at the end of the hall, and it was flanked by the guest bedrooms. Either one that Tiffany selected would put us within fifty feet of her father’s safe, and it was harder to keep my excitement at bay. So much of this was in Emery’s hands, but I was here for her and knew without a shadow of a doubt she could do it.
I’d gotten the same feeling I did during the calm moments alone on my boat before a big race. We were going to win. No other outcome was possible.
Tiffany stood at the doorway to the guest bedroom that was decorated in blues and grays, and she asked it of me quietly, wanting to keep her voice down and not cause Emery more pain. “How’s this?”
I matched her hushed tone. “It’s great, thanks.”
She went to the far side of the room and undid the sashes on the curtains, drawing them closed to block out the evening sun. I eased Emery down to sit on the bed and then bent to take off her shoes, helping her get ready to ‘rest.’ She set her purse beside her, but the duvet cover was silk and her purse was heavy, and when it slipped off and landed on the hardwood floor with a loud thump, my heart stopped.
All her equipment was in there, including her sophisticated and sensitive amplifier that couldn’t be housed in its protective case because it was too big for her already questionably large purse. My gaze snapped to Emery, and behind her frozen expression, I saw the terror. She had the same thought I did, that if the microphone were damaged, she wouldn’t be able to hear the necessary clicks of the wheels, and this was over before it even started.