Her gaze lingered on him. She was weighing him, the way he’d weighed her since she’d stepped out of the library. Finally, she leaned back, sipping her wine, her lips curving with that maddening mix of humor and defiance.
“You’re dangerous,” she said.
He wouldn’t deny that, but he countered, “And you’re reckless.”
They sat in silence for a moment the as hotel bar hummed around them. The sound of glasses clinking, the bartender polishing shelves, and muted voices from the far end was a common place thing. The world carried on, oblivious to the war of wills at their table.
Elise set her glass down, her eyes never leaving his. “Fine. You want to play watchdog, Suit? Go ahead. But don’t think for a second I’m handing you the leash.”
Blake felt a grin tug at his mouth despite himself. She was fire and steel wrapped in wit. She’d never back down. Which meant he’d have to stay in her orbit, close enough to steer her, close enough to keep the shadows from swallowing her until he could get to Zajac and ensure he was no longer a danger to her.
Guardian had told him to make contact and tell her to stop. What he’d do instead was far messier. He’d stay. He’d watch. He’d protect her. Even if she never asked for it. Because if Elise Serra kept digging, Marek Zajac would notice, and she’d be dead. Blake didn’t like that idea. She added light to the world.
Elise twirled the stem of her wineglass between her fingers, eyes gleaming. “So, if you’re my watchdog, does that make this”—she gestured between them—“our first official strategy meeting?”
Blake arched a brow. “If it is, you’re late. I’ve been waiting on you all day.”
Her laugh rang soft, catching the attention of a man at the bar. “Not bad. I almost like that line. Careful, Suit, you’re improving.”
He allowed the corner of his mouth to lift. “Almost?”
“Almost.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table, studying him with that maddening, sharp curiosity. “What’s your real name, anyway? And don’t say John Smith. I’d throw my drink in your face for being that cliché.”
Blake smirked, savoring the whiskey’s burn before answering. “What makes you think I’ll tell you?”
“Because I’m good at this.” Her smile widened, sly. “I ask questions until people slip. And I get the feeling you’re not used to anyone pressing this hard.”
He met her gaze evenly. “You’re not wrong. Most people know better.” He let the menace that lay dormant under his skin rise and fill that comment.
That stopped her. She blinked and registered the threat he was. Then she straightened her shoulders, smiled, and leaned forward. “Oh, I definitely know better.” She tipped her glass toward him, as though toasting her own recklessness, before sipping again.
Blake studied her across the table, the dim light catching on the wine’s crimson surface. Guardian hadn’t prepared him for this part of the mission. Her humor, her intelligence, her refusal to be cowed. It would’ve been easier if she were simply naive or terrified. But Elise wasn’t either. She was clever enough to see the edges of danger and bold enough to lean into them anyway.
“You’re trouble,” he said finally, almost to himself.
“Hell yes, she is. You landed in the middle of it, didn’t you?” Zane asked.
She studied him for a moment. “Probably, but you’re the one sitting here with me, Suit. What does that make you?”
He let a real smile slip this time, slow and dangerous. “Involved.”
“Too involved,” Zane grumbled.
The silence stretched between them for a beat, thick with unspoken things. Elise broke it with a grin, leaning back as though she’d scored a point.
“Good,” she said. “Because I was starting to worry this was just going to be small talk. What’s your name, and who do you work for?”
He extended his hand. “Blake, and I work for Guardian.”
Her smile faltered, but she extended her hand. “Guardian?” He nodded and clasped her hand in his. That’s when he noticed her slight tremble. “Étienne told me to trust the Guardian.”
“Then I suggest you do.”
“Right after I see some credentials.”
He reached in his pocket. Something had told him she’d need proof of his association with an official agency. The creds were a mockup, without his real last name, but they were official enough for the job.
She took the wallet, examined the identification and badge on the other side, and then handed it back with a sigh. “Okay. You’re legitimate.”
