‘I... no, please, don’t.’
Unlike Serenna, Genevieve knew Ashton well enough to realise he wasn’t bluffing. He never made empty threats.
‘I... fine, I did it, all right? I...’ She shot me a resentful glance. ‘I sneaked into the suite when Mirabelle was in the bathroom. I sent the text to Rhys.’
Serenna gaped at her, stunned that her partner in crime had folded so easily. ‘They’ve got no proof!’
‘There’s a camera in the hallway,’ I added helpfully. ‘We can pull the footage and see exactly who came in here.’
Ashton didn’t say a word. His eyes stayed locked on Genevieve.
She dropped her head. ‘I’m sorry. I made a mistake.’
‘I’m not the one you should apologise to,’ he said.
Genevieve bit her lip and looked at me through damp lashes. ‘Mirabelle, I’m sorry. I was jealous of you and I did something I shouldn’t have.’
‘And you,’ Ashton turned to Serenna.
She stuttered out a half-hearted apology.
‘Good enough?’ he asked me.
‘Good enough.’ I shrugged and linked my arm through his. ‘Let’s go.’
After that farce, I wasn’t in the mood to hang around. I asked, ‘When can we leave?’
‘Bored already?’ Ashton gave me a look.
‘I’ll speak to a couple more associates, then we can go.’
‘Fine. Then you go, I’ll stay in the lounge.’
He led me to a sitting area on the second floor. The balcony overlooked the grand banquet hall below. ‘Stay where I can see you.’
‘I’m not five. I can take care of myself,’ I said.
Before he left, he checked again. ‘Don’t wander off. If you need to go anywhere, let me know.’
‘Including the loo?’ I teased.
He didn’t find it funny.
‘Just kidding.’ I reached up and smoothed the frown line between his brows. ‘Go. Do what you need to do. Come find me when you’re done.’
He gave me one last searching look, then walked away.
I poured myself a glass of orange juice and sank into a deep, plush armchair, watching the dancing, chatting, perfectly dressed crowd below. Everyone was smiling, just at different levels of fake.
Using my phone, I zoomed in on the jewellery they were wearing. The women’s pieces were varied, expensive, and predictably from the usual luxury brands. I rarely designed for men, but watching this roomful of the country’s business and political elite sparked new ideas.
‘Excuse me, is this seat taken?’
I glanced up from my jewellery app to see a pleasant-looking woman around my age.
She pointed at the chair next to me. They were the best seats in the lounge, with the best view.
‘No, please, sit,’ I said.
She lowered herself with some effort, and that was when I noticed the curve of her belly under a loose dress.
Catching my look, she smiled. ‘Twelve weeks along. I’d have stayed home, but my husband dragged me here.’
I sympathised. ‘Same here.’
‘I’m Naomi Fenty.’ She held out a hand.
I shook it. ‘Mirabelle Vance.’ Then, remembering what had happened earlier, I corrected myself. ‘Mirabelle Laurent.’
Naomi’s smile softened in understanding. ‘Newlywed?’
‘Sort of.’ The full story was too complicated for party small talk.
‘Laurent, as in LGH?’ she asked, polite enough not to push further.
‘Yes, that’s my husband. Ashton Laurent.’ Pride crept into my voice as I said it.
‘What a lovely coincidence.’ Her smile, warm from the start, grew even brighter. ‘My husband came tonight hoping to meet him.’
Ashton’s earlier briefing about the guest list came back to me. ‘Fenty, as in the Meridian Trust?’
If LGH was famous for its vast scale, global reach, and knack for having a finger in every profitable pie, the Meridian Trust was its shadowy counterpart.
It was renowned for being low-key, even mysterious. Everyone had heard of it, but almost no one could say what it actually did.
On paper, it was a holding company with a tangle of subsidiaries, but even the sharpest investigators struggled to pin down what each one did.
I remembered hearing Dominic explain that Ryan Fenty, Meridian’s nominal owner, was widely believed to be fronting for a group of politicians.
And I knew Ashton wanted to build ties with Ryan Fenty as a way to reach the people behind him.
With that in mind, I summoned what little political savvy I had and struck up a conversation with Naomi. Discover more novels at novel~fire~net
For a woman married to a supposedly shrewd figurehead who preferred to stay in the shadows, she was surprisingly easy to talk to.
When she discovered I designed jewellery, her friendliness notched up again. Soon we were happily immersed in a lively debate about Van Cleef’s Alhambra collection, forgetting all about our husbands.
Naomi’s phone pinged.
She glanced at the message and gave me an apologetic shrug. ‘Time to go. The party downstairs is wrapping up.’
I stood and helped her up.
We were heading towards the wide, winding staircase when I spotted Serenna descending from the third floor.
Her eyes were red and puffy.
I ignored her and kept walking.
The thick carpet muffled our steps, but I still heard the quick click of her heels coming straight towards me.