Vivienne's POV
The atmosphere in the Baumond Hotel's Grand Ballroom was electric. The Shaws had outdone themselves with the welcome reception for Beck and Miler. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the gathering of Boston's elite, all eager to impress the distinguished visitors.
I sipped my champagne slowly, observing the scene with mixed feelings. Beck and Miler were my friends—equals I respected. Yet watching Linda Shaw flutter her eyelashes at Beck for the tenth time made my stomach turn.
"Mr. Beck, you simply must tell me more about your adventures in Monaco," Linda cooed, touching his arm. "I've always dreamed of visiting the Grand Prix."
Beck smiled politely. "It's quite the spectacle, though I prefer the quieter corners of Europe."