her hands over her hair like it’ll make a difference.
I manage a small smile, but Talent thanks her.
“Don’t leave. Let me take a picture before you go.” She runs past us in her too-large sweats and bare feet. She comes back with Dog under her arm and a cell phone in her hand. “This level of elegance needs to be documented. It feels like I’m a doting mother before the damn prom. I can’t believe I’m eating cereal for dinner when you guys look this fantastic.”
Camilla holds up the cell phone to take a picture and I automatically tense. No flash photography. No videography. I can’t remember the last time I had my picture taken, and this feels as dangerous as giving my heart to a man as prestigious as Talent.
Talent rubs my lower back, and I turn into him as she captures the photo.
“You kids have fun,” she says with a smile. “I won’t wait up.”
In the car ride over, Talent and I sit in the back of the limo and share a toast to a wonderful evening ahead. He drinks two glasses of champagne to my one, but I’m about to willingly walk into the lion’s den. As much as I’d love to drink straight from the bottle to lessen my nerves, I want to give the best first impression I can. Meeting David Ridge is a big deal.
“Remind me of whose birthday it is,” I say.
Talent sips from his champagne flute and forces a smile before answering, “A friend of the family.”
“If we’re dressed like this, they must be a big deal.”
He nods and says, “They are.”
The St. Francis Hotel in San Francisco is a one-hundred-year-old landmark and stands in the heart of the city as a symbol of elegance and history. It’s brilliantly lit upon our arrival, illuminated to display the long-slit stained-glass windows, semicircle arches, and grand pillars. Two mighty bell towers stretch for the night sky, like an ancient castle from another time.
“Ma’am.” A valet attendant opens the back door and offers his hand.
I step onto the sidewalk, overcome with the smell from the nearby chocolate factory, the ancient trees that surround the city, and the salty ocean. Talent comes around the back of the limo, refastening his jacket, and he guides me toward the massive building with his hand on my lower back. Unlike the gala, there’s no paparazzi or fuss leading toward the event. There’s a line of cars behind us waiting to unload guests, but we’re mostly alone on the short walk to the St. Francis entrance.
The interior of the building is just as impressive as the outside, and I can’t believe I’m here. My work with Hush never takes me out of Grand Haven, and now I’m at a birthday party in a real-life castle on a Wednesday night.
“Are you ready?” Talent asks, lacing his fingers with mine and squeezing my hand.
I smile and say, “Are you sure this is a birthday party?”
He chuckles and says, “Our work gets us caught up with some crazy motherfuckers.”
I’m not any less impressed by the grand ballroom, but I’m on high alert once Talent and I join the rest of the party. Scanning the room for anyone I may know from Hush, I’m pleasantly surprised not to recognize the normal company that attends high-profile events like these in Grand Haven. Until my eyes fall on Wilder Ridge, who’s at the bar, looking just as tortured as he did at the gala.
“There’s your brother,” I say, pulling on Talent’s hand.
“Where’s Dad?” Talent asks as we approach the older Ridge son. He pulls a chair out for me and I take a seat, turning to face the party.
“Nice to see you, Lydia,” Wilder says with a drunk smile. He shifts his attention to his brother when he doesn’t get a reaction from me and says, “You know as well as I do that there’s always business to be had at these things. He’s in the first conference room down the hall to the right. They’ve been waiting for you.”
Talent pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Go show your face before they come looking for you.” Wilder asks the bartender to give me what he has. “I’ll keep Miss Won’t-be-Disrespected-Again safe until you’re back.”
Talent kisses the top of my head and walks away with his hands in his pockets. The bartender slides a glass of bourbon in front of me, and Wilder clinks his glass with mine.
“We’ve got to stop meeting up like this,” he says over