Liv paused another moment to get her bearings. “I’m in,” she said, looking down so people wouldn’t notice her talking to herself. “Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Liv.”

Relief gave her confidence to walk, to enter the party, to paste a smile on her face. A waiter approached with a tray of champagne flutes. Liv accepted one with a quiet thanks and took a small sip. She didn’t really want it, but she feared she’d look out of place if she didn’t take it.

“Derek is sitting at a table for the city,” Noah said into her ear.

Liv studied the room, which was set up like a wedding. Round tables dotted one half of the room, where people in various levels of formal dress sat with plates of food and drinks. Some tables were reserved, with the names of sponsoring companies on placards high above the floral arrangements. She scanned each card until she found the one for the City of Nashville. Derek and his wife glanced nonchalantly in her direction but quickly looked away.

“I found him,” she responded.

“What about Royce?” Mack asked.

On the other side of the room was a long bar surrounded by tall cocktail tables for mingling. In the center was a dance floor that very few people were taking advantage of.

“I don’t see him yet,” she said softly.

“Look for the flash of cameras,” Mack answered. “That’ll be him.”

Liv smothered a snort of laughter behind the rim of her glass. Once again, she wished he were standing next to her instead of sitting in a van outside. She wanted his hand on her back, his strength and his warmth. She needed him, and the most amazing thing about that was that she wasn’t afraid to admit it. She needed him and didn’t mind. Was that what it meant to trust someone? Was this how it felt to trust someone?

A round of boisterous laughter from the bar brought her gaze around. A large group of people stood in a circle, fawning over someone who was eating up the attention and the adoration like a dry sponge under a faucet. It could only be Royce. Liv walked closer. The man turned, and her heart stopped. Royce. He tilted his head back to laugh at something a man said, and he patted the guy on the back all buddy-buddy-style. Then a woman asked for a picture, followed quickly by another.

Those people had no idea who he really was. What he was capable of. That behind that amiable facade was a monster.

Which was why she was doing this.

“I see him,” she whispered.

“Okay. We’ll stay silent after this,” Noah said. “But we’re here.”

“You can do this, Liv,” Mack said next. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

His confidence became hers. Liv squared her shoulders, downed a large gulp of champagne, and stalked forward. She set down her glass on a cocktail table as she approached the group and tucked her purse under her arm. The group was reluctant to let a newcomer into their midst, but Liv finally squeezed through just enough to be seen. She waited for him to turn, to spot her. Her heart beat so loudly that they could probably hear it in the van.

Royce finally looked her way, and there was a split second of disbelief followed by a total lack of emotion. “Olivia,” he said, adopting that sickeningly fake voice of his. “What a surprise.”

“Hello, Royce.”

“You’re looking beautiful this evening,” he said smoothly.

She shrugged, aw shucks– like. “This old thing?”

Curious faces watched their exchange. One of the women standing next to Royce looked on with what could only be described as annoyance that an interloper had stolen his attention. Did the woman not even know Royce was married? Not that he ever let that stop him from engaging in a nighttime snack, but Jesus.

Liv extended her hand to the woman. “Liv Papandreas. I used to work at Savoy.”

The woman’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Oh, wow! How exciting!”

“It was definitely interesting.”

“You’re a chef?”

“Olivia was a pastry chef,” Royce said, interjecting himself because he couldn’t help it, but also probably because he was afraid of what Liv would say. Good. She wanted him afraid and nervous.

“What’s a pastry chef?” the woman asked.

“Mostly I made desserts. My specialty was the Sultan.”

That earned a round of oohs and aahs because everyone had heard about the Sultan.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” a man said. “Not sure I can afford it, though.”

The man laughed nervously then with a glance at Royce, as if afraid he’d insulted him.

Liv waved her hand. “Don’t worry. It’s just a cupcake. The ingredients actually only cost about two hundred dollars.”

Royce’s face went stony and dark. He recovered quickly with a laugh. “You’re sharing state secrets, Olivia.”

The group joined him in a kind of relieved laugh, as if they knew he was simmering.

