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But I’d already sent a car for Juliette.
And now, I couldn’t focus on anything except the door.
Then I saw her.
Black dress. Hair down. Skin kissed by that golden Miami dusk. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was calculated chaos in heels. A walking distraction wrapped in silk and confidence.
Every conversation I’d half-listened to suddenly dissolved.
She didn’t just walk in—she entered like the curtain had just gone up and she was the only act worth watching. Heads turned, subtly. Even people who didn’t know her knew enough to stare.
Jules smiled when she spotted me, and my pulse kicked once, hard, before I could stop it.
“You’re late,” I said, straightening my cuffs.
She kissed my cheek like it was nothing. “You’re early. One of us has a personality.”
I bit back a grin. She always did this—disarmed me with a joke, then walked straight through the defenses I swore were still up.
“You look dangerous,” I said.
“That’s the point.” She looped her arm through mine. “Now, let’s spend your money.”
We made a slow lap through the room, pausing just long enough at the previewed pieces to look cultured. She hummed thoughtfully at a few of the sculptures but said nothing until we reached a jagged, large-format canvas near the center.
“Too red,” she murmured. “Looks like it’s trying too hard.”
“Like the artist next to it?”
“Exactly.”
Before I could respond, I spotted a familiar frame of a man across the room—Judge Valencia, in his usual linen blend, wife beside him in an understated Carolina Herrera.
We made our way over.
“Sinclair,” Valencia said, offering a dry handshake. “Didn’t expect to see you mingling before the paddle waving.”
“Trying to be respectable for once.”
His wife laughed. “That’ll be the day.”
He turned to Juliette. “You’re Gabrielle’s sister, aren’t you?”
“The better-dressed one, yes.”
He chuckled, clearly amused. “Your dedicated volunteer work at the Devereux Gallery has been impressive. Anthony and the Devereux family are lucky to have both of you.”
Then he turned back to me. “I hear Louisa’s stepping down.”
The words hit harder than I wanted them to. “She is.”
“I assume she’s informed the university?” Judge Valencia asked.
Juliette shook her head, swirling the champagne in her glass. “She’s been on vacation, I think. I haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks.” She smiled, polished and unbothered. “It won’t be the same without her. But now that I’ve got the PhD behind me, I’ve been thinking—maybe it’s time I followed her lead. There’s only so long you can live off tenure-track charm and department coffee.”
Valencia chuckled. “If I can help, let me know.”
Then, the judge turned to me and lifted a brow. “So you haven’t received her resignation yet?”