11
IVAN
People call out to me from the crowd as I wade through. Others say my name in hushed whispers, giggling with their friends. I ignore them all and slice through the grass towards the stage. The band is softly playing, but they fade out as I mount the steps. By the time I grab the mic, they’ve gone quiet.
There’s a sharp shriek of feedback through the speakers. Then every eye is on me.
I didn’t have a plan for what I was going to say when I started walking this way. But now, there’s only one thing worth mentioning.
“The party is over.”
Disbelieving, unfamiliar faces stare up at me. People wait for a punchline that will never come.
“Thanks for coming. See yourselves out.” I point towards the gates. “Now.”
I drop the mic, sending a resounding thud and another screech of feedback through the party.
As I make my way back to the house, no one approaches me. For the first time all night, I’m given a wide berth. Like I’m suddenly contagious.
It’s a fucking relief.
Yasha is standing by the patio doors, his lips pressed into a firm line. “Your dad is going to be pissed.”
“Tell security to stop Francia at the door.”
He frowns. “Who?”
“Francia Delacour,” I snap impatiently. “She’s wearing my suit jacket. Only my suit jacket. I want to talk to her. Don’t let her leave.”
“Oh, shit,” Yasha laughs. “Sounds like you already did more than talk to her.”
“Now, Yasha.”
Yasha senses the urgency in my voice and holds up his hands in surrender. He pulls out his phone to relay my order to the security team. In the meantime, I turn back to the departing crowd.
Forlorn faces slathered in makeup glance my way. But I don’t see Francia among them.
She shouldn’t be hard to catch. Dark hair. Nude except for my suit jacket. Someone will spot her. Surely someone will spot her.
That assurance fades as the crowd thins.
“No one has seen her,” Yasha tells me fifteen minutes later. “She might have left before you called the party off.”
“I don’t want to hear where she ‘might’ have gone. We don’t spend hundreds of thousands on security for ‘might.’ Fucking find out where she went. Now.”
“What’s the deal with this girl? Do you know her?”
I undo my tie and throw it at the stairs. “No. That’s the problem.”
“You didn’t know half of the people here, and you could care less.”
“Those people didn’t break into my office and…” My voice trails off. I didn’t intend to share that tidbit. There are no cameras in my office, despite the way I made it sound to Francia. Our moment will forever remain private.
Yasha stands tall. “You think she was sent here to gather information? Who sent her?”
I consider the question. If Francia was a spy, I would have known. I would have realized. She told me she was a reporter, which was clearly a lie.
But I don’t have any other reason to care this much about where she went.
“That’s what you’re going to find out. Track her down. Tell me when you have.”
Yasha nods solemnly. “We’ll have her by morning.”
Damn right we will.
No one can hide from me.