Blake smirked despite himself. She was sharper than he’d anticipated and damn quick on her feet. Granted, she was a mission complication, but she was also … refreshing. Most people didn’t spar with him like this.
She set her glass down, tilting her head. “You know, you don’t exactly blend. Suit pressed, shoes polished, carrying a briefcase in a city where half the people wear sneakers and sling backpacks. Either you’re here for a conference, or you’re hiding something.”
His expression didn’t change, and her smile widened.
“Maybe both,” Blake allowed.
“Mm.” She tapped her glass, eyes dancing. “Well, at least you’re better company than the man who sat next to me on the tram earlier. He tried to convince me paprika cures jet lag.”
Blake chuckled. “Does it?”
She drawled, “Only if you sprinkle it on enough goulash to put yourself into a food coma.”
Her wit was effortless, disarming, and threaded with a sharp edge. Blake studied her across the table, reminding himself of Guardian’s directive. She wasn’t just another curious journalist. She was already in too deep. And he suspected she was sharper than anyone realized. Add that to the fact that she was far too close to Zajac’s carefully hidden world, and it spelled disaster.
And now, he had to convince her to stop.
Elise swirled her wine lazily, eyes fixed on him over the rim. “So, mystery man with a briefcase, are you going to tell me who you really are, or do I have to start guessing?”
Blake gave her a half-smile. “Guessing sounds dangerous.”
She leaned in, her expression brightening with mischief. “All right, let’s play. Banker? No. Your watch is too plain. Lawyers usually flaunt their salaries on their wrists, too. Diplomat?” She shook her head. “No, you’re too guarded, and you actually listen when people talk.”
He lifted his brows, impressed despite himself. “Seriously? Is listening a strike against me?”
“A strike? No. It’s a clue,” she said, tapping her glass. “And no offense, but you don’t move like an accountant. You moved us through that crowd outside the hotel like …” She trailed off, her gaze narrowing. “Like you knew exactly how to get to where you want to go.”
Blake stilled, the faintest pause, which he covered with a sip of whiskey. “I’m a very boring man,” he said at last. “Here on very boring business.”
“Uh-huh.” She propped her chin on her palm, clearly not buying it for a second. “Boring men don’t tail people. And before you deny it, I’ve had that prickling between my shoulder blades all evening. You were following me. The question still remains if you’re a danger to me.”
That caught him off guard. Sharp instincts. She hadn’t seen him, but she’d felt him.
Blake leaned forward, dropping the charm just a fraction. “To you? No. But maybe that’s exactly why we’re sitting here. Because sometimes curiosity gets people into trouble.”
Her brows arched, her smile faltered for a moment. “Ah. The warning. I knew it was coming. And what am I supposed to do? Stop asking questions? Close my laptop and pretend I haven’t seen what I’ve seen?”
He didn’t answer immediately, and that silence told her plenty. Elise sat back, shaking her head. “You really are terrible at small talk. But you’re excellent at dodging. Which makes me think my mentor wasn’t crazy after all.”
Her words landed heavier than she probably intended. Blake’s chest tightened, and for a moment, the mission directive—make contact, tell her to stop—felt woefully inadequate. She wasn’t some reckless reporter. She was sharp, relentless, already threading the needle where others would have stopped.
And Blake knew in that instant that convincing her to walk away would be far harder than Guardian realized.
He set his glass down with care, the clink against the table softer than the weight of his words. “Some things aren’t worth the risk, Elise.”
“I didn’t tell you my name.” Her eyes flicked up, quick and wary. “That sounds exactly like something my editor used to say, right before reminding me how replaceable I was.”
He shook his head. “This isn’t about your editor. This is about staying alive.”
“Finally getting to the point,” Zane said in his ear. “And she’s right. You suck at small talk.”
He wanted to pull that damn earpiece out and stomp on it, but he didn’t move. Instead, he watched as her lips parted, just enough to show surprise, before she caught herself. Then sheleaned back, folding her arms, her tone teasing but her gaze cutting straight through him. “Now, we’re getting somewhere. Mysterious Suit isn’t just a bad flirt; he’s also a prophet of doom.”
Blake’s mouth quirked. She had no idea how close she was to the truth. “Call it whatever you want. But people who dig too deep into certain names …” He let the pause hang. “They don’t get to finish the story.”
That sobered her, but only for a moment. Elise tilted her head, studying him, and then her smile returned, a bit sharper. “And you know that how? Because you read it in a report? Or because you’re part of the reason those stories never get finished?”
The jab hit clean and harder than most trained interrogators could deliver. Blake’s instinct was to deflect, to slide sideways, but the truth was there in her eyes. She wasn’t going to accept evasion.
