Echoes of Unrequited Love (Hogan Zade) novel Chapter 119

Chapter 119 

Hogan didn’t put up a fight, but I caught another piece of intel, sharp as a tack 

Cecilia mentioned it was about time–could that mean FreeMan was about to make his grand entrance? I was all revved up and raring to go. 

“Xaviera,” a crisp voice snapped me out of my reverie, looks like you’re not exactly batting at thousand with your judgment, huh?” 

Those eyes were glinting with mischief, and I suddenly realized I’d underestimated the man in front of me. Timothy was way more on the ball than I’d given him credit for. 

Soon. Timothy got roped into schmoozing by Sean, while I mingled with the crowd, trying to spot anyone shady. But no dice–couldn’t pick out a single suspect. 

So, back to square one: Hogan and Cecilia. After some people–watching, the guy who chatted up Hogan the longest was this middle–aged dude with a tiny braid, looked about forty–something. Kinda matched FreeMan’s vibe, to be honest. 

Once their convo wrapped up, I strolled over with a glass of bubbly to say hi. A bit of small talk, and I fished out some art–related tidbits from him, which only thickened the plot. 

I was low–key thrilled, but then he hit me with, “Got any plans after the party?! know this killer restaurant. We could grab a bite and talk.” 

I fraze, words stuck in my throat. Hanging out with Wallis, I’ve learned to read between the lines 

when people talked. 

“She’s busy,” came a frosty voice at my ear, “very busy.” 

I whipped around to see Hogan, all dapper in a black suit, just standing there like a ninja, solo. His Siamese twin, Cecilia, was nowhere to be seen. 

He had this stormy look about him, like he was in a foul mood. 

The middle–aged guy, with a chuckle, threw a puzzled look at Hogan. “You know this beauty too, Hogan?” 

Hogan didn’t even bother with him, just lasered his eyes on me and snapped, “Ms. March 

seems idle, How’s the job coming along?” 

“Ms. March.” The guy gave me a surprised once–over, and then after a beat, straightened up, all business–like, “Ah, the Ms. March praised by Tack himself, my apologies.” 

Just as I was about to respond. Hogan cut in. “I asked you a question.” 

He was all keyed up, a far cry from his usual cool and collected self. 

I told it to him straight. “No progress yet.” 

“So you’ve got time to flirt around?” 

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The wine’s aroma raced the man’s breath into my nostrils as I locked eyes with Hogan, His gaze was hazy, his eyes swirling with mockery and irritation. 

Flirting around? Who was playing who here?