Monique ‘Mo’ Dupree purred, sipping her champagne. Her own dress was a rival shade of gold.

Valentina’s gaze finally snagged on a figure near the bookcase, trying and failing to blend in with the shelves. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a slightly-too-tight button-down that strained across his chest and dark jeans. He held a textbook, of all things, and was frowning at a knot of laughing business majors as if they were a complex equation.

She excused herself with a fluid, dismissive wave and began cutting a path through the crowd. The sea of bodies parted for her instinctively. As she approached, she saw him stiffen, his ice-blue eyes flicking up from the page to lock onto her. A faint flush crept up his neck.

His voice was a low rumble, the Russian accent more pronounced when he was nervous.

She plucked the book from his hands, her fingers brushing his. He inhaled sharply.

She dropped the textbook onto a nearby table without looking, her eyes holding his. A challenge. A command.