Page 31 of Out of the Shadows

“You good?” he asked, his voice low for only her to hear.

Clearing her throat, she nodded and straightened her shoulders. “Of course. Let’s do this.”

With his hand warm against her skin, they stepped into the ballroom. And she came to a halt.

“Holy wow,” she muttered on a sigh, taking in the opulence of the room. “This is ridiculous.”

Understatement. She’d been to a handful of charity events in her lifetime, but none like this. She’d only ever seen event decor like this in the society pages, usually linked to the uberuberwealthy, which she supposed these people were. Gold and crystal accents shimmered throughout the large ballroom. Instead of looking tacky, it was astonishing. Stunning. Like a freaking fancy fairy tale come to life.

“Stop messing with your sleeve,” Gavin said under his breath. “You look perfectly fine.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t realized she’d been fidgeting. Her left hand had a death grip on her red clutch, and the fingers of her right hand had been twisting the hem of her sleeve. Clearing her throat, she strove for a carefree and confident tone, though both were a lie. She was never carefree. And confident? Only when she was seated at a computer doing what she did best.

She put on a pleasant smile and glanced around at the other attendees. “I look perfectly fine? Yikes. Just what every woman wants to hear. You’ve got to work on your compliments, Frazier,” she said, her voice low and teasing.

Bean didn’t recognize anyone, which was a positive. Still, the event had “bad idea” written all over it. When it came down to it, she was a hacker. As pretty as her outfit was, she was way out of her depth.

Gavin dipped his head and spoke quietly into her ear. “You know what I mean, B. Stop fidgeting. You’re high society tonight, remember?”

Right. She could do this, dammit.

With each step she took into the glitzy Four Seasons ballroom, the impeccably dressed women around her—with their opulent jewels, designer labels, and Botox—made her feel like a country bumpkin. Oh, wait...

Although reclusive former-big-city girl turned small-town bumpkin was probably a more apt description for her.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she was Sabrina Darcy. A high society friend of Gavin Frazier who was originally from San Francisco but now living the high life in London. And, yes, she’d gotten a crash course on the swanky who’s who of London from both MacKay and Esme.

Gavin squeezed her hip. “You good?”

She nodded. The smile on her face was both familiar and foreign. Growing up, she’d been stuck at numerous events like this during the few times she’d been allowed to come home from boarding school. She’d been decades younger than everyone in attendance, but she’d learned how to play the small-talk-with-fancy-people game. She’d hated every moment of it and wanted more than anything to be back in her dorm room, curled up on the couch watching movies or playing video games. But it wasn’t like she’d had a choice back then.

Gavin popped his elbow out, and she gladly clutched onto him. His solid arm grounded her, let her know that unlike when she was growing up, she wasn’t alone now.

Smile, nod, make polite conversation.It’s like riding a bike, Bean.

It had to be.Or else it was going to be a long, long night.

They made their way around the perimeter of the ballroom, nodding and smiling but not stopping. The plan wasto do one full loop to assess the room, then stop for a drink to reevaluate. They were nearing the bar, and the tension in her shoulders was finally easing. Forget the fact that her grip on Gavin’s arm would probably leave a bruise. Thankfully, the man hadn’t made one single comment about it.

As they stepped into the line for the bar, a woman in Bean’s peripheral vision had her nearly stumbling.

No.

Her pulse kicked as the woman continued to make a beeline toward her.

It couldn’t be.

“Sabrina?” Gavin murmured, glancing down at her.

Turning toward the woman, Bean’s stomach dropped. The blood drained from her face, and she couldn’t stifle her gasp.

Holy. Shit.

Before she could process anything, Gavin’s solid body blocked the incoming woman. “B?” he whispered, leaning over her, his hands squeezing hers. “Talk to me. What’s?—”

“Florence Sabrina. I thought that was you.”

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