I snapped my head right out of the grasp of my technician. “This will never be real. I am not falling at all. I loathe everything about Alois Reinhardt Müller.”
Lo and Lucy both burst into a thundering laugh as my pulse kicked up a notch.
“I’m not kidding,” I demanded.
Lo wiped the corner of her eye, before drawling, “Keep telling yourself that, bebê. Maybe that will make it true.”
“He’s infuriating. He’s too controlled,” I argued. “Andstubborn. And completely unwilling to make anything easier on me.”
Lo’s mouth curved. “And you don’t like him.”
I let out a short laugh. “No.”
“Not even a little?” Lucy teased.
“No,” I repeated. Firmer this time. Cleaner.
Easier.
“This is a job,” I added, leaning into it now. “That’s it. A strategic arrangement. I’m using the situation to build experience, prove I can handle high-pressure clients, and then I move on.”
Lucy nodded slowly. Accepting.
Lo didn’t. She just watched me. Like she was waiting for the part I wasn’t saying.
I didn’t give it to her.
Because if I did—I wasn’t entirely sure what would come out.
The estate roseout of the dark like something out of another life.
Stone and glass and warm light spilling from tall windows, the structure sprawling across the hill with quiet, unapologetic wealth. The kind that didn’t need to prove anything because it had existed long before anyone currently inside it mattered.
Cedar melting into warm leather greeted me as I stepped out of the car. Followed by something clean and polished that wrapped around everything else.
Warm, low lighting cast everything in gold, shadows soft and deliberate, pulling attention where it wanted it and letting the rest fade into atmosphere.
I paused. Let myself take it in for a drawn moment. Because?—
This was a stage. Finally one I knew how to perform on. Knowledge crafted from a childhood filled with lavish parties and opulent dinners. I could move in a gown flawlessly. Glide on heels with effortless grace that made men and women glance twice.
My pulse fluttered low in my chest. Excitement crashing into nervous anticipation.
Lo, Lucy and I made our way through the main entrance to the grand staircase to make our entrance. As I stood at the top of the stair, everything shifted again.
Heads turned. Attention moved through the room in subtle waves, eyes catching, conversations pausing just slightly before resuming.
And then—him. Across the room.
Everything else fell away.
Noise dimmed. Movement blurred.
Because Alois Müller—controlled, unreadable, untouchable Alois Müller—looked stunned.
His shoulders had gone still, his posture locked in place like his body hadn’t caught up with whatever had just hit him.
Color crept up his neck.