Page 2 of His Obsession
Gia appears beside me like she was summoned by my stress level alone. She looks incredible in her bronze slip dress, with long dark hair swept over one shoulder, and sharp, smoky eyes that miss almost nothing. She works in branding and publicity, which means we cross paths constantly. Somewhere in the middle of that, she became my best friend.
“Mrs.Reynolds is panicking in the powder room because she thinks one side of her contour looks muddy,” she says.
Jacqueline Reynolds is the wife of Harold Reynolds, the founder of the company launching tonight. She’s the kind of woman who thinks this party is all about her, and she’ll milk every last second of it.
“I already sent up a makeup artist.” I sigh.
“Of course you did.” Gia laughs. “You don’t miss a thing.”
I grin and take a sip of water before scanning the room. The DJ is spinning bland, nondescript music that’ll serve as background for the evening. The bartender has a small crowd, but he moves like lightning, keeping the wait time low. Out of habit, I note where every security guard is stationed.
Gia watches me for a moment. “You’re doing that thing again, aren’t you?”
“What thing?” I ask, already knowing she’s caught me.
“You’re checking the exits,” she says. “Like you’re ready to bolt if you need to.”
Gia is so goddamn perceptive. Something I both love and hate about her.
“I’m just making sure all our security guards showed up.” I shrug. “You know how rowdy rich people can get when they’re drunk.”
She narrows her eyes but has the grace to drop it. I look out toward the skyline. Beverly Hills sprawls beneath us, all glowing windows and expensive rooftops and hills so dark they almost look painted.
One of my assistants hurries over before Gia can push me any further. She looks pale.
“Val, the sponsor plaque is missing from the flower wall.”
I shut my eyes for half a second. “Did you check behind the installation?”
“Yes.”
“The floor?”
“Yes.”
“The styling closet?”
“Yes.”
“Then someone moved it for a photo. Get Josh to reprint the logo card and bring up the backup clips. We’ll have it replaced before remarks.”
“Okay.”
She turns to go, and I stop her.
“Tessa.”
She looks back.
“You’re fine. Fix it and keep moving.”
Her shoulders loosen just enough to tell me I said the right thing before she disappears.
Gia watches her go. “You’re weirdly nice under pressure.”
“Yelling isn’t going to help the situation,” I say with a shrug. For the next twenty minutes, the room settles into the kind of rhythm that makes all the invisible labor worth it. Guests start to relax. The bars move faster. The photos are going well. Mrs.Reynolds is finally leaving me alone. I cross from one side of the rooftop to the other, adjusting, smoothing, solving. This is the part I’m good at. Reading rooms, reading moods, or knowing when a problem is a problem and when it just needs a smile and a redirect.
Near the west terrace, I stop. A man is standing by the railing with his back half turned to me. He’s wearing a dark suit that barely conceals his broad shoulders. From this angle, I can only see his profile, but it’s so familiar it makes my stomach drop.
