My attempts to join in various conversations play out as badly as you’d imagine, so I give up rather quickly. I’ll leave it to Lily, and find something else to kill the time until everyone gets a bit more drunk. Alistair is yet to make an appearance too, and I can’t risk going up while he’s not around.
“Hey. Josh, right?” a vaguely familiar deep voice says, almost making me jump out of my skin. I was so focused on studying the crowd that I missed whoever approached me.
Plastering on a friendly smile, I turn to see who it is. “Hi, yes… Brady Sanders?”
“The one and only,” Portland’s biggest gym celebrity preens, tilting his short-cropped auburn head toward my half-full glass. “Enjoying the party?”
Swirling the liquid, I bob my head in affirmation. “It’s impressive, but I have yet to see your snake. And”—I bite on my lip, wishing I didn’t have to say this—“I haven’t seen Alistair. Is he not around yet?”
A smirk curves his full lips. “Oh, he’s here. Probably greeting guests. I lost him somewhere in the crowd. As for Jaime, he’ll stay upstairs until it’s time for the cake.”
An idea starts forming in my mind. Even if I get caught, as long as Jaime is still in his room, I can use my excitement to see him as an excuse as to why I went upstairs. “And when will that be?”
Hehums, crossing his arms as he leans forward onto the bar counter. “In an hour, maybe? First, we need to get everyone sufficiently drunk. Then, it’s cake time.”
Perfect. An hour is plenty of time to find dirt on Alistair.
Brady watches me for a few moments as if he has something to say, but ultimately just smiles and waves me off. “Go on, enjoy yourself. Don’t let me hold you up any longer.”
“Thanks. You have fun, too.”
I stop by the buffet tables and try a few things. Flavor is abundant despite the food’s pretentious appearance, but midway through tasting I begin to sense people’s glares again. Seriously, what is their deal? Having had enough of that unpleasantness, I slip out of the lounge.
The corridor is mostly empty, save for a group of people who are too busy discussing artwork to notice me walk by. I duck under the no-entry ribbon at the base of the stairs, make sure no one has seen me, and jog up to the second floor. Panting and with my ears strained, I pause and double-check that no one is following, then take in my new surroundings.
Unlike downstairs, wooden paneling characterizes the wide hallway, where a dozen or so doors are lined up on both sides. Bingo, these must be the bedrooms. So far, so good. Now for the hard part.
I start on the right of the stairs and enter the first room. It looks like an unused bedroom. The next few are also a bust, even though I do find Jaime in one of them. A leisure area with couches and a pool table interrupts my search, but I hit jackpot right after it as the room I walk into next looks like it’s in regular use.
A huge bed takes up one side, while the other comprises a sitting area with a couch, desk, chair, bookshelves and two doors. One is left ajar and hints at a bathroom and the other one most likely leads into a walk-in closet. Rich people love that shit.
The lights come on automatically as I enter the room and shut the door. They are dimmed, but provide enough illumination so I can spot the suit Alistair wore the other day thrown over the bed. My heart rate skyrockets and I grin like a madman. Holy shit. Itishis room.
While I wait to catch my breath, I take note of the tidy and organized surroundings. The rug is burgundy here, and the walls are beige, which creates a cozy atmosphere. Still modern, and maybe too big for one person, but somewhat welcoming.
Either way, I’m not panting anymore, so it’s time to carry on with my mission. I bypass the bed and go straight for the desk, where various folders with documents lie on top. They, and the name and avatar of the locked computer account, confirm what I already knew—this is indeed Alistair’s room.
I’m not nearly as good with computers as my brother, Steve, so I don’t even attempt to crack Alistair’s password. I focus on the documents. If there is anything compromising, it will be here, because why else would you bring your work back home?
Cue in my surprise when the first thing I find when I open the folder is a printout of my proposal littered with notes. He’s read it and left a ton of comments, some for himself, some for why certain parts make sense and how they could benefit Devon Holidays.
Shit. He’s really taking this seriously. He didn’t lie. He meant it when he said he’d try to convince the commission… He… isn’t a bad guy, or at least notthe bad guythat I pegged him for.
I swallow hard, a lump suddenly forming in my throat. He is willing to help, he wasn’t just pretending, while here I am sneaking around in his home so I can find something I can use against him.
The door shuts. My blood freezes. I close the folder and drop it on the desk as my heart launches into space. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Someone is here!
I turn around, regretting it immediately as my eyes lock with two frustratingly beautiful blues. Fuck me sideways. They are breathtaking in their intensity, surprised to see me here. And I’m also done for. This is the worst. I’m a goner because, of course, the person who walks in on me red-handed isn’t just a random guest. Nah, that would be no fun.
It’s Alistair Devon, the man whose room I trespassed into.
13
Josh
“Whatareyoudoinghere?” Alistair asks, his voice hard. Serious. Authoritative.
He’s folded his arms over his chest and he’s crossed his legs at the ankles while leaning against the closed door to block the only exit. He’s also pinned me with his full attention, which makes me feel like a mouse in a cheese trap.
