“Why are you here?”
Emily Blair flinched at the question. She turned, her face pale as she looked at the man sitting in the shadowy corner of the couch.
Andrew Lane was sharp in a tailored suit, his jacket and crisp white shirt fitting perfectly. His tie hung loose at his collar, the top button undone. He leaned back, eyes closed, head tilted to rest against the sofa, the strong line of his throat exposed. When he spoke, his deep voice rumbled, his Adam’s apple shifting with every word.
But seeing Andrew Lane didn’t make Emily feel any safer.
She took a cautious step back, her voice soft but steady. “I’m looking for Amelia Lane.”
Andrew opened his eyes, gaze unfocused at first, as if searching the air for something invisible. “I don’t recall you being on the guest list for this charity gala.”
His dark eyes locked on her, icy and sharp. “Without an invitation, you can’t come through the main entrance. So tell me—how did you get in? And what are you doing hiding here?”
He glanced toward the tall, black-paned window, his eyes tracing the outline of the garden walls just outside.
A flicker of realization crossed his face. “Of course. That explains it.”
Emily bristled, drawing her brows together. “I just need to find Amelia Lane. That’s all. I’m not here for anything else.”
Andrew shut his eyes again, his voice lowering. “That’s not my concern.”
Her tone hardened. “Are you kicking me out? I thought Mr. Lane was known for his generosity—above petty grievances.”
He gave a short, cold laugh. “Then you thought wrong.”
Her frown deepened. “I won’t bother you. I’ll leave right now.”
She turned to go, but his voice stopped her cold.
“And where exactly do you plan to go? The whole place is crawling with people.”
She clenched her fists, jaw tight. “That’s none of your business.”
She threw his own words back at him and strode toward the door, intent on leaving.



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