C.J. Carmichael - Receptionist Under Cover

Oh, crap. “It was a gift,” she improvised.

“Mind if I take a quick look through? Lindsay and I are considering New Zealand for our honeymoon.”

Nadine couldn’t think of any way to refuse that wouldn’t sound suspicious. “Go ahead,” she said, while at the same time berating herself for not hiding the darned book in a drawer. If she was going to keep Patrick’s case secret until it was solved, she was going to have to start being a lot more circumspect.

AT SIX O’CLOCK, NADINE reluctantly turned off her computer and tucked her notes on the O’Neil case into her bottom drawer, under the pair of flat-soled shoes she kept on hand for emergencies.

Patrick’s contract and his check were there, too. She wouldn’t give the check to Nathan—who had taken over the accounting as soon as he became a full partner—until after she’d solved the case and come clean about what she’d done.

What a lot of fun it was going to be to see the expressions on everyone’s faces when they realized she really could handle an entire case all on her own.

Nadine was pumped and didn’t want to stop working, even though it was after five. But she’d promised her mother she would attend one of her charity galas that evening. The cause de jour was saving the rain forest, Nadine thought, with a heavy sigh. It wasn’t that she didn’t care about the rain forest, or the many other worthwhile causes her mother championed.

It was only that, in her opinion, the galas should be scrapped and the thousands of dollars it took to throw those big, fancy parties should be donated to the cause.

Her mother said her views were “shortsighted.”

And maybe she was right. Maybe in ten or twenty years, Nadine would be signing up to join the boards of all these committees and worrying about decorating themes and menus and ticket sales.

But she hoped not.

She and her mother thought differently about so many topics that long ago she’d realized she could either speak her own mind and be estranged from her mother, or keep her opinions to herself.

Because she loved her mother, for the most part Nadine kept her opinions to herself. And attended the parties. And wore the dresses. And dated the men. It was just easier that way.

Two hours later, Nadine was in a strapless black gown in the ballroom of the Waverly Hotel on Park Avenue. The man whose arm she was holding was an up-and-coming lawyer who had done some work for her father.

His name was Trenton Oberg, and he already had three strikes against him.

He wasn’t muscular.

His eyes were brown.

And his hair wasn’t windblown in the slightest.

On the positive side of the equation, the food promised to be good and her cousin Liz was in attendance, so there was sure to be some shocking event or another to entertain the masses. Liz did not enjoy being in the background, ever.

Trenton let go of her arm to snag two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. He handed her one, then clinked his flute against hers. “To a wonderful evening, with a wonderful girl.”

The words were spoken glibly, without a trace of sincerity, and Nadine smiled politely before taking a sip. Then a longer drink. Sometimes champagne was the only thing—

She sputtered as she caught sight of a man with a headful of dark brown hair that glittered with red highlights. He had his back to her, but the color of his hair, not to mention the cut of his suit—those wide shoulders and that impossibly slender waist—made her flashback to the man she’d met in the office today.

But why would Patrick O’Neil be at a high-society charity gala? She pulled on Trenton’s sleeve.

He frowned slightly, then leaned in toward her. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you know who’s speaking tonight?”

He named a local dignitary who had been a friend of her family’s for as long as she could remember.

“Anyone else?”

“Well, there’s that action-adventure travel writer, Patrick O’Neil. But you wouldn’t have heard of him.”

Patrick O’Neil. Oh, Lord. Nadine could feel the skin at the back of her neck tingle. She had to get out of here before he noticed her.

But no sooner did she have that thought than Patrick turned around—and with an uncanny instinct, as if he’d sensed her thinking about him—looked her square in the eyes.

PATRICK HAD EXPECTED TO BE bored, and he’d been prepared for it. What he hadn’t remembered was how damn uncomfortable formal attire could be. His feet—used to cushioned, merino wool socks and thick rubber soles—ached in these thin leather shoes. And the buttons on his tuxedo shirt seemed to tighten their hold on his neck with every minute.

He scanned the room in search of something that might distract him from his misery. Drinking wouldn’t be smart. Not when he had to speak in about an hour.

Definitely lots of beautiful women here. But he felt little interest in trying to meet one of them. That letter from June…it had really knocked him for a loop.

Wait a minute. Over in the corner. He couldn’t help staring at the pretty brunette with sparkling dark eyes. She was slender and utterly feminine…like a modern-day princess in a strapless dress that showed off flawless skin and an intriguing hint of cleavage.

She had a delicate beauty that set her apart from the many other gorgeous women in this room. But that wasn’t the only reason she’d caught his attention. He had the feeling he’d met her before.

And then it hit him. Hell. She was the investigator from Fox & Fisher. Nadine Kimble.

At the very moment he recognized her, she glanced through the crowd, making contact with his eyes. Or maybe he imagined it, because now, a second later, she was looking just slightly to his left. Lowering her eyes, she took a very long drink from her champagne flute.

She’d looked completely different earlier today in a conservative skirt and high-necked sweater. Her hair had been straight and controlled and her makeup subdued.

But he was now quite certain she was the same woman.

He was already moving through the crowd, curious to find out why a detective from Fox & Fisher was mingling with New York City’s wealthiest and most influential citizens. The tickets for tonight’s event were a thousand bucks a head. Not something that fit into the average woman’s budget, that was for sure.

Perhaps she had a rich boyfriend.

And at just that moment Patrick spotted him—a tall, academic-looking man in his late twenties, with dull eyes and an expression devoid of good humor. As Patrick watched, Nadine stood on her toes to speak into his ear. He nodded, then took her champagne flute and headed off, presumably for a refill.

She was alone now. And though she was no longer looking in his direction, he sensed she was aware of his approach.

Patrick wondered why he felt it was so important to speak to her. Not enough time had passed for her to have turned up any information about his son. Yet, he pressed on, weaving through the knots of people, drawing nearer, finally close enough to touch her lightly on the shoulder.

“MR. O’NEIL.” NADINE SHIVERED, though the man’s touch on her skin was warm. She swiveled ninety degrees, so she was almost, but not quite, facing him. “This is a surprise. I didn’t realize you were tonight’s speaker until just recently.”

She clasped her hands behind her back to hide her trembling. She had to get rid of him. Fast. It wouldn’t take Trenton long to refill their glasses, and when he returned she’d be obligated to make introductions, and her cover would be blown.

She could just imagine what her client would say when he found out her father was one of the owners of this hotel, her mother on the fundraising committee for this event.