Be Good Mrs. B | Spies, Lies & Butterflies Book #2

13. auctions, vows & Miss United States

A suited man opened the door for me, "Good evening, ma'am."

I nodded, "Good evening. Thank you."

The drive was quiet save for my thoughts. I began my deep breathing ritual, using the forty-minute commute to still myself.

I ran through scenarios and best-worst outcomes, focusing my energy. Official or not, this was my first op back, and it had to count for something.

The driver smiled at me, his hand outstretched as I exited the vehicle, "When you're ready, I'm a phone call away. Enjoy your evening."

"Will do. Thank you," I smiled politely at the driver as I studied his face.

A woman in an evening gown holding a clipboard greeted me, "Ma'am, welcome to The Maybourne. Are you here for the Lebek Charity Masquerade Gala?"

I smiled, "I am."

A red carpet had been rolled out for guests entering the establishment. Security was stationed at every entrance. People milled about dressed to the nines.

I kept away from flashing cameras.

"Name?"

I'd never given Liam my full name.

"Annabelle. I'm –"

Her eyes lit up in recognition, "Liam's plus one."

I smiled, "Exactly."

"I've been waiting for you. Follow me," the woman's elegant gown swished as she walked.

A human caravan, we weaved through idling bodies clad in striking ensembles. Smiling mouths, masked eyes, and flutes of champagne dotted the room.

It would take patience and skill to identify most in the crowd, although plenty of party-goers had opted to accessorize with handheld masks. Their arms would tire at some point. I was counting on it.

We passed a quartet in the foyer playing like they were in the orchestra pit at Carnegie.

Just as soon as the woman spotted Liam, she departed, making a beeline for some other important guest.

"You look breathtaking. Wow," Liam's appreciative gaze was warming. His simple black mask was held in place with elastic.

"You're not too shabby yourself. If I knew you cleaned up so well, I'd have stopped by the bar sooner."

He pointed to his tuxedo jacket, "What? This old thing?"

"You may move like a pauper, but you're really just a bonafide prince."

"What do you know about Mark Twain?"

"You mean Samuel Langhorne Clemens? I know Faulkner called him the father of American literature."

Liam's face morphed into a wry grin, "And what does that make Faulkner?"

"An extraordinary high school dropout from Mississippi."

"Maybe you're not a Wikipedia dilettante after all."

"I never said I wasn't," I winked at the man who looked equally at home in a tailored tuxedo as he did in his bar uniform.

Liam held a glass out to me, "Champagne?"

"Thank you," I took a moment to survey the room, noting all the exits.

"Don't be mad, but I may have done something you're going to hate me for – inevitably."

I kept my upper lip from twitching, "Uh oh."

"Mhmm. Believe it or not, I was bullied into, um, volunteering your time – but it's for the greater good," Liam managed to look sheepishly dignified.

I lowered my head, throwing him a playfully dark look.