Because deep down, I know a man like Lev Rusnak doesn't make idle promises. And if he said he’ll find me…he will. I want him to. I already regret not giving him my number. Who am I kidding? I felt the same attraction. It was intense.
I’m halfway down the block to my hotel when a sleek black car pulls up in front of me, smooth and deliberate, like it’s been waiting.
The tinted window hums down, and the driver leans out, his face unreadable. He holds out an envelope.
“Miss Marino,” he says, certain. Too certain. “For you.”
My heart skips. I shouldn’t take it. I definitely shouldn’t. But my hand moves before I can stop myself, the paper cooland heavy against my fingers. I already know who this is from.I know. He found me.
I rip it open, pulse racing. The handwriting is bold, confident.
Have a rooftop dinner with me tonight. Seven p.m. Do not make me come find you.
My mouth goes dry.
The driver doesn’t leave. Instead, he steps out and goes around to the trunk, pulling out a massive black box tied with satin ribbon. He lifts it like it’s fragile, like it’s a treasure, and sets it in my arms.
“This,” he says simply, “has everything you might need.”
The weight nearly tips me off balance. I peek inside, just a glance, and my breath hitches. Silk. Heels. Jewelry that catches the light even in the fading sun.
I snap the lid shut, heat rising to my face.
When I look up, the car is already sliding away, leaving me standing there on the sidewalk with a box full of things I didn’t ask for and one question pounding in my head.
How the hell did he even find me?
I almost run the whole way to my hotel, the box clutched tight against me like it might vanish if I loosen my grip. My heels click too fast on the tiles as I push into the room.
Maya is sprawled across her bed, one leg dangling off the side, the TV blaring some reality show. She barely looks up at first, but then her eyes snap to the enormous black box in my arms.
“What is that?” she demands, sitting up instantly.
I dump the box onto my bed and let out a shaky breath. “You’re not going to believe this.”
And then I tell her. Every single detail. The car pulling up. The note. His handwriting.Do not make me come find you.
By the time I finish, Maya’s mouth is wide open. She gasps so dramatically I almost laugh. “Shut. Up. He did that? Girl, are you serious?”
“I shouldn’t even be entertaining this,” I mutter, pacing the room.
“But youareentertaining it,” she shoots back, eyes gleaming. “Because you’re already imagining what he’ll look like when you show up in that dress.”
I roll my eyes, but the heat crawling up my neck betrays me.
Maya leans forward. “So? Are you going?”
I glance at my phone on the nightstand. 4:02 p.m. The dinner invitation burns in my head like a neon sign.
My answer comes without words. I bolt for the bathroom.
Behind me, Maya squeals, “Oh my God, she’s going!”
The door clicks shut, and I’m already stripping out of my clothes, heart hammering like I’ve stepped onto a roller coaster I can’t get off.
Against my better judgment, I step under the shower. The hot water runs over my skin, and I keep telling myself this is ridiculous, that I should toss the dress back in the box and send it to whatever penthouse he crawled out of. But by the time I’m toweling off, Maya is already rummaging through the package like it’s Christmas morning.
“Girl,” she calls, voice muffled by rustling tissue paper, “this man is not playing. It’s Valentino. Valentino, Sasha. Do you know what that means?”
