Even if he hadn’t, she needed to get out of there. She clasped her hands together to keep the tremors from being too evident and forced her legs to walk in a confident, quick step.
The ladies’ restroom was near the elevator. She could hide in there for a few minutes and take the next available car down. Her only choice. Henry’s gun had been her best means of killing Luc, but he’d pushed her hand away from it, probably thinking he was protecting her. But she was kidding herself; she didn’t have had the guts to kill Luc in cold blood.
At least she’d left Henry behind. Her heart, however, deflated in her chest as she stepped through the crowd farther and farther away from the only person outside of her family she’d willingly die for. Wearing a plastic smile, she wandered between small groups of men and women and arrived in the foyer. Some of her tension lifted as the restroom came into view.
“Alexandra Northrop, as I live and breathe,” the female voice rang out, sounding cloyingly familiar.
Alex ignored it and tried to continue forward. A woman’s hand grasped her elbow. Crap. She gazed over her shoulder, trying to keep her face as covered as possible. “I think you have the wrong person.”
“No, I don’t. We went to the Winsor School together. Holly Knight. Remember? You were on academic probation eight times during one year. It was a school record.”
Holly Knight was the bitchy daughter of an oil commodity brokerage firm executive. No surprise she’d buy stolen art at discount prices. The pieces would probably be donated to a museum for a juicy tax write-off. Dishonest to the end. Alex had hated watching Holly and her friends torment many of the less fortunate students. They stayed away from Alex because her father’s power and her mother’s social connections had few rivals.
Perhaps if she acknowledged Holly, she could get out quicker. “Holly? What a surprise. What have you been up to all these years?” She kept her voice low and her actions subtle.
“I’ve done it all. In fact, I married one of Ted Turner’s right hand men, Sam Porter. We have a beautiful son and an amazing property in Palm Beach. I have to introduce you to Sam. Are you married?”
“No. Not so lucky.”
“You’ll find someone. You’re adorable. How are your parents? Still have that gorgeous house on Martha’s Vineyard? You were the envy of everyone when the Kennedy boys decided to crash your sixteenth birthday. What a group of hunky guys. Remember?”
“Fun times. Are you staying for the auction? I’d love to catch up, but I need a minute in the ladies’ room.”
“Absolutely. I’ll be with Sam by the blue boxy painting two rooms over.”
“The one by Georges Braque?”
“Yes, that one.” The style was cubism, not boxy. Holly may have inherited a trust fund, but she’d never acquired the brains to go along with her wealth.
“See you soon.” Alex waved and started toward the bathroom.
Three steps away from Holly, she saw Luc coming toward her. Like a predator stalking his prey into a corner, all of his attention focused on her. He had to have heard her conversation. Shit.
He strode with a confidence that had once controlled Alex’s thoughts and actions. His eyes penetrated her calm facade, and a tsunami of terror almost knocked her off her feet.
A crowd of thirty people separated her from him. He was closing the gap. The doorman would never let her pass now, especially if Luc told him to detain her. Pushing off panic, she searched for another way out.
One chance. That’s all she had. Throngs of people crowded into the foyer waiting as the gallery staff brought two new groups of auction items into the next room. The chaos of the crowd and the servers and the men moving the art seemed like an accident waiting to happen. When she brushed against one of the waitresses carrying the trays of champagne, a plan formed in her mind.
She pivoted toward Luc and stared into his callous blue eyes. He sneered. She shot back her own brand of confidence. Not today, Luc. Volleying back a wink and a smirk, she pushed her stiletto into the toe of the closest waitress’s foot and gave her a hip check; the girl yelped, drawing all the attention in their direction.
As the girl fell, Alex attempted to save the tray of champagne flutes but instead, she launched them toward Luc and another cocktail waitress carrying another tray. At least forty Baccarat crystal stems soared into the air in Luc’s direction. Everyone scattered back, except Alex. The crash of the crystal on the tiled floor drew more people into the foyer. She ran straight past Luc, temporarily blinded by the champagne dripping from his eyes.
Slowing to a graceful pace, she moved from room to room searching for an exit and trying to avoid Luc, Brian, and Henry. A few of the waitstaff hurried out the kitchen door, probably to clean the mess. She darted inside.
The kitchen was deserted except for two college-age boys who were dressed in kitchen whites and arranging dessert trays. With a drunk wobble, a grab for the counter, and a display of her breasts, Alex caught the attention of the two young men.
“Hi guys, is there a bathroom here? The main bathroom has a line five women deep.” She danced foot to foot and bit her lower lip.
“Down the hall, but it’s kind of gross.” The shorter of the two pointed toward the food pantries.
“Trust me, it will be grosser if I don’t find a bathroom.” She gave them a simpering laugh and waddled away.
Luc would be searching for her and blocking exits in a matter of minutes.
After closing the bathroom door, she glanced around at the cleaning supplies and the hooks with employee belongings displayed for her selection. Her chance of escape had just increased significantly.