Annihilate Me (Vol. 3) (The Annihilate Me Series) by Ross Christina

Author:Ross, Christina [Ross, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2013-04-24T21:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I was just starting my second and last martini of the night when I finally saw Henri Dufort in the crowd. He was not a tall man—he actually was rather short, which is likely why I’d missed him after spending over an hour in the same spot looking for him in the dense crowd. But when there was a shift in the tide. I saw him, looked at Tank, and said, “At last. He’s over there. I should go over.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said. “Peachy has her own security team. Have you noticed?”

“I haven’t.”

“She does. Likely because the French ambassador is here. And I have to give it to her—she did well. I’ve counted at least a dozen men and women circling who are a mix of her security detail and the ambassador’s detail. I won’t bother pointing them out to you. Just know that I’ve been watching them and that they’re impressive. Mixing in at these sorts of events is difficult, but they’re doing it well. I’ll stay here at the bar where I can watch over you. Go introduce yourself to Dufort. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t feel fine. I feel like I’m about to blow it for Alex.”

“The board wouldn’t have sent you if they thought that would happen. The deal with Streamed was your idea, wasn’t it?”

I nodded.

“And you remember why it was a good idea?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”

“So, what’s the issue? That’s the confidence you need to bring to him. Come on, Jennifer. I know that dealing with someone alone is out of your wheelhouse, but I remember when Alex was just starting out when his parents died. He rose to the occasion and got the deal.”

“I’m not here to make a deal. I’m here to keep things moving and to answer his questions.”

“Even better. Do that. Now, go.”

I put my martini down on the bar, held my cape in such a way that neither I nor anybody else could possibly step on it, and walked through the crowd. A server stopped beside me with a silver tray filled with glistening flutes of beautiful, bubbling champagne and asked if I’d like a glass—I declined even though I wanted to down one. An elderly woman touched my elbow as we passed each other and remarked on my dress: “Lovely,” she said. “Just gorgeous.” I thanked her. A moment later, I overheard one woman saying to another that I was the woman from the Times. “Alexander Wenn’s girl, I believe. Here alone and so garish. I wonder what he thinks about that...?”

Finally I was upon Dufort, a tanned, handsome-looking man who had the most striking head of silver hair. He was talking to a severe-looking couple who were complaining about the cost of finding good help for their home along the Turkish coast.

“It used to be pennies per hour along the Turquoise, Henri,” the woman said, referring to that prized portion of the coast. “Pennies. Now they want a full dollar per hour. A dollar! For folding laundry and wiping up little messes! It’s ridiculous.

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