“My, my, the boss sure does clean up beautifully.”

The flask of whisky she’d fleeced from Douglas had yet to wet her lips. She stalled with the flask just below her nose. Years and aged perfection wafted up her nostrils, tempting her taste buds, but she couldn’t drink it. She couldn’t have a minute to herself. This was the main reason Larkin’s partying days were behind her. Everyone had something to say. She longed for the bustling quiet of the rooftop, but it wouldn’t come tonight.

Larkin set the flask on the high-top table then turned to witness Brice Beauregard’s approach. Of all the animated statues that blew hot air into the ornate room, he bothered her the least.

“Why, thank you. You don’t do too poorly yourself.” She offered him a spot at her claim and a kind smile. He sidled up to the table. Even in heels, Larkin craned her neck to meet his gaze.

“I hope that grand entrance didn’t throw you for too much of a loop. My Bitsy has a flair for the dramatic. And where our son is concerned, everything is dramatic.”

“I’m not going to lie. It was more than I anticipated.” She stole a sip of whisky and relished the flavors marbling in her mouth.

“Bitsy is more than most people anticipate.” He patted his heart. “I knew what I was getting myself into, which only makes me question my sanity every other week.”

“I admire you two. Your marriage has lasted where most have failed.” Larkin offered Brice the engraved silver container.

“It’s not without its efforts.” He took it, downed a hefty gulp, and handed it back. “That’s some genuine whisky.”

“My driver’s private collection.”

Brice nodded. “The key is finding your person. When you find the right one, nothing will stand in your way.”

He nodded but ignored her plea to shift the conversation from relationships to liquor. Liquor she could speak about intelligently. Relationships, not even close. She placed the cap on the flask and screwed it on tightly. Her gaze leveled Brice’s.

“Please don’t tell me you’re here to lobby for marriage. Especially not my marriage. Your friend Cornish is more than enough to handle on that front.”

“I apologize for his behavior.” He sneered.

Her business couldn’t progress with two of the biggest figures on the board opposing her, so his sneer offered comfort. She snatched it up like a freshly cracked cask of Macallan. After the proverbial beating she’d taken from her father and tailspin Bronson put her through, the welcomed relief washed over her drawn shoulders. It eased them from her earlobes and guided the flow of air through her lungs once more.

“Thank you, Brice. Really.” She hugged the flask between her palms.

The night wasn’t a waste, after all.

Brice rested an elbow on the table top and turned to face her. His kind gaze searched hers. The hood of his brows narrowed.

Larkin waited. For what, she didn’t know.

“Cornish hasn’t the tact, but he has a point.”

The reconstruction of her night gave way. A landslide. The ground beneath her shifted. Doom.

“Think about it,” he whispered conspiratorially. “With the Duo branch, you run a company that sets trends for brides. With Ditto, you sway mothers-to-be on everything from feeding regimens for their unborn children to the perfect shade to paint the nursery.”

“And?” Her fingernails clung to the bark of the last standing tree.

“And you are unmarried and childless.”

It gave way with the others. They shifted, careening down the mountain. The mass gathered speed. It gathered more debris. It tumbled. It crashed. She lay at the bottom of the pile, unwilling to give up the fight.

“I am not the face of my company. For those reasons you stated, I explicitly branded the company without my likeness. It stands on its own with the market, and product researchers I employ speak to trends as well as the health and well-being of brides, mothers, and babies.”

“True. You’re doing an amazing job.”

The concession felt like an intro, rather than a pure offering. “But?”

“You can’t tell me the public doesn’t pay attention to your life.”

“Sure, they do. With articles about the self-made millionaire.” She kicked the sentence at him as though it were a ball of success, straight to the face.

“And the series of men you’re dating.”

“I don’t date.” The ball grew heavy and cumbersome. The whisky turned to poison in her stomach.

“Exactly. And the people know it.” He gestured around the room “So many of them are here tonight only to see what we’ll reveal to them. What they can share on the internet or with a reporter to gain a buck.”

