I take a step closer. “And how would you know that, Nik?”
There’s the smallest flicker at the corner of his mouth. “Let’s just say I’ve been keeping tabs.”
“Keeping tabs?”
He shrugs. “I like to know what I’m walking back into. You’ve been busy. Expanding the business. Making friends in high places. And now, suddenly, a mystery woman. Interesting timing.”
It’s not lost on me that he’s fishing for cracks. And it’s not lost on me that he’ll find them if Sienna doesn’t play her part flawlessly tomorrow.
The contract’s still unsigned. She’s got until tonight. I’ve deliberately stayed buried in meetings all day, trying not to think about the clock running down, but every hour she doesn’t call is another twist in my gut.
Nikolai’s still watching me, like he can smell the tension.
“Tomorrow night,” he says, tapping the hood of my car once before stepping back. “Bring her. I’ll be looking forward to meeting the woman who thinks she can marry you.”
The way he says it, I know he doesn’t believe she exists or that I’m faking it.
I slide into the car without answering or acknowledging what he said because the latter is what I’m dealing with.
We’re going to need to sell this, and I don’t know if Sienna’s hatred for me and acting skills are up to par.
My jaw’s tight the whole way back to the office because tomorrow night, she’s going to have to prove him wrong, and she’s got less than twenty-four hours to get ready.
And I’m going to make damn sure she does, or all of this is going to be for fucking nothing.
Except for plan B.
6
Sienna
Ben doesn’t say much during the drive.
Not that that’s unusual. Silence might as well be his love language, but there’s a weight to it tonight, like every thought in his head is running calculations, and I’m the variable that doesn’t fit the equation.
The closer we get to his father’s mansion, the more my stomach feels like it’s folding in on itself.
I’ve seen rich before, but notthisrich.
The kind of money that doesn’t have to show off but still does, just because it can.
The car turns through tall, wrought-iron gates and into a long, tree-lined driveway that curves like it’s being coy. Each lamp post along the path glows a warm gold, like we’re heading toward a royal ball instead of Friday night dinner.
And then the house comes into view.
No. It’s a mansion.
Nope, acastle.
Three stories of stone and glass, with sprawling wings on either side and windows that are lit up from the inside like a hundred watchful eyes.
I try to keep my face neutral, but I know my eyes widen a little.
“Impressed?” Ben asks without looking at me.
“Trying not to be.” I adjust the strap of my bag and glance out at the fountain in front. A marble sculpture of a man holding a sword with water spilling down the blade.“That’s subtle.”
“Subtlety’s wasted on my father.”
