Page 19 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

Benson

Claire meets me at the exterior staircase leading into the venue, an old colonial-style home northeast of Longdale that was refurbished as an event center.

She’s leaning casually against one of the large, grey stone columns, wearing a long, flowing baby blue dress.

Her wavy, light brown hair is pulled up off her neck, with parts of it gently hanging down to skim her shoulders.

Her cheeks are flushed a little and she looks like she’s trying not to smile at me.

I thought she was beautiful before. She’s breathtaking now.

We silently exchange phones.

“Love the tux,” she says in an excited tone.

I shift. “I threw it on just in case. I didn’t want to be underdressed if I had to go in to find you. ”

She nods. “Did you riffle through my photos and search history?” she asks. “Did you read my journal?”

“Loved the photos. Was thoroughly entertained by the search history. Would have read your entire journal if I’d known it was there.”

Her mouth drops open a moment before she realizes I’m kidding.

“You wish.” She smirks, and she’s not wrong. I didn’t consider perusing her photos because I would never search someone’s phone without their permission. But I am curious about that journal she mentioned. And I wouldn’t mind getting a front row seat to her photo albums.

“Did you ask me that because of your guilty conscience?” I ask. “Did you riffle through the contents of my phone?”

“For hours. I know everything about you now.” Her brows rise and she waits for my reaction.

I must be in the mood for a verbal spar. “Try to refrain from drooling, then.” We can tease each other, right? Or maybe this is more like flirting.

I kill the energy between us. “In all seriousness, though, and forgive me for being all up in your business, but put a password on your phone, okay?”

She wrinkles her nose. “It’s a pain to have one, but okay, sir.” She gives a half-hearted salute. I expect a smirk, and even though her chin is raised, her smile is so radiant that if I were walking right now, I would no doubt stumble.

What. A. Smile.

“You clean up nice,” she says, and I don’t miss the quick flick of a glance over me as she takes me in.

“You do, too,” I say. “I couldn’t show up at a black-tie event in jeans, could I? ”

“Want to come in?” She says, her brows raised. Her head jerks back a little towards the main entrance. There are already people here. “You’re dressed for it.”

I shouldn’t. I have an incontinent dog at home, although Cinnamon’s frequency of accidents has dropped lately.

But still. This is Sophie’s sister. When I go on a date, my first since the divorce, it has to be someone with fewer ties. Someone I can have a nice dinner with and easily walk away from until I feel comfortable with the dating life.

Claire isn’t someone I can easily walk away from.

Or say “no” to, apparently, because I nod and begin walking towards the doors. “There’s been so much talk of this extravaganza…” I dip my head to her ear and speak out of the corner of my mouth. “…gala…that I’m curious what all the fuss is about.”

She’s taking mincing steps, limping but trying not to show it. I almost add, Clearly, positive thinking doesn’t heal sprained ankles. But I stop myself.

“How’s your ankle? Want me to grab your crutches?”

She shakes her head vigorously. “They’re in the car where they belong. I can manage.”

“You sure you don’t want me to go grab them and have them on hand, just in case?”

She gives a curt nod. “A thousand percent.”

It’s good that I’m here, then. I’ll make sure Claire doesn’t hurt herself trying to be a crutch-less hero tonight .

I offer her my arm and at first she doesn’t see it. Her eyes are dead set on the doors to the venue. I have to wave my elbow like a chicken flapping its wings for her to notice. Her brows go in the air.

“This might help with the gimp leg look,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes, her limp still going strong.

“Do it for appearances,” I urge, keeping pace with her.

“Appearances are exactly what I’m trying to avoid here.” She grimaces but gives me a once over before accepting my arm.

“Are you saying you don’t want to be seen with me?” I offer a gasp of mock hurt.

Her lips twist to one side. “I don’t want the consequences of being seen on your arm. There’s a difference.”

“Ouch. You can’t stand the thought of people thinking we’re together?” I ask.

I might know what she means. She can’t forego her career for a relationship, she said. The thing is, people can have both. This isn’t a “mid-century suburbia with a white picket fence” situation here. Frankly, it’s a little bizarre that she thinks otherwise.

And it’s bizarre that it bothers me so much.

Once inside, Claire lets go of my arm. “Thanks,” she says, meeting my gaze briefly before taking in the ballroom. Her eyes sweep over it with a critical gaze, like she’s responsible for it.

