“Name please?” A formally dressed middle aged man asked, his bushy grey mustache bristling wildly with each fully enunciated word.

  “Stacy Starr,” I beamed, impressed with my newly concocted undercover alias.

  A raised brow arced from the attendant. “Is that the name you'd like to go with then?”

  “That...is my name.” I retaliated, suddenly, feeling blood rushing to my forehead. Had they figured me out! Exposed so soon!

  “Hmph...” The attendant sighed, turning down at his podium, scribbling something effusively, before sending a questioning eye back up at me, and then returning to his hastened notation.

  “What does that mean?” I huffed.

  RIP! The attendant handed me a blank name card and a fancy pen. “You've been put on the list of bidders for the auction later, if you'd like to participate. Cocktail hour is right up the grand steps on the mezzanine,” he half-heatedly pointed behind him and beyond.

  “Thank you,” I stuttered, quickly scrawling my newly christened nom de guerre across the card and slipping it into my gold hued handbag, pressed against my long flowing black dress.

  As I ascended the lavish steps, the rumbling rabble of conversation and smooth piano music grew louder until I reached the top and found myself among a particularly wealthy clientele, their extravagant gowns, furs, and suits equaling more than my expected average annual salary at the library with just each singular piece. A sobering feeling, but I had to keep up appearances and prove both Jack and Natalya wrong!

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  Spotting a large gathering huddled around each other with their backs turned, I figured it was time to make my entrance, and gather some information along the way.

  Snaring a drink from a nearby server carrying a tray, who tried in confusion to explain that it was someone else's drink, and not mine, I marched on defiantly and reached the group.

  “Hello friends,” I spouted, putting on airs, “I'm looking for Yanni Svensson,” as I took a sip from the glass.

  The group turned about face, as I recognized Jack and Natalya in front of me.

  PFFT! I spit out straight gin into the low cut neckline of Natalya's luscious red dress.

  OH! The crowd gasped and backed away, dispersing rather quickly, as they watched Natalya fume from the sidelines.

  “My apologies!" I gasped quietly. "Miss,” I followed up, moving closer to check on her, as she swiped away at me. “This is clearly not the brand I demanded!” I pipped up, loud enough for others to hear, and keep up the facade. “The audacity!”

  Jack couldn't help but crack a smile at it.

  “Take care of this,” Natalya snapped at Jack, before storming off to the restroom.

  “What are you doing here?” Jack said, grabbing my arm gently, his touch prickling my senses again. It'd already felt like too long. His eyes enveloped me as I found myself lost in them yet again, before admiring his chic black suit, and the chain of a pocket watch hanging down from the neat vest underneath his jacket.

  “I wasn't gonna let you go alone...we're a team, and I'm gonna prove it.” I affirmed.

  “It's not safe. I can't let you keep throwing yourself in the fire. It's my job to protect you.”

  “Maybe the best way to protect me is by keeping me close,” I laid a hand on his chest, and felt his heart beating through his breast. “You can't tell me it's not what you want?”

  “I--” Jack started up.

  “I heard someone was looking for me,” a slender man in a royal blue suit approached, his blonde hair slicked straight back neatly. “I didn't expect it would be a beautiful woman...but I hoped,” the man smiled with his eyes.

  Two large suited men approached behind him, guards seemingly. At a benefit, not a good sign of his intentions.

  “Yanni Svensson,” he continued, extending his hand. “And you are?”

  I looked up at Jack, his expression telling me to say nothing and excuse myself from the situation.

  “Starr,” I said, grinning and extending my hand, “Stacy Starr.”