Tinsel In A Tangle

“Brilliant,” she said—and ignored the way Mr. At Last snort-laughed next to her.

The moment Jerome walked away, Jess dropped the smile. “Pardon,” she mumbled to the couple, and walked as quickly as she could to the ballroom doors. Which was not quickly at all, given her unsteadiness in the silly four-inch pink heels. She could have sworn she felt Mr. At Last still staring at her, but she ignored it. Forget him and his sexy laugh.

It was go time. The speeches were scheduled to last thirty minutes and she’d need almost all that time. With Jerome’s keycard she could access the server room in the data center across the street. But she also needed to time her entrance and exit to the room around the security guard’s routes and the angles of the security cameras installed in the hallway.

It was a very good thing she used to be in charge of the technology used for Campus Safety.

Once she had access to the servers, she would upload a very special new program. One she’d written herself over the past couple of months. She’d had plenty of time to do so since no company in its right mind would hire her. Not when her ex-boss told the Chicago Tribune that she was “reckless and amoral.” I’ll show you reckless.

She was going to find out who set her up.

Chapter Two

Adam lounged against one of the ornate pillars in the ballroom, one eye on the door. He’d finally convinced Tanya, his inebriated dancing partner, to head home with the promise that he’d call her tomorrow. A blatant lie, but that was par for the course in his business.

The speeches wrapped up with a standing ovation for the President of the University. The theme of his speech was “integrity,” which Adam found ironic given the underground activities of their newest Board member.

As the applause faded and the orchestra began to play, he turned fully to face the doors. Just as he expected, the woman in white sequins popped back in the room. Eyes shining, her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing hard. Whatever she’d been doing for the last thirty minutes, it had gotten her heart rate up.

He blew out a long breath. Fuck. Just looking at her got his heart rate up. Earlier he’d admired her legs from across the room. Upon closer viewing, he could confirm that they were the best he’d ever seen. Yet they were nothing compared to her face.

He wasn’t certain exactly what it was about it that he liked so much. She had a wide mouth, straight nose, and high cheekbones—but they were more girl-next-door than movie star. The eyes, he decided now. It was the eyes that took her to a whole other level. She had huge brown eyes, surrounded by black lashes that were so thick they had to be fake.

The wig was driving him nuts. It hid too much of her. He couldn’t see her eyebrows or her ears. Hell, he couldn’t even really see the shape of her face.

What w

as she up to? He’d bet big money this was her first attempt at role-playing. The inappropriate wig and ridiculous British accent would give her away to anyone looking for it. Most people weren’t, obviously, and he grudgingly had to admit that even if the execution wasn’t top notch, the idea was good. The wig, provocative dress, and accent together were a good combination for hiding what she actually looked and sounded like.

Which made him just the slightest bit crazy to see what she actually looked and sounded like.

So, he’d been waiting for her. She did owe him one for the assist in her pickpocket nonsense. He’d felt sorry for her on the dance floor, watching her put up with getting groped by that imbecile, straining to pull that card out of his pocket. Her face looked so miserable when the song ended. He couldn’t resist. It had been easy for him to purposefully spin top-heavy Tanya right into them. Just to see what the woman in the wig would do.

Her reaction time and instincts were impressive. When given the chance, she hadn’t hesitated. The card disappeared into her dress in seconds.

The woman had quick hands.

Now, she paused in the doorway, her eyes focused on the weasel she’d been dancing with. Adam knew why—she needed to return the keycard. Keycard entries to secure locations were generally logged. If the little weasel reported his card missing, any security program worth its salt would audit its last known use. Whatever the woman in white sequins had done, she wouldn’t want a log of it.

The weasel stood in a group of people next to the stage, forlornly scanning the dancers, no doubt wondering what happened to the hottest woman to ever talk to him. Adam leaned back against the pillar again and waited for the show. He wondered how she’d slide the card back in his pocket. Would she do it seductively? Or pretend that the weasel had dropped it somehow?

But the woman didn’t stride across the room to rejoin him, as Adam had expected. Instead, she bit her lip and retreated into the corner of the room, fully concealing herself behind another pillar. She was...hiding?

This was interesting. It was one thing to wear a disguise to prevent people from remembering your actual, normal appearance or security cameras from getting a true, representative image. It was quite another to wear one so that people wouldn’t recognize you. If she was hiding, that meant someone in the room could possibly recognize her true identity.

Man, he did love a puzzle. After a quick stop at the bar for two glasses of champagne, he sauntered over to her hiding place.

To her credit, she didn’t even jump in her heels when he appeared by her pillar. A slight narrowing of her eyes and purse of those full lips was the only indication she was annoyed by his presence. “Hello again,” he said. “Sasha, was it?”

“Indeed,” she responded, with a tight smile. “And you are?”

Amazing eyes. Wide-set, enormous, and such a chocolatey brown. He wanted to give that wig a good yank and see if her hair matched. Instead, he gave her an easy smile. Who was he tonight? Ah, right. “Michael Collins.”

Her lip quirked and her small smile looked a touch more genuine. “Like the Irish patriot and revolutionary?”

She was a quick one. “You a history buff, Blondie?” he asked.

“A bit.” she returned. “He was a rather dashing character. Easy to remember.” Her English accent was actually improving, he noted with amusement. Earlier she sounded like Bridget Jones, and now she was closer to royalty.