Where the fuck was Genevieve? Her friend had promised she was coming tonight, and she’d seen hide nor red hair. She could use that hair at this juncture because it would distract a man like Brice. No matter how much he thought himself above others, above the moral deterioration, Larkin had seen the way he looked at her friend when he thought no one was looking.

“When you go public, it is no longer about how that affects you. It’s about how it affects your bottom line. It’s about how it affects your investors’ bottom lines.”

Larkin stood, wane of speech and full of bile.

“I hope I delivered my thoughts more appropriately than my friend.”

“Much more so,” she choked out.

“Wonderful then. I’ll leave you to it. Good evening, Miss Ashford.”

“Good evening, Mr. Beauregard.”

“Just call me Dad.”

“Dad?”

A thousand times throughout her life, Larkin questioned whether her father was, in fact, her biological half. Even with her father’s proclivities, she’d never given real credence to the notion. But was Brice saying …

“It has a nice ring to it.” Brice smoothed a hand over his double-breasted tux and leaned closer. “Think about it. Bronson, the head of the world’s premier diamond supplier. You, the head of the world’s premier wedding and family media empire. Together, you two could own the world.”

So, not her father, but Dad. Her bile vanished. In its place raged the lumen power of the sun. It radiated through her stomach, up her esophagus, and spewed between her lips. “I have no desire to run the world, nor marry your son.”

“Think of the power. Think of all the good you could do with that power. The social changes you could back. The lives you could improve.”

He raked in almost twice the amount of money she did, and her charitable giving was more than double his. Brice Beauregard cared nothing about the lives of those beneath him except how they could bend them to his benefit. At the moment. Hers, in particular.

“Just think on it.” He waved wildly to someone across the room and took off.

Larkin shoved the flask into her clutch. Her feet thundered toward the exit. How had every man managed to shit on her in the span of a few days? All except for Douglas. She shoved through a side door and rushed to the bathroom. Tulle flared with each stride. Her breaths hissed. She didn’t slow for the door. Instead, she lowered her shoulder and wished she’d been born a huge fucking man. Then people wouldn’t question her decisions at every turn. Her work, as opposed to her marital status, would show her credibility.

“What a presumptuous piece of trash.”

The door swung wide and fast. Its backside smacked the stopper and rebounded quite viciously. She grabbed the door’s edge. The will to slam it back once more pulsed in her veins, but the sound of running water killed the impulse. What would the public think? Headlines the next day would read: UNWED BUSINESSWOMAN ON RAMPAGE IN NYC. Her eyes rolled skyward.

A crystal chandelier and gold medallion ceiling reminded her exactly where she was and what was expected of her. The elegantly dressed woman in the reflection of the ornate vanity nook sneered at her.

“Oh, you must be single,” she hissed quietly.

The reflection liked the sarcasm. Its smile peeked through the anger and resentment marring her features.

She rounded the vanity and stalled in the entryway.

Water ran full throttle in one of the three marble basins. Air bubbles blasted into the brimming water and rose from the depths. They frothed at the top and poured over the edges, creating a smoothly flowing waterfall. The constant stream forged a small lake in the center of the bathroom. It rippled and pressed its edges wider and wider as she stood in slack-jawed bafflement.

Finally, her gaze thawed. Slowly, it searched the gilded area and heavy wooden stalls. Each stall door hung open and empty, save for one. On the far side of the water, the floor-to-ceiling door stood closed.

“Hello?” Larkin’s voice bounced off the hard surfaces and echoed hollowly in her ears.

Where was the bathroom attendant? There was one in every high-end venue throughout the city. Sometimes two or three but never none. Hell, even Yankee Stadium had bathroom attendants.

Maybe they’d gone to contact maintenance.

Larkin grabbed a handful of fabric and hiked it high. She pulled the sparkling Jimmy Choos from her feet and set them to the side. The marble floor cooled her residual anger, and she eased forward.

