Chapter 2: The Service Corridor
The chill of the service corridor hit my bare neck the moment I slipped through the heavy mahogany double doors away from the ballroom. My black maid's uniform felt suddenly restrictive, the white collar tight against my throat. I kept my stride even, not running, refusing to give them the satisfaction of panic.
Behind me, the door scraped open again.
"Rachel. Wait."
Julian's voice echoed off the concrete walls of the back hallway. He hurried to catch up, his black tuxedo jacket unbuttoned, his tie pulled loose. He looked less like the untouchable host of a high-society charity gala and more like a man trying to outrun an avalanche.
I stopped, turning slowly to face him under the harsh fluorescent glare of the service wing. "If you're going to dismiss me on Evelyn's behalf, Mr. Vance, save your breath. I'm already resigning."
Julian held up a hand, stopping a few feet away. He ran a hand through his dark hair, breathing out a long, measured sigh. "Dismiss you? Evelyn is locked in her dressing room having hysterics because a member of the domestic staff humiliated her in front of the city's board of directors. But that's not why I followed you back here."
"Then why are you here?" I asked, my arms resting easily at my sides, weight balanced on my heels.
"Because I heard what you said. And I saw how fast you moved." Julian stepped closer, lowering his voice until it barely rose above the hum of the overhead ventilation unit. "We have a problem in this house, Rachel. A severe one. And I don't think Evelyn's guards are cutting it."
"Your security detail is supplied by Apex Global," I noted quietly. "They're certified professionals."
"They're desk jockeys in suits who miss threats standing right in front of them," Julian countered, his dark eyes intense. "Just like you were standing right there in the dining room, unnoticed until she lashed out. You're different. I need someone who actually knows how to watch our backs without a badge flashing."
"I clean silver, Mr. Vance. I serve wine. I don't take private retainers from men who can't control their fiancees."
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"She's not my fiancee," Julian corrected sharply, a flicker of raw frustration crossing his face. "She's a client's daughter. And someone has been leaving threats on her vanity mirror for three weeks. Tonight wasn't a random tantrum. She's terrified out of her mind."
I studied him, noting the tension in the set of his shoulders, the genuine exhaustion beneath his polished exterior. The puzzle pieces were shifting, but my rules remained the same.
