The dinner was exactly as boring as I had expected.
Too much perfume. Too much champagne. Too many wealthy people pretending their conversations was the best.
I had spent the first hour fulfilling my required quota of small talk.
I shook hands with investors, listened to producers lie about budgets, and allowed three actors to tell me how passionate they were about projects they had clearly never read.
One director spent six minutes explaining his artistic vision to me.
His artistic vision involved doubling the budget and filming in Italy because he wanted to spend the summer in Tuscany.
I told him no.
He called me cautious.
I reminded him his previous film had lost forty million dollars.
He stopped talking.
That had been the highlight of my evening.
By the time dinner was served, I had relocated to a table near the edge of the ballroom, far enough from the center that nobody could approach me without making their intentions obvious.
Sophie sat beside me, scrolling through messages on her tablet while I watched a waiter place something microscopic on my plate.
I stared at it.
"What is this?"
Sophie looked up. "Sea bass."
"Where is the rest of it?"
"That is the rest of it."
"It looks offended to be here."
"You complain when events serve too much food."
"I complain when the food is bad."
"You complain about everything."
"I have standards."
"You have a personality disorder."
I gave her a flat look.
She returned her attention to the tablet as though she hadn't just insulted the woman responsible for her salary.
There was a reason I kept her.
I picked up my wine but didn't drink. I disliked losing control, and alcohol was nothing more than an expensive method of making people stupid in public.
Across the room, Victor Salazar laughed loudly at something that wasn't funny.
His wife stood beside him, smiling with the vacant expression of someone mentally calculating how much she would receive in the divorce.
"I could be at work right now," I said.
"You are at work."
"I could be doing useful work."
"You spoke to Victor."
"For nine minutes."
"He appreciated it."
"He touched my shoulder twice."
"I noticed."
"If he does it again, sell his shares."
"That is not how shares work."
"Find a way."
Sophie sighed. "You have attended one public event this month."
"One too many."
"You cannot run a media empire while refusing to interact with the media."
"I own enough of it that interaction should be optional."
The orchestra began playing something soft and pointless.
I checked the time.
Nine twenty-three.
I had stayed long enough.
I placed my napkin on the table.
"I'm leaving."
Sophie didn't look up. "No, you're not."
"I wasn't asking permission."
"You haven't met Riley Carter."
"I don't need to meet her."
"You came here partly to assess her."
"I came because you threatened me with Victor Salazar."
"I informed you that disappointing him could create complications."
Sophie finally lifted her head and glanced toward the entrance.
"And here is Riley."
I followed her gaze.
Riley Carter had just entered the ballroom.
She was difficult to miss.
Not because a dozen people immediately turned toward her, though they did. Not because whispers traveled through the room, her name passing between tables before she had even crossed the threshold.
She was difficult to miss because she looked like she belonged beneath light.
Her auburn hair fell over her shoulders in polished waves. The silver dress she wore followed every curve without appearing vulgar, though it came dangerously close.
Green eyes moved across the room, bright beneath the chandeliers, and her smile seemed effortless.
Almost convincing.
I studied her for several seconds.
"She photographs well," I said.
Sophie turned toward me. "That is your observation?"
"She's attractive."
Sophie's eyebrows rose.
"I have functioning eyes," I added.
Riley was beautiful. Objectively. Hollywood produced beautiful women every year, polished them, advertised them, and discarded them as soon as the public became interested in someone younger.
Beauty was useful.
It sold tickets, magazine covers, perfume, lies.
But beauty wasn't enough for Ashes Between Us.
The female lead needed intelligence beneath softness. She needed to appear trustworthy while concealing enough secrets to destroy everyone around her.
The audience had to believe she could comfort a grieving man in one scene and manipulate him in the next.
Riley Carter looked warm.
Warmth could be manufactured.
I needed to know what existed beneath it.
"She's better in person," Sophie said.
"That dress is doing significant work."
"You were looking at her face."
"I was evaluating her."
"Of course."
Riley accepted a glass of champagne from the blonde woman beside her, presumably her manager. She smiled at something the woman said, then glanced around the room.
