KENDRA
The ballroom shimmered with blinding lights.
Crystal chandeliers hung low over the crowd, catching the gold and silver of sequined gowns, glinting off champagne flutes and false smiles. The annual corporate charity gala was the kind of event people attended to be seen, not to give. Every handshake here was an investment, every compliment a negotiation.
I moved through the room like part of the performance, my glass of water masquerading as champagne. Pascal had been invited, of course, but he’d chosen to skip this one. “You’ll manage fine without me,” he’d said.
He wasn’t wrong.
I’d come here for one reason, and it had nothing to do with charity.
Across the room, I spotted David Lorne surrounded by a small knot of executives. He was laughing, loud and unrestrained, one hand cl
