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TWENTY-SIX

NATALIE

At noon, the catering staff arrives—six men of various ages, all dressed in black dress pants and button-ups. Signature white neckerchiefs are in place. Seriously? They don’t introduce themselves and don’t talk, though they do listen to Rosalie’s orders and set up tables, flowers, and minimal but elegant decor and serving stations at the back terrace and garden with the speed of lightning.

An hour later, a van pulls up to the staff entrance with a food and drinks delivery. Sagar, the maintenance guy, is the driver.

“Is this part of your job, too?” I ask him as he carries crates and cases of soft drinks, water, and liquor into the staff kitchen.

He shrugs. “I do what I’m told.”

Don’t we all?

I follow Rosalie’s orders, casually asking at some point why the boss didn’t hire dozens of people to deal with this.

“Privacy. Non-disclosure.”

I widen my eyes at her. “You mean the catering staff signs a non-disclosure?”

“No. However, they are professionals accustomed to working with high-profile clients. That’s the majority of the guest list.”

Oh, wow. Now I’m really curious.

“Let me wait on the guests,” I ask Rosalie.

“I’ll need you back here,” she responds, all business.

“I’m good at it,” I beg her. “I’ve been bartending for years. Trust me, I’ll be efficient and watch out for anything the guests or the boss need. Please-please-please?”

“We’ll see,” she replies.

When I hear the music outside, excitement spikes through me. It’s five o’clock when Rosalie sends me to the terrace to do the final check.

The terrace is decorated with flowers and lanterns. The garden in front of it is dotted with tables, chairs, and tabletop fire pits. A long buffet table with fruits and desserts is set at the far end.

The main addition to the terrace is a large portable movie screen as big as those at the old drive-in theaters. There’s no sound, but footage of cutting-edge technology and product demonstrations loops on the screen, showcasing augmented reality real estate concepts and a futuristic interface. Digital tablet stands are set up along the perimeter of the lawn. Rosalie was right—this is not your average party.

There are no guests yet, but several catering staff members already stand like statues, motionless, with trays balancing in one hand. Rosalie said that several others are at the main entrance.

Julien walks out onto the terrace but doesn’t spare me a glance. His eyes scan the setup. He seems nervous, though nothing gives it away except for the fact that he ignores me—that’s definitely an indicator. He absently adjusts the cuff of his suit sleeve almost on repeat.

“Is everything all right?” I ask him.

His eyes slowly shift from the screen to the catering staff, the tables, and the digital stands.

“Let’s hope that this party goes off without any incidents,” he says without looking at me.

I don’t ask why this is a concern.

I tug at the annoying neckerchief and square my shoulders. “It’s going to be fine, Julien.”

I walk back into the mansion, hoping that this party goes up in flames.