Lethal.
I meet my own gaze in the mirror and let the smallest, calmest smile touch my mouth.
I grab my clutch off the dresser, then reach for a black wrap—light enough to drape over my shoulders, just enough coverage to look polite until I don’t need to. I slip it on, take one last look at myself, and exhale.
Everything—the dress, the heels, the clutch, the wrap—all brand new as of this afternoon. With Antonio in mind.
I open the door and look both directions down the hallway.
Because this is the same hotel the rest of the Northstar team is staying in, and the last thing I need tonight is to step out of my room and run straight into David—or Eleanor—or Malcolm—while I’m dressed like this, I open just enough to check.
I scan left. Right. No familiar voices, no footsteps I recognize, no chance encounter that turns into questions I can’t answer.
Clear.
Good.
The heels change everything. They lengthen my stride, shift my balance, make every step feel deliberate. I keep my pace smooth anyway, eyes up, attention sharp as I leave the room and move down the corridor with my head high and my expression composed.
I pass the elevator bank without incident, the doors opening, and I slide into the car with the kind of timing that makes it look effortless. My pulse doesn’t spike until the lobby comes into view—until I’m moving through the space where I could run intosomeone I know.
I don’t.
Luck, or planning, or both.
The lobby is the last risk—too open, too many angles, too easy to get spotted—so I keep my gaze forward and move like I’m supposed to be here, and no one is allowed to question it.
A few heads turn as I cross toward the doors. It’s not subtle. It never is when I look like this. I keep my gaze forward and don’t reward any of it with a glance.
Outside, the night air hits my skin, and I let out a subtle breath of relief.
The same sleek black car from this morning idles there, engine humming quietly. Antonio said a car would pick me up, which implied that he would be waiting for me at the restaurant.
The driver steps out the moment he sees me. Crisp uniform, professional posture. His eyes flick over me once before he catches himself, and I can see the strain in his jaw as he forces his gaze back to my face.
He opens the back door. “Good evening, ma’am.”
His politeness is perfect. His effort not to stare is not.
Other people nearby aren’t managing it half as well. I catch the quick double-takes in my periphery, the slowed steps, the too-long looks. I don’t acknowledgeany of them.
I step into the car, smooth and unhurried, and settle onto the leather seat.
The door closes with a soft sound.
I adjust my wrap, set my clutch in my lap, and let my mouth curve.
Perfect.
Chapter Thirteen
Antonio
I’m waiting in the back room of the restaurant, and I’ve made sure it’s exactly the kind of private that impresses and affords us privacy but doesn’t make her uncomfortable.
Even if we’ve already spent the night together, I figured she’d be more comfortable if I met her here instead of showing up where she’s staying. Less pressure. Less control. If she decides to walk, she can walk into the night and disappear without having to peel me off her doorstep. A woman like Elsa appreciates exits.
Though there’s no chance in hell of that happening tonight.