Tall. Dark hair slicked back. Expensive watch. Easy smile.
Mick.
I've seen him at private events. Always near VIPs. Always chatting with security. Always smiling like he knows where the bodies are buried and exactly how much the shovels cost.
"Thea, right?" he says smoothly.
I blink. "That's either impressive memory or a red flag."
"Everyone knows the prettiest maid at the Belvedere."
Sylvie nudges me. "See? Told you."
My skin prickles.
Compliments from men like Mick aren't compliments. They're the opening line on a contract you shouldn't sign.
"I'm not on shift," I say.
His smile sharpens. "No. Tonight you're off the clock."
He says it like that should make me relax.
It doesn't.
I give him my sweetest customer-service smile. The one I save for guests who leave wet towels on antique chairs.
“Then I’m also off the clock for being polite.”
For one second, his smile glitches.
Good.
We sit. Mick signals the waiter like he owns the place.
"I can order my own drink," I say.
His brows lift. "Of course."
Sylvie orders something fruity and lethal. Mia gets champagne. Janie picks something pink and sparkly. I go for white wine because it sounds basic and hard to mess up.
The drinks arrive. The wine tastes fine. Unremarkable. I take one sip and set it down.
Sylvie leans in.
"I'm glad you came," she says.
"Me too."
"You disappeared. I missed you."
It lands right behind my ribs.
I want to say I missed her too.
Instead I say, "You could've visited my glamorous apartment."
"The one with the screaming radiator?"