Page 321 of The Romance Adventure

Unfortunately, a slender man, around my age, and emboldened by what’s sure to be a recent influx of money, casts a smile my way. It’s the kind of smile that indicates he’d like to talk and test the waters. Not wanting to be rude, I reply with a friendly, yet tight smile along the lines of I see you, but am not interested. There’s no coy glance or batting of eyelashes from me.

No, I did that once, and look where that got me. Well, marriage isn’t bad in and of itself, but lying to your husband is.

If this guy’s ill-fitting gray suit wasn’t enough of a giveaway, his slight stature suggests he’s not part of the security team. Though you can never be too sure.

And that’s the problem with my line of work. I never know who to trust.

Unfortunately, that also means I’m not necessarily to be trusted.

Turning a few degrees, I give him the shoulder, hoping he gets the hint. Timing is key tonight, and I can’t get distracted or have someone foul me up.

“Hello, beautiful. I’m Zayn Alberts, Top Thirty Under Thirty and CFO of Hyper-Fi Technologies,” he says in English.

I frown and in a thick French accent, I say, “Hello.”

“Do you speak English?”

I make a show of acting as if regretfully, I do not. “Non, vous parlez français?”

He shakes his head. “Español?”

“Non.”

“Dancing is a common language, a physical language we all speak.” His eyes are hungry.

I do everything in my power not to roll mine. Playing the part of a foreigner who doesn’t understand a word, I wear a blank expression and shake my head.

He shifts forward as if to plant his hands on me.

I slip back and say, “Peut-être dans une autre vie, mais mon cœur appartient à quelqu’un.”

I’m taken and my heart belongs to a man who’d hate me if he knew why I’m here tonight. With a little wave, I turn on my heel and disappear into the crowd.

While laughter and chatter fill the fete, I retreat to the powder room to set my trap. Ten minutes later, the security detail is doing their best to remain calm and in control while they investigate a breach in their security perimeter.

Part one, done.

Five minutes on, there’s another anomaly, this one focused on the electricity running to the estate and the backup generators.

Guilty as charged.

Three minutes later, the men in black are listening intently on their earpieces for instructions.

Perfectly to plan.

Meanwhile, Von Dräger is none the wiser. He’s good at what he does, but I’d dare say I’m better. Must be in my blood. But I don’t rely on outside help.

It’s just me, myself, and I on this mission. Someday, he’ll thank me for it.

Two minutes left, and I get into position. With the security team distracted, I can bank on enough time to get in, obtain what I need, and get out, hopefully using the front door.

Taking a deep breath, I have sixty seconds to go until the security team is going to respond to what they think is an attempt to steal the Fabergé Egg right from under their noses. Hopefully, my technological prowess and false flags will keep them busy.

Then again, hope is not a strategy. I have a high rate of confidence that this will work like a charm.

In fact, I slide on my most charming smile as a man in a black suit scuttles past, focused on trying to find a caper crew capable of lifting a golden egg right from under their noses.

What they’re not expecting is little ‘ole me, winding her way down the hall, prepared to act like I tipped back too much champagne and got lost in the labyrinthine halls of this grand estate.