For one brief moment, her expression changed.
The smile slipped.
Not entirely, but enough.
Exhaustion appeared beneath the polish, thin as a crack in glass.
Then the mask returned.
Interesting.
I leaned back in my chair.
Riley began moving through the crowd, greeting people who approached her. She appeared friendly without looking desperate. She remembered names.
She laughed at the correct moments. She made each person feel briefly important.
A useful skill.
Then Sebastian Vale approached her from behind.
I recognized him immediately.
Sebastian was a mediocre producer with excellent connections and a collection of misconduct rumors large enough to fill a filing cabinet.
None had resulted in formal charges. Money had a remarkable talent for suffocating consequences.
He moved too close.
His hand landed on Riley's ass.
Sophie inhaled sharply.
"Did he just…"
"Yes."
"Should we call security?"
"Wait."
She turned toward me. "Wait?"
"I want to see what she does."
Sophie stared at me as though I were the immoral one in the situation.
Perhaps I was.
But I wasn't interested in Riley Carter's carefully rehearsed smile. I wanted the woman beneath it.
Riley turned.
Sebastian said something I couldn't hear, though the smirk on his face translated well enough.
Riley's expression sharpened.
The change was immediate.
The sunny actress vanished.
She confronted him.
People around them began pretending not to listen, which meant every person in the room was listening.
Sebastian laughed.
Riley didn't.
I watched the argument unfold from across the ballroom. Her manager touched her arm, but Riley remained where she was. Sebastian leaned closer, clearly expecting intimidation to work.
It didn't.
A small smile touched my mouth.
Sophie noticed.
"You're enjoying this."
"Finally, something entertaining."
Riley lifted her glass.
Champagne poured over Sebastian's head.
The room froze.
I almost laughed.
Sebastian stood there dripping like an overdressed rat caught in a storm. Riley tilted the empty glass and said something that made Sophie cover her mouth.
I pushed my chair back and stood.
Sophie looked up at me. "Where are you going?"
"To observe more closely."
"You mean intervene?"
"I said what I meant."
By the time I reached them, Sebastian was threatening her.
Predictable.
Men with power always behaved as if they had invented it.
Riley stood her ground, though I saw the tension in her shoulders. Sebastian called her a disgusting name, and the people surrounding them continued doing absolutely nothing.
Cowards.
Then his hand rose.
I moved before I had time to decide whether the situation deserved my involvement.
My fingers closed around his wrist inches from Riley's face.
Sebastian went still.
He turned and saw me.
Fear erased his anger so quickly it was almost impressive.
"Elena," he stammered.
I tightened my grip.
"Ms. Harper," I corrected.
His face paled.
"I wasn't going to…"
"Choose the rest of that sentence carefully."
He swallowed.
Riley stood behind me, silent now.
Sebastian glanced around, likely searching for an ally. He found none. People were willing to ignore his behavior when Riley was alone. Nobody was stupid enough to challenge me publicly.
"Let go of me," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
"No."
His jaw clenched. "This is a misunderstanding."
"You grabbed Miss Carter without consent, threatened her career, called her a whore, and attempted to hit her in a room filled with witnesses."
He opened his mouth.
"I'm still speaking."
He closed it.
"Your distribution agreement with Harper Global is under review."
His eyes widened. "You can't be serious."
"I'm always serious."
"Elena, that deal is worth millions."
"Yes."
"You'd destroy an entire film because of this?"
"I would destroy ten."
His fear deepened.
Good.
I released his wrist.
"Leave."
He remained frozen.
I stepped closer.
"Get the fuck out before I have security drag you through the press entrance."
That moved him.
Sebastian walked away quickly, champagne still dripping from his hair while the crowd separated to let him pass.
Silence lingered.
I turned toward Riley.
Up close, her eyes were greener than they appeared in photographs. Anger still burned in them, but there was something else beneath it.
Curiosity.
Perhaps irritation.
She looked at me as though she couldn't decide whether to thank me or tell me she hadn't needed saving.
I disliked gratitude.
I adjusted the cuff of my suit.
"Can I talk with you alone, Miss Carter?"