He stepped away from Celeste, his eyes scanning the ballroom until they landed directly on me.

The color was beginning to drain from his face.

He tapped his phone screen rapidly, then held it to his ear.

I knew what his CFO was telling him in that moment.

The corporate credit cards were declined, the payroll accounts were blocked, and the transaction lines were dead.

Bennett walked toward the exit, his stride hurried and stiff.

Celeste followed him, her expression turning from confusion to sudden panic.

Julian touched my elbow.

“We need to leave before he reaches the lobby,” Julian said. “He is going to explode.”

We walked out the side entrance of The Monarch into the cool Manhattan night.

Rain was beginning to fall, speckling the black pavement of Park Avenue.

My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.

It was Bennett’s private number, and the screen flashed red.

I swiped the screen to answer, holding the cold metal to my ear.

“Evelyn,” Bennett’s voice came through, low and trembling with a rage he could barely contain.

“Evelyn,” Bennett’s voice came through, low and trembling with a rage he could barely contain.