Chapter 122
Serena
The music hit me first—not the generic jazz I'd expected, but something older, more deliberate. A string quartet tucked into the corner was playing what sounded like a Baroque piece, the kind of thing that belonged in Versailles, not a Manhattan hotel ballroom. The tempo was stately, measured, designed for bodies that knew how to move with precision rather than passion.
And they were moving. Twenty, maybe thirty women glided across the polished marble floor in pairs, their movements synchronized in a way that suggested years of practice. It took me a moment to recognize the dance—a pavane, I thought, or something close to it.
My eyes scanned the room, searching for purple hair among the elegant grays and silvers. There—near the center, spinning with a partner who looked half her age. The woman's hair was a vivid violet bob that somehow worked on her, her laughter carrying over the music as she executed a turn that was probably called something pretentious in French.
Forty-five, maybe fifty, if you didn't look closely.
But I was looking closely. The calf muscles gave her away first—too defined, the kind that came from decades of disciplined exercise rather than youth's effortless tone. Then the hands, spotted and veined despite expensive skincare. When she threw her head back laughing, the light caught fine lines around her eyes and mouth that no amount of Botox could fully erase.
Seventy-something. Just like Grayson's file had said.
Lady Beatrice Ashford-Kent, in the flesh.
I gripped my briefcase tighter, palms suddenly slick. The file had mentioned she was "unconventional," but seeing her here—dancing like she had nowhere else to be, surrounded by women who clearly worshipped her—made my carefully rehearsed pitch feel inadequate.
How was I supposed to interrupt this? How was I supposed to make her care about my desperate need for a commission when she was clearly having the time of her life?
The music swelled, reaching what I assumed was some kind of crescendo, and several of the dancers began to break formation. A few were already reaching for coats draped over chairs, exchanging air kisses and promises to "do this again soon, darling." The party was ending. Right now. In the next five minutes, this room would be empty, and Beatrice would disappear into whatever chauffeur-driven car was waiting for her, and I would have wasted Vincent's time, Lance's concern, and my own rapidly dwindling reserves of courage.
Fuck it.
"Lady Beatrice!" My voice came out louder than I'd intended, cutting through the music like a blade. "I need you to pause your... enthusiasm for just a moment. I have urgent business to discuss."
The effect was immediate. The quartet stuttered to a halt mid-phrase. Heads turned. Conversations died. And suddenly, every pair of eyes in that ballroom was fixed on me—the girl in the business suit, clutching a briefcase like it was a shield, standing in the doorway like I had any right to be there.
Beatrice herself had gone still, one hand still resting on her partner's shoulder, her expression shifting from amusement to something cooler, more assessing.
Before she could speak, the women around her found their voices.
"How dare you interrupt—"
"Does this girl have any idea who she's addressing—"
"Security should have never let her in—"
"The absolute nerve—"
I kept my eyes on Beatrice, ignoring the chorus of indignation. But then one voice cut through the rest, younger than the others, laced with venom I recognized instantly.
"Oh my God." The woman stepped forward, and my stomach dropped. "Oh my God. Beatrice, do you know who this is?"
I knew that face. Knew those sharp cheekbones and that perfectly highlighted hair and the way she wore her Chanel suit like armor. Evelyn Holland. Vanessa's mother. Of course she was here. Of course.
Our eyes met, and for a split second, I saw the same recognition flare in hers. Then her mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Fuck," I muttered under my breath.
"Fuck is right," Evelyn said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Serena Vance. The girl who humiliated my daughter. What a delightful surprise."