Page 11 of Dissonance

“Rough life,” I deadpan.

My former brother-in-arms glances sideways at me, nudging my shoulder with his. “What about you?”

“Off after tonight.”

“Lucky bastard.” He says it easily, the way Gunner says most things like the world is something to be enjoyed rather than endured. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about him. A year out of the SEALs and he’s already made a home in a world of tuxedos and champagne towers. Me? I’m still waiting to feel like I belong somewhere that isn’t a briefing room or a foxhole. But the job keeps my hands busy and my mind quiet.

That’s enough for now.

“Might stick around for a couple of days before they ship me off somewhere else,” I say.

“Sounds good, man. I can give you a few suggestions for things to do if you want.”

I don’t reply, my attention catching on something across the room. A woman stands near the side, a champagne flute held loosely between her fingers, some older executive talking at her like he’s the most interesting man here. Dark hair falls over one shoulder, a black dress hugging her hips—nothing that should stand out in a room packed with people who’ve made a career out of being looked at.

And yet…

It’s not the dress or the dark hair or the way she looks. Though, Christ. It’s that she’s the only person here who doesn’t seem to need the attention, completely at ease in a space designed to make people feel small. Every other person here is performing for someone or something. She’s just…present. And in six months of working events like this, standing in corners of rooms full of people who’ve mistaken fame for importance, I’ve never once been pulled from a job.

Not the way I am right now.

The man finishes whatever speech he was giving, preening when she smiles politely. She says something that makes him blink, buying herself enough time to slip away before he can recover.

Gunner chuckles beside me, and I don’t even realize I’m staring until he follows my line of sight.

“Or you could do her all weekend.”

I drag my gaze to him for the first time since he joined me. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.” He glances toward her, now at the bar. “Who is she?”

“No idea.”

I watch as she says something to the bartender, making him laugh.

“You planning on staring at her all night?” Gunner asks. “Or are you going to go over there?”

“I’m working.”

“Your shift’s almost done.”

I shoot him a look. He grins, winks, and takes off to do a lap around the perimeter. My gaze drifts back across the room, landing on her again, setting her empty glass on the counter and saying something to the bartender. He nods and turns away, leaving her there, elbow on the bar top, angled out toward the room. Then her eyes find mine, calm and curious, the smallest hint of a smile at her lips.

That does it.

Technically, I’m still on the clock.

Technically, there are about a hundred reasons this is a bad idea.

Technically…

People shift around me in clusters of black ties and designer gowns, laughter and practiced conversation rising and falling over the music. None of them notice me cutting through, too busy watching each other to notice me watching her.

She’s turned back to the bar by the time I reach her, the bartender sliding a martini glass across the counter. Her fingers trace the stem as she lifts it to her lips, and then pauses. A faint wrinkle of her nose, a quiet breath through her teeth, the glass lowers without her having taken a proper sip.

“On second thought, I’ll have a beer,” she says, voice warm and completely casual.

“Water, please,” I say as I set my empty glass down beside her.