Chapter 8: The Expense Report

The partners' party was held on the Whitlow Pier, under a white tent hung with lanterns.

There were about two hundred people in it.

I walked in at ten past seven in a green silk dress that I had bought for my own rehearsal dinner.

Rafe walked beside me in a charcoal suit, a half step behind, and every head turned.

"You're sure about this?" he said, low.

"I filed his expense reports for six years," I said. "He never changed the password."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the best one I have."

Preston saw me first.

He was standing with his father near the bar, a glass in his hand, and his whole face relaxed.

"Cece." He crossed the tent. "You came. I knew you would."

"Your mother asked nicely."

"Come on, let me introduce you. Everyone's dying to meet you." He lowered his voice. "Just say it was a prank, and it's over."

His mother appeared at his elbow, clutching her pearls.

She mouthed a thank-you at me.

I let him lead me through the crowd, and I let him say, "Everybody, this is Cecelia," and I smiled at each person he showed me.

The managing partner of the firm stood by the stage.

He was a broad, gray man in a navy suit, the same man who had stood up in my ballroom and told Preston to report to his office on Monday.

He didn't look pleased to see me.

"Ms. Cranmer," he said.

"Thank you for having me."

"Preston tells me there's been a misunderstanding."

"His mother asked me to tell you it was a joke."

Preston squeezed my arm.

"Which I'm happy to do," I said, "if you'll let me explain it properly. Could I borrow the microphone?"

The managing partner looked at Preston.

Preston nodded vigorously.

"Please," he said. "Let her."

I stepped onto the low stage, and Rafe stayed at the bottom of the steps.

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