I open my mouth to answer, but the words won’t come. This is all new territory for me. So I nod again, because it’s all I can think to do. I watch him weave through the crowd, my eyes lingering on his back for far too long, long enough that I don’t even know how much time has passed when I jolt at a hand on my shoulder.

“Where did you find champagne?” Nate quizzes. “I got you one of those Popsicle drinks you like.”

I glance at the amaretto sour in his hand, grinning. “I guess it wasn’t a complete mistake bringing you.”

“Arguable,” Vera says, sipping her cosmo.

Nate rolls his eyes. “We all know you both love me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Vera chuckles.

Nate takes a long draw from his whiskey glass, winking at her before making a satisfied sound. “So? Are we going to liven this party up? Hit the dance floor?”

“I will not be dancing,” I say immediately.

Nate hooks his arm in mine, a feat as I am now holding two drinks. “Like hell you aren’t.” He shoots Vera a pointed look. “You too, grouchy.”

“Call me grouchy again,” Vera says with narrowed eyes.

Nate grins. “It’s called foreplay, babe.”

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me. One day, the two of them are either going to make each other very happy, or I’ll be representing one of them for murder. No in-between.

“Whatever,” Vera huffs. “One dance.”

“That’s the spirit,” Nate cheers.

He looks down at me expectantly, and my eyes unconsciously flick to where Ezra disappeared briefly, tearing them away immediately after and downing the rest of my champagne before setting the glass on a nearby table.

“What the hell,” I say.

Nate beams. Vera barely hides her smile.

I’m still trying not to look for Ezra.

•   •   •

Dancing to a string quartet in a group of three people is just as difficult as it sounds, but Nate is nothing if not determined. His good humor has always been infectious, even though I hate to admit it, and by the time the third song ends, even Vera is laughing, albeit grudgingly.

“I need a break,” I tell them both at the end of the song. “My feet are killing me.”

“Never understand why you ladies wear those toe stranglers,” Nate says.

I point at said toes. “I have to stay in shape for my side business on FeetFinder.”

Nate wrinkles his nose. “I’ve seen your feet. Not sure you’d be killing it over there.”

“Rude,” I tsk. “I’ll have you know I charge per toe.”

He waves me off with a roll of his eyes. “Go take your break, Bilbo.”

“Vera?” I shoot her a look. “You coming?”

Nate grabs her arm, pouting. “Don’t be a square. You wore sensible shoes for a reason.”

“I didn’t have dancing with you in mind when I put on my shoes,” she says with a hint of amusement in her tone.

He waggles his brows. “Be that as it may…”

“Fine,” she huffs. “One more.”

“That’s my girl.”

“I’m not your—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he laughs.

I shake my head as they move further into the crowd of geriatric fat cats shuffling in a much less ostentatious manner than my friends, casting them one last grin before I weave my way out to the edge of the ballroom floor. There are still people lingering about; murmured conversations surround me on every side, and I’m struck with the realization that almost a half hour has passed since Ezra disappeared into the throng with his father.

I can’t help but let my eyes pass over the sea of people, but he’s nowhere to be found. No doubt still networking with Alexander. Although, after what I’ve seen of their interactions of late, I can’t help but wonder if it’s something Ezra actually wants to do or it’s something expected of him. I don’t know what’s more surprising about the idea of it—the fact that it might be true, or the fact that I’m wondering about it in the first place.

The crowd only begins to thin when I manage to wander past the ballroom and the foyer and the other open spaces all gated off for the party, slipping into the darker rooms beyond to explore. I don’t foresee Alexander leaving his guests for even a minute, not when there’s palms to be greased, so I assume that I’m relatively safe to snoop around.

Beyond the party spaces there is a sitting room that houses a grand piano and an array of expensive-looking art that is as tasteful as it is boring. Everything about the room feels sterile and cold, if I’m being honest. Nothing that really has me jonesing to hang around. I pause in the center of the room to slide my heels off, slipping the straps over my finger and letting them dangle at my side as I pad over the shiny wood floors into the next room.

There’s a warm light in this one that comes from a hanging lamp in the corner, and it takes me several seconds of gawking at the wall-to-wall bookshelves before I notice a person tucked away in a plush chair underneath said lamp, holding an open book.

“Oh,” I startle, no doubt looking guilty. “I’m sorry, I was just—”

The woman’s mouth tilts in a soft smile, one that looks genuine and amused. “Bored of the party?”

“I…” She’s still smiling, and her brow quirks in a conciliatory way. I puff out a breath, shrugging. “To tears, honestly.”

She chuckles quietly, the sound musical. I take her in then—her golden hair and her warm skin—but it isn’t until I notice the viridescent glow of her eyes in the lamplight that realization dawns on me.

“Are you Ezra’s mother?”

She only looks surprised for a moment, her brow knitting together and her lips pursing before she gives me a slow nod. “I am. And you are…?”

“Oh, sorry, I…” I’m all too aware I’m standing barefoot in a room I’m not supposed to be in, talking to the mother of the guy I’m seeing. Or…not seeing. Whatever we’re doing. “I’m Danica Pierce. I work with your son.” I wrinkle my nose. “Well, not with him. We work closely together.” Jesus Christ. “We’re at different firms.” I want to die a little. “We’ve crossed paths.”

“Ah.” Her grin is knowing, but what she knows, I can’t begin to say. “I don’t meet many of Ezra’s friends, so it’s a pleasure, Danica.”

“Dani,” I correct. “Most people call me Dani.”

“Dani,” she echoes kindly. “I’m Jackie.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I answer somewhat awkwardly. Should I go? I should, right? “So…” Apparently, I’m not leaving yet. Call it curiosity. I glance around her cozy hideaway; it doesn’t escape me that she’s practically dressed for bed, not a charity gala. “Did you also get tired of the party?”

“Not exactly.” She closes her book, letting it rest in her lap. “I don’t really attend these functions anymore. Not for a long time.”

“Lucky,” I snort. “How did you manage that?”

She’s still smiling when she turns her head toward her lap, but it feels less bright now. “Well, you know. We just agreed it was better that I not participate.”

We?

I want to ask for clarification—I am a lawyer, after all—but something about the way she says it gives me pause. Like it’s painful, something as simple as not attending a party. It makes me realize just how little I know about Ezra outside of what we do behind closed doors. The guilt that sets off is strange.

“So, you said you’ve worked with my son?” She blessedly changes the subject. “If you’re from another firm, does that mean you’ve been opposing counsel?”

“Oh, several times.”

I must not do as good a job as I think schooling my features into something other than exasperation, because Jackie chuckles. “He can be trouble, can’t he?”

Trouble.

If she only knew.

“That’s one word for him,” I mutter. I shoot her an apologetic glance. “No offense.”

“He’s a good boy,” she tells me with affection in her voice. “He’s just got a lot on his shoulders.”

My mouth practically itches to ask for more on that, but I know that if Ezra finds out I was pumping his mother for information about him, I’ll never live it down.