“It means you stay quiet.Not a word—until we know who we’re dealing with.”
“You sound like you’ve forgotten what’s at stake for me.”
“I haven’t,” she says.“But your friend drops by often.”
Ah, hell.They’re watching.I’d forgotten.
“He knows nothing.”
“Good.”
“Dinner tonight?”
“Dinner—or cocktails.”
My body reacts before my mind can school it.“Name the time and place.I’ll make it happen.”
“Your club,” she says.“I want to see your guy in action.”
“Text when you’re close.I’ll meet you at the door.”
Two hours later, I wait outside the nondescript black door of The Sanctuary, scanning the street.A black sedan eases to the curb, and Brie steps out onto the cobblestone—golden hair perfectly coiffed, satin-gray wrap dress catching the city’s light, silver heels glinting like dropped stars.Her coat, the same shade, fits like it was made for her.A modern siren stepped out of shadow.Every head inside will turn.
I greet her with a kiss to the cheek, my voice low.“You’re stunning.”
Her smile is soft but knowing—the kind that unspools restraint, thread by thread.I close the car door as if sealing a spell, and the sedan pulls away from the curb.
We pass security, check-in, and I rest my hand at the small of her back, guiding her toward the bar.
The air is layered with perfume, aged whiskey, and polished leather—the sensory shorthand of temptation.Recessed lights carve pockets of intimacy.Crystal catches the light like scattered diamonds.She takes it all in, and I wonder what she thinks of this haven I’ve created.
Tommy’s here, mid-conversation with two women in dresses short enough to discourage sitting.Surrounded by fleeting company yet he spends his off-hours talking to my sister.Life’s strange that way.
The bar hums with understated luxury—amber light glinting off crystal, jewelry chiming softly beneath a seductive beat.I guide Brie to a corner booth where shadows pool like velvet, a vantage point with just enough privacy to watch the room.The faint drift of cigar smoke tells me someone’s slipped from the lounge recently.
“Drink?”I ask as the cocktail waitress approaches.
“Something light,” Brie says, sliding into the curve of the booth.
Minutes later, cocktails ordered, I’m settled beside her.The leather sighs beneath us; heat from her thigh seeps into mine, grounding me more than any drink could.
“Eventful day?”I ask, voice low.
“Let’s not talk here.At least, not about my workday.”She looks at me with sultry lashes, and god I want the heat in her gaze to be for me, but I’m sharp enough to pick up that she’s playing along in case someone else is listening.Because, after all, her theory is that conversations are being recorded and information sold.
I pause, uncertain what’s safe to ask.Work’s off-limits, and if she’s right about surveillance, even small talk could be ammunition.
Our cocktails arrive, and the scent of citrus and smoked hickory curls between us.When the cocktail waitress leaves us, as if on cue, Eddie materializes beside our table with the practiced stealth of someone who makes a living from being exactly where conversations happen.His smile is warm, professional, but I catch the calculating flicker in his eyes as they assess Brie.
“Eddie,” I say, friendly enough to fool a stranger.“You remember Brie.”I stop before her surname; no need to hand him a dossier.
“Nice to see you again,” he says with easy confidence, settling into his favorite posture—close enough to listen, casual enough to seem harmless.
Chatting with members is part of his job, and he’s good at it.He knows everyone, and he’s intrigued because I’ve appeared with Brie twice and she hasn’t entered through any of his channels.She’s not someone who came in through our rising stars program—the one that scholarships beautiful twenty-somethings into the club.“Where are you from?”
Brie hesitates.Eddie fills the silence.“France, like this one?”he teases.
“We met abroad,” she says smoothly.“But I live here in Manhattan.”
