He said, “Well, my mother is responsible for bringing it here,” and for half a beat I was purely horrified. This man had the kind of family who sponsored art exhibits at the High, and I’d just insulted his terribly important mother. Before I could burst into a flaming blush, he added, “I think I owe you a better time. Can I buy you a coffee? A glass of wine?”

It was a pickup line, and a good one. The blush came fainter and for different reasons.

I’d been twenty-one for mere weeks, but I said, “I’d love a glass of wine,” like any grown-up might.

“I’m Robert Cabbat. The third, no less. Everyone calls me Trey.” He smiled and held his hand out to me.

When I took it, I felt like a piece of me had been waiting for this touch, this day, this man. He stared into my eyes, so frankly interested that I felt both comfortable and wholly myself, a strange juxtaposition; I’d been pretending to be Elizabeth with her Visa for so many years that I actually became her.

“Bree Kroger,” I said.

We strolled to a nearby café on the grounds, and he ordered a pale French wine that I didn’t know how to pronounce.

His easy conversation had put me more at ease than the alcohol did. He always put me at ease. If Trey were with me now, my job would already be done.

I found a round hub for multiple hallways that I’d seen before and spun slowly, close to despair. I had less than twenty minutes. I caught a flash of movement down one of the narrow paths. I hurried along it, and the familiar shape of Spencer Shaw, his back to me, emerged from the deep shadows at the end.

He had a mostly empty rocks glass in one hand, and he was talking to someone. His big body blocked my view, so I sidestepped, pushing into the plants. It was Gabrielle Baxter, a second-year associate. A standout in the newer hires, according to Trey, destined for the partner track.

She was also very pretty, with warm tones shining in her rich, brown skin, wide-set eyes, and a full mouth. Right now that mouth was twisted into the fakest smile I’d ever seen. Her gaze met mine over Spencer’s shoulder, and I read a certain desperation there.

“Spence!” I said, too loud, as if I were tipsy and clueless. He startled, and as he turned toward me, I saw him pull his other hand off her waist. “And Gabrielle! You guys having fun?”

“Yes. It’s a great party,” Gabrielle said, but her eyes stayed locked on mine. In a language every woman spoke, she was asking me not to leave.

“Bree!” Spence said, smiling. “How’s my best guy’s best girl?”