Around us, the club is coming to life.Staff members move in and out of the bar area with practiced efficiency, preparing for the lunch and afternoon crowd, a group I can only imagine includes young, beautiful, pampered souls along with powerful benefactors who belong in this rarefied world of unlimited expense accounts and designer everything.
“The club is exactly what I expected,” I lie, because the truth—that it’s more elegant, more seductive, more everything than I imagined—isn’t something I care to admit.
“Have dinner with me.”The invitation is simple, direct.“Not here, somewhere else.Anywhere you want.”
The offer is tempting, but dinner would be pointless.Mixing roles blurs lines.Blurred lines get people killed or compromised.I’ve done both.“I can’t.I have plans.”
“What plans?”
“Personal ones.”I head for the exit, not trusting myself to stay longer.“I’ll see you Monday.”I’d like to remind him that on Monday we’ll be doing the security assessment, just to drive home the reason I’m here, but I refrain from doing so as Serene is within earshot.
“Brie, wait?—”
But I’m already walking away, leaving him in his curated midnight—beautiful people, beautiful things, beauty on retainer.It’s a world I can infiltrate on assignment, but it isn’t a life.Even if I could belong here, surrounded by his world of engineered beauty and careful desire, I’d never want to stay.
ChapterSix
Brie
The stench from the street-cleaning unit that passed moments earlier lingers in the early morning air.I check the time, scanning the sidewalks for my team.Noah and Hudson are reliable—punctual to the minute—but if they were ever going to slip, with my luck, it would be today.
A light rain slicks the pavement, pooling along the curb.Noah’s train from DC would’ve arrived hours ago.Hudson’s flight from North Carolina—less predictable.If there’s a delay, it hasn’t hit my phone yet.
A man in a black knit cap and trench coat rounds the corner, stride brisk, certain.At that same moment, a dark gray Mercedes eases to the curb.The rear door opens, and Adrien’s on the sidewalk in a flash.
“You’re waiting?By yourself?”
The street’s quiet, half industrial, half forgotten—back-alley energy.I’m capable of defending myself if a leftover drunk from last night’s festivities gets ideas, but I keep that to myself.
Footsteps approach from my left.One glance confirms the skullcap is Noah.A yellow taxi stops behind the Mercedes; even before the door opens, I’d bet it’s Hudson.
“Good morning, Mr.d’Avricourt,” I say, loud enough for Noah to hear.Adrien’s cologne carries on the damp air—something dark and woody with citrus notes.Mediterranean citrus.Monaco citrus.My stomach tightens involuntarily, muscle memory from a weekend I’ve spent years trying to forget.
Adrien frowns, bends to murmur something to his driver, then shuts the door.Another car door closes and Quinn appears, wrapped in a marled gray scarf that hangs loose against her coat.
“Hudson sent you?”
“We’re evaluating tech.Easier if I’m here.”
It makes sense.Quinn’s the tech nerve center of our team.Still, it’s odd that Hudson didn’t come himself.Maybe another assignment pulled him, but that’s not something you ask in front of a client.
“Wondered if your flight would be canceled,” I say instead.
“I did too.Lots of delays.”She adjusts the heavy bag slung over her shoulder.“Beat the system that’s coming in.Not sure I’ll make it out before the heavier rains.”
“LaGuardia?”
She nods.“They’re temperamental with weather.”
“If flights get canceled, crash at my place.Closer than a hotel and my guest room has actual blackout curtains.”
A light pressure at my back—Adrien’s hand, not quite touching, but unmistakably Adrien—signals his impatience.
“This way,” he says.
We follow, our footsteps soft against concrete, the sounds of traffic dull beneath the mist.Adrien unlocks the door; motion sensors trigger a low wash of light across the entryway.He waits until we’re all inside before pressing a code on the wall panel.Another click.Overhead lights flare brighter.
“Thank you for meeting early,” he says.“Mondays are ideal—no employees scheduled, and discretion matters.Kitchen staff sometimes stop in later to check inventory.”