Cold. Ice cold water flash froze her toes, stealing her breath for a split second. The next, it forced gasps through her lungs. She leaned forward, expecting to find a broken lever. Under her light touch, the frigid water ceased. Behind the cold metal, the drain plug had been pulled taut. Her fingers depressed it. The lever gave way, but the plug remained in place. She eased her hand into the bowl. Icicles pierced her skin, and chills shot up her arm and spread through her body in a rapid plague. Water breached the edges again, hitting the floor and splashing her bare legs and the tops of her feet.

Larkin grabbed the lip of the plug and pulled. The pipe guzzled the water in deep, greedy gulps that rattled through the room.

A warning crawled from the deep, arcane part of her brain. It screeched and bellowed for her to run.

Someone had plugged the basin, turned on the water, and left it.

Why?

Her gaze jerked to the mirror in front of her, and she fully expected to see the face of the boogeyman looming. In a flash, she relived the night on the roof; only her mind twisted it, and this time, there was no safe release.

The stalls leered like monsters in the night. Especially the closed stall. There were no faces. No boogeyman. But a suffocating silence filled the cold space.

Larkin pulled her hand from the sink and turned, confronting the closed stall.

“Hello?” she demanded. “Is anyone in there?”

The silence grew until it threatened to break her.

She stepped forward. Water rippled. Her ankles quivered, but she pushed on slowly, steadily, coming closer to the stall until she stood in its shadow. When she reached for the door, her fingers trembled. Disgusted with her fear, she curled them into a fist, held her breath, and knocked on the stall.

Un-oiled hinges creaked. The door opened, allowing a sliver of light to shine through the hefty wood.

“Shit.” Larkin jumped backward and dropped the edge of her gown to cover her mouth. She hadn’t expected the thing to move.

Heart clogging her throat, Larkin stepped forward and pushed the door. It opened only a few inches before hitting something and stopping cold. Her heart stopped too.

Through the crack, Larkin stared in horror at a woman’s prone leg. Words and thoughts and screams collided in a heap of helplessness. Her gaze searched desperately for someone, something. There was only her and this woman, who needed help more than she did.

Larkin pressed the door open enough to stick her head inside.

“Oh, God.”

Pills lay on the floor like confetti at a party. Toilet paper hung from the roll and gathered on the floor. The woman sprawled belly down across the closed lid of the toilet. Her short, curled bob hung across her face. The hair didn’t move. The woman didn’t move.

A medicine bottle remained clutched in her hand. That ominous sign was the only thing giving Larkin hope that she wasn’t dead.

“Miss? Miss, can you hear me?”

She offered no response.

Larkin wedged herself through the narrow opening. The jewels on her gown scraped against the stained wood. She exhaled and wiggled and finally broke through. With a bare foot, she moved the sequined end of the silver gown and stood between the woman’s sprawled legs, one of which blocked the door from opening properly.

In all her years spent on earth and all her schooling, why the hell hadn’t she taken a first-aid course? The information would certainly have come in handy now because she hadn’t the slightest clue what to do. She pressed her hand to the woman’s back and prayed for movement of any sort. Hell, she’d take a startled screech or a full-on attack to the chilly silence.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

She didn’t know why she was counting, but …the woman’s chest expanded.

“Oh, thank you.” A shiver of relief washed over Larkin, and she sagged. Sure, the breaths weren’t as strong or full as they should’ve been, but they were there.

The woman needed help, but at least there was help for her. Larkin reached for the purse she always carried around her body, but tonight, it wasn’t there. She’d left it in the car, sure she wouldn’t need her money, identification, or phone this evening.

Dread crept up her spine. She had to leave her and go get help.

The woman’s body shook. It flailed violently from side to side, startling Larkin. The woman’s strong legs smacked into Larkin’s and tossed her off balance. She fell back. Her arms shot wide and slammed into the stall while her shoulder met the door. It was all too much. Too fast. Before she could blink, she was on her ass, staring into the white face of Tarin Blakely, the treasurer on her board, the stuffy mother of two, the woman who worked numbers for so many international power companies.