She stands apart from me now, as if she’s cut herself off and wants to do her own thing.

It’s just as well because I catch a glimpse of Peter Schiller and his wife, Mandy, across the way. They’re laughing and talking with a small crowd. How do they know the Hansons and why are they here ?

“Where are your grandparents?” I take my eyes off Peter and Mandy to scan the rest of the room.

“Oh, this is the mingling period before they make their grand entrance. We’re all supposed to engage in awkward small talk while we wait.”

“Good thing I’m skilled at awkward small talk.” My gaze finds Peter and Mandy again. I need to go say hello, if for no other reason than to keep up appearances. Things have to be status quo right now while we figure out what’s going on.

“You going to be okay?” I ask, my gaze going down to her ankle and back up to her green eyes.

“Of course. You go mingle.” She does a big circular motion with her hand. “The appetizers should be out soon.”

“I do need to go talk with a couple of people.”

At this, Claire frowns in confusion.

“Hope to run into you later,” I tell her. I start to walk away, backwards, lifting up my hand in a telephone gesture and mouthing the words: “Call if you need help.”

She pretends to not hear or understand. “What?” Her pseudo panic-stricken face says. And then the look she gives me is triumphant, like she’s too clever for her own good.

I’m starting to think she is.

I wheel around, scratching my head. That woman is…interesting. She’s stubborn. Beautiful. Enjoyable to be around.

The event is an extravaganza. The ballroom of at least two hundred people has been transformed, with a sea of shimmery white sheets of cloud-like fabrics hanging from ceiling rafters.

The stringed lights and Claire’s garland swoop and dip all along the walls and above every table.

The round tables glint with brilliant white everything.

The opulence is blinding. And there really is a large, raised pool of water outside the huge, open doorway that leads to a luxury patio.

I reach Peter and Mandy. Are they surprised I’m here?

Or is that a touch of guilt on their faces?

They recover quickly, though, and give me a warm welcome. We start talking like we don’t have a care in the world, like he’s not scheming to ditch my father, leaving him without his closest friend and the president of his company.

It’s hard to pretend everything’s fine around him, but I need to stay close by and listen in. It’s good I’m here.

My plan is going fine until I catch a glimpse of Claire across the way, limping as she carries a big box along the perimeter of the ballroom. I excuse myself from the Schillers and rush to catch up.

“Is that wise? Especially with those shoes?” I say when I reach her, glancing down at her ankle wrapped with a thin layer of white athletic tape. Hey, at least she matches the color vibe.

“These shoes? They’re practically flats!”

“They’re not flats. I distinctly see a heel.”

I know this because as she stood near the entrance, leaning against that column like an ad for a dress company, I took a moment to appreciate everything about how she looked.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s fine. As long as you’re here to carry me out of here if needed, I’ll be A-OK” She gives a tinkling laugh. “Did you video chat with Dax and Indie before you came?”

When we were texting this past week, I told her my kids were going out of town, but we’d video chat every day .

“Yes, but can I help you with the box?”

She’s hobbling. Obviously in pain.

She cuts me a look. “I have to hand it to the event planner real quick.”

I remove the box from her arms and hold it as we walk. “It’s painful to watch.”

“It’s painful to watch what?”

“You trying to walk without crutches.”

She shakes her head but then bites back a smile. Once we track down the event planner and hand over the box—Claire says they’re full of party favors that will be handed out at the end—we stand at the perimeter of the ballroom.

She motions to the display through the open doorway. “Aren’t they beautiful?” she croons. The swans are in a large tank, swimming around peacefully. Their long necks curve and posture.

“You pulled it off,” I remark and catch her smile growing.

“There were many doubters, but Claire Lawson got ’er done.”

“Are your grandparents happy about the swans?”

“They will be when they see them,” she says.

“Well, everything turned out great.”

“It did. I had my doubts about her vision for all the white. But it’s not bad.” She glances around the room, her eyes taking in the glittering lights and soft glow from the white fixtures and features everywhere.

“How are Dax and Indie?” she asks.

“They’re having fun. But they were far more interested in me showing them Cinnamon than in talking about the trip. ”

“Will I ever get to meet your dog?” Claire whispers. She and I are tucked into a corner. We’re supposed to be listening to some people on the stage who are taking turns speaking about Claire’s grandparents.

“I don’t know because as soon as my landlady gets back from her trip, she’ll take the dog back.”