I felt the heat in my veins rise up my neck and into my cheeks. “Anyway,” I diverted the conversation, “when I texted you, I’d learned that there’s been background sabotage that would affect both of us.”

“How so?” his body language never shifted, making it look like we were regular party goes—drinking and flirting.

Trying to keep my composure, I continued, “When my mom died, I was sent to live with her sister, Sylvia. She’d been plotting to destroy my mother's work by forging documents. When I was sent there, she forged a letter from me claiming I only wanted messages to go through her. Which isn’t true.”

His hand firmed up a bit at my side as some of my words sank in. Sabotage never made it very conducive to be horny. “How many documents?”

“Too many to go over in a single day. Here’s the kicker,” I breathed, hoping he’d know what to do. “She had help from people inside the group. Lawyers. Employees. Higher ups. They’d all been plotting to rip the Montgomery Group to shreds and probably stage a hostile takeover when I turned twenty-one. I’m betting they didn’t expect me to find out this early because it gave me a heads up about what’s to come next year.”

From his silence behind the mask, I could see the strain in his jaw as he digested the information. “How much time do we feasibly have?”

“My birthday is April nineteenth. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t know my birthday already. Maybe six months of time before the world comes crashing down.” I looked down at my feet, observing my ridiculous outfit. I felt bare and out in the open.

His hand softened and started making soothing circles on my stomach. A comforting gesture even though I felt anything but. “We have time. We can fix this mess, but we’ll have to work quickly. I can brief the Dictator before your meeting with him, though... I’m surprised he’s not aware already. If he is, he’s never mentioned it to me.”

It was an interesting thought. Evans told me that our families knew things going on in the background, and with that comment, I didn’t know what to make of it.

An angry face caught the corner of my eye as she made her way over to the both of us hiding in the corner.

“Brent, baby,” she cooed, “what are you doing with—” she stopped in her tracks.

Yep, she knew it was me. Not good.

“Fallon?” Her voice was a mix of shock and disbelief. “What are you doing with my man?”

He shook his head, annoyed. “I’m not your boyfriend. I’ve literally broken up with you—what—five times now?”