“Tarin?”

Maybe she suffered from seizures? Had she come with her husband? Would he know what to do? Larkin scrambled up with a new sense of urgency. She knew this woman; she wouldn’t let her die.

“I’m going to get help. I promise. I’ll be right back.”

Adrenaline dumped into her bloodstream, making her limbs shake, but she wrestled her way out of the stall, ran through the water—dress be damned—and sprinted for help.

The hallways seemed longer than they’d ever been as her bare feet pounded the floor. She ran past the ballroom entrance and down the main corridor to the coat check.

“Please. Help me, please?” Larkin begged between breaths.

Behind the counter, the woman’s eyes bulged and searched the surroundings for danger.

“Do you have a phone?”

The woman stared.

“A phone? Give me a phone.” Larkin thrust her open palm at the woman.

The young woman thrust the hotel phone into her hand and scrambled back.

Larkin pressed 911 and placed the phone to her ear.

“I need security at coat check, now.” Coat check lady clutched a walkie-talkie to her chest.

“There’s no danger. There’s a woman unconscious in the bathroom,” Larkin explained, while simultaneously strangling the phone. The damn thing wasn’t working. “Why isn’t the phone working?” She pulled the cordless thing from her face and stared at the tiny digital readout to see if it was even operational.

The woman stepped toward the coats. As if they could save her from the wrath about to rain down upon her.

“Do you have to press a number to get out? Nine? Eight?” Larkin hung up the phone, clicked it on again, and tried dialing nine before the number for emergency services. Nothing happened.

“Tell me how this damn thing works,” Larkin bellowed at the girl, now completely behind a rack of coats. She gave up and dialed again, trying eight this time.

“Damn you. What’s wrong with this thing?” She whacked the phone against her hand.

“What’s going on here?” a deep male voice demanded.

“She’s acting crazy.” The coat girl emerged from her hiding spot and pointed an accusing finger at Larkin.

“Miss?” Five firm fingers gripped Larkin’s upper arm. “Is it time to call your car? How much have you had to drink tonight?”

Larkin whirled on an average-size fellow with a larger-than-life authoritarian complex. The badge on his chest was too shiny. His glare too eager.

“I haven’t had nearly enough for this. I’m trying to call an ambulance. There’s an unconscious woman in the bathroom.” Larkin pointed down the long corridor. “Past the ballroom.” She tossed the phone at the coat wench. “Why don’t you make yourself useful and call an ambulance.”

She wrenched her arm from his hold and started down the hallway. “You can tackle me or follow me, but I guarantee my lawyer is better than yours.”

“I’m sorry, miss.” The security guard jogged beside her. “I’ve had to escort a few people to the exits already this evening.” He hollered over his shoulder, “I’ll call the ambulance.” They hustled ahead, and he depressed a button on his shoulder. “I need first-aid to the rear woman’s ballroom restroom and the ambulance on standby.”

“Ten-four,” crackled over the radio.

“What happened?” He huffed as they strode up the hallway.

“I found her in a stall. There were pills everywhere. She’s breathing but not well.”

“An overdose. I’ve seen it before.” His nostrils flared. “Ain’t pretty.”

Not at all.

Larkin’s stomach threatened to bail. She’d seen it before too. A tear slid down her cheek. Her lids blinked furiously to banish it and the memories away. This was a different time. A different place.

They rounded the corner, and the security guard stalled as though the women’s sign was a bright red octagon. She shoved into the bathroom, not waiting a beat to invite him. They’d already wasted too much time. Tarin could be … Nope, she refused to wander that path because no good would come of it. Tarin would be fine as long as they transported her as soon as possible.

“Watch the water.” Larkin slowed only enough to keep from wiping out in the large puddle and skidded to a stop in front of the stall door.

Why was it closed? She hadn’t closed it. Dread that Tarin had endured another seizure flowed over her like the bathroom sink had on the floor.

