Chapter 2 - The Trap Behind the Invitation
“Laurel.”
Her assistant, June Parlow, hurried across the ballroom.
“We have a problem with the south bar refrigeration.”
“Switch wine service to stations one and three. Move the reserve whites into catering cold storage.”
“Already doing it.”
“Then it's not a problem.”
June smiled despite herself.
“Also, Mr. Sutter wants you in the office.”
Caleb Sutter, the Halcyon's banquet operations manager.
“Why?”
“He didn't say. But he looks like he swallowed a battery.”
Laurel glanced once toward Preston.
He was speaking to Camille while watching Elias.
Then she followed June into the service corridor.
The ballroom noise disappeared behind heavy doors.
Twenty seconds later, Laurel entered the operations office.
Caleb was standing beside the printer.
His face was gray.
“Laurel, close the door.”
She did.
“What happened?”
He turned his laptop around.
An email filled the screen.
Laurel read it once.
Then again.
The sender was her.
At least, it appeared to be.
From: [email protected].
To: Preston Wade.
The message was short.
Mr. North will be attending. I can place you near him and create an introduction opportunity, but I expect your company's Brightstep pledge to remain conditional on my cooperation being recognized appropriately.
Laurel stared.
“What is this?”
Caleb rubbed his face.
“Preston Wade just forwarded it to our general manager.”
“I didn't write it.”
“I know.”
Her head snapped toward him.
“You know?”
“You never write ‘create an introduction opportunity.’ You'd call it an introduction.”
Even now, Laurel almost laughed.
Caleb didn't.
“The problem is the metadata shows your employee credentials.”
Her stomach tightened.
“When was it sent?”
“Six forty-eight.”
“I was in the ballroom with you at six forty-eight.”
“I know that too.”
“Then pull the server logs.”
“IT is doing it.”
Her radio cracked.
“Laurel, we need you at registration.”
Another voice interrupted.
“Ms. Hensley, speaker arrival at east entrance.”
Then June.
“Laurel, table seventeen has two additional guests.”
The gala was moving.
The machine did not care that someone had just forged her identity.
“I'll handle the floor,” Laurel said. “Keep IT on the email. Don't let anyone delete anything.”
Caleb stared at her.
“Someone is trying to get you fired.”
“I noticed.”
“Laurel—”
“Later.”
She opened the door.
At the end of the service hallway stood Elias North.
Alone.
Laurel stopped.
For a second she wondered whether the evening had become so absurd that she had started hallucinating billionaires in catering corridors.
“Mr. North.”
“Ms. Hensley.”
“This area is staff only.”
“So I've been informed.”
She waited.
He glanced at the stain on her trousers.
“How bad is your evening?”
“On a scale?”
“If that helps.”
“Ask me at midnight.”
Something almost like amusement touched his eyes.
Then it disappeared.
“I saw Wade grab you.”
Laurel's shoulders stiffened.
“That was personal.”
“I assumed so.”
“I have it handled.”
“I assumed that too.”
That answer surprised her.
Most powerful men she'd worked around heard “I have it handled” as an invitation to demonstrate that they could handle it better.
Elias leaned one shoulder against the wall.
“Did you invite him tonight?”
“No.”
“Did your hotel?”
“He’s on the final guest list.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Laurel studied him.
“No. His name wasn’t on the preliminary list I approved yesterday morning.”
Elias’s expression changed.
Barely.
But enough.
“What?”
“Preston Wade has been requesting a meeting with my company for nine weeks.”
Laurel went still.
“I didn’t know that.”
“I didn’t expect you to.”
“So why tell me?”
“Because approximately ten minutes ago, he introduced himself to one of my directors and claimed you had personally arranged his presence tonight.”
A cold sensation moved through Laurel’s chest.
“He said what?”
“He also implied Northline was evaluating an investment in his company.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
The answer came cleanly.
Immediately.
“Have you ever?”
“No.”
Laurel stared toward the ballroom doors.
The forged email.
The altered guest list.
Preston arriving with Camille.
His perfectly staged humiliation.
None of it was spontaneous.
Elias watched her work it out.
“I think,” Laurel said quietly, “my ex-boyfriend came to my workplace to manufacture a reason to get near you.”
“Yes.”
“And destroying my career was apparently part of the presentation.”
“It appears that way.”
Laurel laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“That’s almost impressive.”
“No,” Elias said.
His voice was quiet.
“It’s pathetic.”
Their eyes met.
For the first time that night, something inside Laurel loosened.
Not because he was rescuing her.
He wasn’t.
He was simply refusing to help Preston rewrite what had happened.
Her radio crackled again.
“Laurel, we’re missing the donor case.”
Everything inside her stopped.
She raised the radio.
“Repeat.”
June’s voice came sharper this time.
“The Brightstep founder’s case. The one for the auction.”
Laurel’s pulse kicked.
Inside that locked presentation case was a platinum bracelet donated by the estate of a Chicago industrialist.
Estimated value, $780,000.
It was the centerpiece of the live auction.
“Where was it last?”
“Security room B. Inventory verified at seven fifteen.”
“Who has access?”
“You. Caleb. Security.”
Elias straightened.
Laurel was already moving.
“Call Jonah Keene in security. Lock every staff exit. Quietly. Do not alarm guests.”
“Laurel—”
“Now.”
She turned the corner.
Then stopped.
Preston stood at the far end of the hallway.
Camille beside him.
And in Preston’s hand was a phone displaying a photograph.
A photograph of Laurel entering Security Room B.
He smiled.
“There you are.”
His voice carried.
Two managers had followed him.
So had several curious guests.
Preston lifted the phone.
“I think everyone deserves an explanation.”
Laurel looked at the timestamp.
7:18 p.m.
Three minutes after the bracelet had been verified.
Preston’s smile widened.
“You wanted me to see how far you’d come?”
He tilted the screen toward the gathering crowd.
“Congratulations, Laurel.”
May you like
His voice softened into something vicious.
“Now everybody gets to see.”
