He crossed the room, stopping behind her. His hands settled on her hips with quiet possession. “I hate this,” he said.
She’d lost count how often he’d told her that. It had dominated every conversation. The fear and fury beneath every argument.
Emily replied like she always did, whispering, “Yeah.”
He turned her to face him and lowered his forehead to hers. “In my head, I understand why you’re doing this. But my heart, my gut.” His voice broke. “They’re shouting in protest, demanding that I cuff you to the bed and post 24/7 guards.”
“My gut doesn’t tell me things like yours does. But today, it’s saying I’m coming back so we can get to that unfinished business you mentioned.”
“You’d better.” The crack in his voice widened.
“You’re still my knight,” she whispered.
This time, he didn’t scoff at the analogy or tease her for it. He kissed her as if memorizing her mouth, her breath, her heartbeat. As if he had to.
When she pulled away, she was weak in the knees for a completely different reason.
She’d trained for this. She could do this. But doubt edged her mind. Alec had been her hero, her white knight, since forever. This time, she was heading into battle alone.
Chapter 20
Coral Gables wasn’t a mansion. It was a palace, the Atlantic shimmering behind it. Emily stared at it through the window, fighting the urge to throw up. The van lurched to a halt, all four doors popping open at once. No turning back now.
Deep breath, Em. You can do this.
Go in, do the job, let Alec’s testosterone militia handle the takedown, and then maybe you can retire from undercover work forever. Or at least sleep again. You’ve got this.
Probably.
She’d heard better pep talks. And her confidence wasn’t bolstered whenshe slid across the bench seat, stepped down from the van, and immediately stumbled, her sky-high heels catching on the uneven stone. She grabbed onto the doorframe, tugging down the hem of the too-short, too-tight, humiliating skirt of what she’d come to call her bait uniform.
Regina noticed instantly. Her eyes narrowed. “If you spill champagne on a guest, I’ll have your head.”
“Yes, ma’am,” she murmured, straightening and tossing back her hair, left loose around her shoulders to hide her GPS earrings.
Her stickler of a boss zeroed in on that too and pointed at her head. “That’s a health code violation. Put it up. Heaven forbid a stray hair lands in the Beluga blinis or on my lobster medallions.”
Before Emily could respond, Benny moved past with a crate balanced on one shoulder.
“Leave it,” he said, without breaking stride. “They’ll like it that way.”
Regina’s shoulders jerked. Emily could tell she was about to chew him out for daring to countermand one of her orders, but Benny kept walking, disappearing into the house with his usual swagger. When Regina pressed her lips together without saying a word and hurried inside after him, Emily got a better picture of the hierarchy, at least where sales were concerned.
She followed with the other servers, ten young women, dressed identical to her. Inside, the kitchen was quiet. No outside staff. Just Regina’s crew setting up for dinner service.
She looked at their chefs’ whites and aprons—boxy, slightly baggy, covering everything—and wished she were one of them.
After adjusting her uniform once more, tugging the hem southward and the neckline north, Emily got to work plating pre-prepped hors d’oeuvres and arranging champagne flutes on trays. They’d wait to open the expensive sparkling wine until the last possible moment, to preserve the bubbles.
Within the hour, Regina swept in. “Guests are arriving. Let’s get out there,” she ordered, a drill sergeant clapping sharply.
Before she entered the glittering ballroom, Emily’s stomach flip-flopped. Showtime.
With a plastered-on smile, she circulated. The space was opulent—velvet drapes, gold accents, a string quartet playing something slow and expansive. Guests milled about in perfectly tailored suits and exquisite designer gowns—clearly, nothing off-the-rack was allowed—as they sipped the exorbitantly expensive Cristal like water.
She felt their eyes upon her—some assessing, others hungry and leering.
Several of the faces she recognized from the slide show at the briefings. The tech mogul from Dubai. A shipping magnate from Singapore. The disgraced senator’s brother. All here. All real.