Larkin shoved the door open and stared.

“Miss? The lady you were talking about?” The security guard rolled his eyes from one side of the vacant stall to the other.

“She was here sprawled across the toilet on her stomach.” She stared into the perfectly tidy stall. The toilet paper boasted perfectly folded creases as an attendant would were there one here. Gone were the confetti pills. Gone was the woman.

Never had Larkin doubted her sanity, but it was as if she’d fallen into some sort of alternate reality. Where she was insane.

“You sure it was this bathroom?” His hands hiked high and wide in an exaggerated show of sarcasm.

“Yes.” She turned away from the stall, searching for proof that she wasn’t nuts. The glimmer of water caught her eye, and she clung to it. She pointed at the mess scattered across the floor. “I found the water running in the plugged sink before I found her.”

“Well”—he scratched his head—”I guess she caught her second wind. It happens.” His uneven shoulders bobbed. “They take another hit, and they’re at it again. She’s probably out on the dance floor.” His tiny thumb smashed the radio. “Cancel that ambulance and first-aid call. False alarm. I need maintenance to the rear ballroom bathroom.”

While he worked out the details with the operator, Larkin looked around the room for any sign of where Tarin had gone. The water on the floor was too much of a cluster to track her footsteps. There had been no sign of her in the hallway.

“Well, if we’re all good here …” He hitched a thumb toward the door. “I should probably get out of the ladies’ room.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she kept quiet while he backed out of the space with an awkward wave.

Larkin leaned against the stall and hung her head. The water turned the bottom two inches of her dress a deeper shade of pink. She didn’t dare look at the underside of her feet. They were probably ruddy with dirt.

“What a night.”

Music bumped through the walls as though she hadn’t had a year scared off her life. As though they hadn’t almost lost a soul tonight. As though nothing had happened at all except the snap of her sanity.

She needed to find Bronson and get out of here. Only, they couldn’t leave until the party was over. He was the reason for the extravaganza.

Larkin straightened and leaned into the stall—where she’d just witnessed an acquaintance fight for her life—and pulled off a length of tissue. Then she saw it. Another piece of evidence that proved stress wasn’t making her lose her mind. A small pill lay between the back of the toilet and the wall.

Larkin pulled up the hem of her dress, then dropping to a knee, she pinched the medicine between her index finger and thumb, and stood. The white pill had been stamped with the label APO on one side. She flipped it over and read the other side. OLA 5m. It meant nothing to her, but she could find out what—

The door opened. Roaring voices and music poured into the bathroom, causing her to startle for the hundredth time that night. The innate reaction disgusted her. Before she could focus on self-loathing, the tiny pill slipped from between her fingers, bounced off the open toilet seat, and plunged into the water.

“Great.” She glared at the ceiling as though it or the big guy could help. Ha. “APO. OLA 5m. APO. OLA 5m. APO. OLA 5m.”

A two-woman cleaning crew cackled their way into the bathroom, paying little-to-no attention to the mess she was or the mess on the floor. Music radiated from a small speaker connected to a phone atop their cart. Their hips swayed. Their mouths worked fast and furiously in a language Larkin didn’t understand.

She used the length of toilet paper in her hand to rub the mascara from under her eyes. Next, she wiped off each foot in turn, using nearly a quarter of the roll. Disgusting. The blackened clumps of paper floated in the center of the bowl, mocking the finery of her gown.

Larkin toed the button. A whirl of water and a gush of sound carried away the remnants. If only it would take with it the disquiet in her mind. She dragged a lungful of too clean air for her surroundings, and then edged out of the stall and around the lake the ladies had yet to address. One at a time, she slipped on the fancy shoes that in no way matched her mood. The regal things carried her as far as the vanity before she crumpled into a chair. Her reflection gave nothing away. The jitter in her hands and the vivid images assaulting her mind made the night all too clear. She’d never been one to hide from the masses, but tonight was an exception in so many ways. Why not this one?