Page 24 of Connor's Claim

I shrugged in a jerky motion. “I’m not worried.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m better at looking after ye than ye are yourself. I’ll be back at six.”

I sensed the weight of his stare all the way inside the building.

For the next hour, I was thrown into the usual hubbub of work. The conference room needed to be set up both with tables and catering, and also the technical side of microphones andcameras for the presentations required attention. Also countless pages of printing because many of the attendees still preferred paper over digital. We had a hundred people arriving, and I manned the entrance desk, personally greeting everyone and handing out name badges.

When the councillors arrived, I took them aside to wire each with a mic for their presentations, my mind going haywire over what Genevieve had asked me to do. When most of the guests were in, I circled the hall, checking people were where they were meant to be at the round tables, and that teas and coffees had been served.

Plus taking a minute to do a little secret data gathering, snooping through calendars and peeking at the folders I had access to.

Around the edges of the room, I’d arranged chairs for assistants to use, knowing that admin staff and PAs would be in and out of the hall, but at the very back, a man in dark trousers and a combat jacket sprawled in a seat he was several sizes too big for. I didn’t recognise him, and with his five o’clock shadow and thousand-yard stare, he didn’t have the vibe of the younger, ultra-helpful assistant-type. Or a name badge, now I looked properly.

I made my way over. “Hi, may I help you find your seat?”

“I’m good here.”

I shifted my weight, unease settling over me. What did I do if I suspected he was a gangster, run? I couldn’t just leave the conference. We had security guards throughout the building but none in the room.

“Can you please tell me which organisation you’re from? Forgive me, I don’t remember seeing you at the desk but I’d really like to help you find the right place to sit.”

The man dragged his focus from the attendees then opened his coat. A skull patch was stitched to the lining, and it took mean embarrassingly long moment to realise his meaning. He was part of the skeleton crew. Connor’s people. He was here to watch over me.

Something softened in my chest. Then it hardened right back up as my gaze touched on the hilt of a weapon beneath. Holy cow.

Faking a smile, I backed away. “I can see you’re good right here. Help yourself to coffee and pastries. Lunch is at twelve.”

He gave me a short nod, and I hustled away, intercepted almost immediately by Mary Pressley, one of the councillors.

Her hair escaped her bun, and she clutched my hands, panic radiating off her. “Thank goodness, Everly.”

“Is everything okay?”

A shake of her head loosened more frizz. “Most certainly not. I’m having an anxiety attack and haven’t brought any of my medication.”

Shit. We were moments from starting, and Mary was down to do the opening speech. This was not ideal.

I led her to a quieter part of the room, thinking fast. “I’m so sorry you’re suffering. Can we send someone to get your meds, or would you prefer to go home? Either option’s absolutely fine.”

Her fingers shook in mine. “I can’t leave. I’ve sent my PA to my house, but he’ll be an hour.” At last, her gaze locked on to mine. “I can’t do the speech.”

I nodded, only wanting her to take a breath and calm. Anxiety was a horrible condition. “Like I said, everything is okay. We can find someone else to do the speech.”

“We can’t. Nobody else knows it. I can’t… I just can’t…”

“Do you have your notes?”

She rifled through her bag, dropping it then sinking to her heels to extract a printed page. I took it and scanned the words. I’d already seen a draft of what she was going to say, and the major points were known to me. It outlined the purpose ofthe conference—to bring together the leaders of Deadwater and generate ideas for the next city plan—and gave a cheery, upbeat start to the day.

I helped her up, pressing her fingers. “I’ll do it.”

“You—you will?”

“Of course. It’s not a problem. Go and grab a chamomile tea and sit somewhere quiet for a while. I promise you, this is fine.”

“Oh, Everly, you’re such a kind person.”

The show had to go on. If my father knew I’d not solved this, it would come back on me. I didn’t love public speaking but I could do it, particularly if just reading from someone else’s script.