Musically, I was going for a suave cocktail vibe and chose the bossa nova classic “Summer Samba.” I put out appetizers and set up the bar. I was just filling the ice bucket when there was a knock on the door. I checked my cocktail party ensemble—black Capri pants with flats, and a polka dot top with a red silk scarf holding my hair back—before I answered the door.

“Hello,” I cried as I opened the door. “Come on in.”

It was Nyah, Booker, and Luz. Looking past them I could see Christian, Trent, and Shanna getting out of the second car in my driveway. I’d left the gate open when I got home so they could enter at will. I’d told them whoever arrived last needed to shut it behind them and I hoped they did, but if not, so what? It would be one more thing that Mr. Daire would have to complain about, but as I recalled, leaving the gate open had not been included in the rules. A shocking oversight, no doubt.

“Your place is so cute!” Nyah bounced into the house and made right for the bar. She glanced at the alcohol and mixer stash, cocked her head to listen to the music, and said, “Whiskey sours, who’s in?”

“Step aside,” Trent ordered. “You’re too young to know how to make a proper whiskey sour. I’ve got this.”

Nyah raised her hands in the air and stepped back. Booker grabbed one of her hands and began to dance with her. She looked delighted and I smiled. I crossed the room and opened both of the French doors, letting our music and laughter and chatter drift out into the night. I watched the windows across the way, but there wasn’t so much as a twitch of a curtain. Hmm.

We ate, we laughed, we gossiped about a few of our higher-maintenance clients. I considered asking about Carson, but I knew this would be crossing a line. He’d been there for years while I was the new girl. I was relieved that no one here seemed to begrudge me the position of creative director. Now that I knew Miguel had been hoping to give it to Carson, I wondered if any of the staff had felt the same way but no one seemed to be upset. Then again, free food and booze could buy some loyalty. Right?

We were on our third drink when Shanna stood and announced, “It’s hot tub time. Who’s in?”

I felt my pulse throb. I’d been checking on the big house occasionally and had yet to see any signs of life. Was it possible that I’d picked the one night to have a shindig when Mr. Daire wasn’t home? Well, hell.