She briefly pictured Mack in the truck, listening in. It gave her courage to plow forward.

“Royce, I was hoping to steal you away for a moment. May I?” She gestured toward the dance floor.

The woman at his side shot him a wounded look, as if she’d been promised a dance. But Royce was a shark after a meal, and he wasn’t going to miss this chance to take a bite out of Liv’s torso. Little did he know she was the one who smelled blood in the water. He was wounded and didn’t even know it.

He forced another smile, this one sinister. “Of course. I’d love to.”

The crowd parted to let him pass as if he were a goddamned king. Their heavy stares weighed on her back as she led him to the dance floor. The band had just started a slow song, and other couples were quickly joining them.

Liv’s skin crawled when Royce placed his hand on her lower back and drew their bodies together. She was going to need an hour-long shower to get clean after this. He smelled like champagne and cologne, a cloying combination that would forever ruin both for her.

Royce gripped her hand more tightly than was necessary, and when he spoke, his voice was a cold, menacing whisper. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Networking. I’m still looking for a job, unfortunately.”

Royce’s eyes darted around the room as if he was afraid just to be seen with her. She really liked him like this—scared.

“I even applied here,” she continued conversationally. “The Parkway was looking for a pastry chef, and I got as far as an interview request, but then poof. They canceled on me for no reason. Don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

He clenched his jaw. “It’s a tough market.”

“Especially when someone is spreading rumors to ruin you.”

The fingers on her waist pressed into her flesh. “I warned you.”

“Indeed you did.”

He met her eyes—his were cold, dark, hard. “If you’re looking to apologize, it’s too late. You had your chance.”

“I actually think of this as your chance.” Sweat trickled down her back, and she prayed he couldn’t feel the dampness through the thin material of her dress.

“Don’t even think about threatening me, Olivia. You are way out of your league.”

She let out a practiced sigh. “You’re right about that. I can’t compete with you. You have every former employee from here to the ends of the Earth terrified to say a single bad thing about you.”

“You should’ve come to that realization a lot sooner.”

“How about just a truce instead?”

A single overly groomed eyebrow arched as he gazed down at her. “A truce implies we both give up something and get something in return. We’re beyond that.”

“I only want two small things from you.”

“I’m not giving you shit.”

She kept going before her body gave in to the urge to tremble. “First, I want you to promise to give Jessica a good recommendation.”

A muscle clenched along his jaw. “And second?”

“That you stop trying to ruin me in the industry. I don’t need a good recommendation from you. Just stop sabotaging my job interviews.”

A look of genuine surprise crossed his face before he covered it with a sarcastic sneer. “I told you. I don’t give second chances.”

“Are you sure you want to take that risk? I mean, I could just sue you, and then we’d get into things like disclosure, and, God, that would be so messy, and—”

He gave up all pretense of politeness for the sake of appearance. He yanked her hard against his body and glared. “Try it. I will fucking bury you. I have more money than you can dream of.”

She shrugged in what she hoped was a calm, casual gesture, but inside she was shaking and on the verge of puking. He still hadn’t said anything that couldn’t be explained away. “Like I said,” she laughed. “It’s messy. Wouldn’t it just be easier to come to an agreement of some kind?”

He vibrated with rage. “What kind of agreement?”

Liv swallowed hard. “You tell me. What do I have to give you to get you to back off?”

“A signed statement,” he hissed.

Her heart stopped. This was . . . this was getting close. “A signed statement saying what?”

“That you didn’t see a goddamned thing.”

Shit. Was that enough? Did she have him yet? It didn’t seem like enough, but if she were smart, she’d agree and leave and hope this did the trick. But she wasn’t smart. She was enraged and scared, and when she felt like that, she did crazy things, like opening her and mouth when she should keep it shut.

“Is that how you do it? How you keep your dirty little secret? You intimidate women until they sign statements saying it never happened, they never saw anything, you never touched them?”

Royce let out a weary sigh, as if suddenly tired of having to deal with this inconvenience. “Do you really think I don’t know how to do this after all this time?”