I glance at her then. Long enough to know she isn’t speaking lightly; she means it. Even if she doesn’t yet understand what that would actually cost.
“Trust me, Arden,” I say evenly. “You don’t want to see how deep the corruption goes. I wouldn’t want you to, either.”
She watches me for a moment before smirking. “Keep making comments like that, and I might think you actually like me.”
I don’t respond.
I just study her. The confidence, the grit, the way she keeps pushing even when she shouldn’t. I hold her gaze a moment longer than I should.
Then I turn back to my work.
Chapter 17
ARDEN
“You clean up nicely… for a thief,” Locke’s voice drifts in from the bathroom doorway, smooth and dangerous and threaded with amusement.
I glance over my shoulder to find him leaning there, just watching me. The smile on his face isn’t one I’ve seen there before, like he knows something I don’t, and it makes my pulse quicken in ways I wish it wouldn’t.
What am I saying? Of course he knows something. He knows exactly what we’re about to walk into. I’ve never met a celebrity in my life, and tonight I’ll be surrounded by them. Exciting, but intimidating.
I take a deep breath. I’ve been in plenty of rooms I didn’t belong in, and I’ve owned every single one of them. Wit, posture, the art of listening. I know the drill.
I don’t wait for anyone to let me in. I wait to find the cracks in their confidence that I can use to my advantage. Being an outsider isn’t a weakness; it’s my superpower.
I finish my makeup, slide on the pair of pointed black stilettos Locke bought me, and give myself one last look in the mirror.
Wine-colored silk hugs my curves, with a halter neckline that plunges deep, meeting a fitted waist, and leaving my back exposed. The fabric pools behind me in soft drapes. It looks elegant… until I move.
Then the twin slits up both thighs flash skin with every step, leaving little to be imagined. It has a classy sexiness, and I’m hoping it’s tempting enough to catch the eye of a certain actor.
I stride toward the doorway where Locke still leans, blocking the exit. “You’re just jealous that I look better than you. Don’t worry, I won’t steal the spotlighttoo much.”
Locke lets out a bark of a laugh. “Let’s hope you don’t cause too much of a stir.” His eyes sweep down my body and back up again as he says it, heat in every inch of his gaze.
I grin up at him. “Looks like it might be too late.”
I follow him out the door where a blacked-out SUV is already waiting for us. The windows are so dark there’s absolutely no chance of anyone seeing us inside. I didn’t know Locke had a driver, but I step inside and settle into the black leather seats, nonetheless.
We’re mostly quiet in the car. My mind is too busy racing. It’s like too many tabs are open in my brain. Thoughts keep swirling and crashing into each other until I can barely remember who I am or why I ever agreed to this.
We finally catch a glimpse of the venue ahead: an extravagant outdoor garden sprawling around a glittering reception hall.
A swarm of photographers out front crowds a small red carpet, cameras firing like machine guns. Even from here, the flashes are blinding. My eyes fly to Locke’s. He’s calm and steady, like this is just another Friday night.
He must catch the look of dread on my face because he whispers, “I thought you were ready to steal the spotlight.”
But the focused look that follows tells me he already has a backup plan. He leans forward and mutters something to the driver. The car keeps rolling, bypassing the chaos.
I bite the inside of my lip to keep from asking where the hell we’re going. This doesn’t feel like the moment for questions.
The driver takes us around the block, to the opposite side of the garden. Locke murmurs that someone will open a service door and, sure enough, we hop out of the car and slip into the reception hall unseen.
Relief washes over me as soon as we’re inside. He notices, guiding me forward with a hand at the small of my back. The gesture isprotective, not romantic, but I still feel a spark where his skin grazes mine.
The reception hall is mostly empty. Tables are still being set, and a lone microphone waits on stage. Soon there will be speeches and champagne toasts, but for now, we move quickly, blending with the trickle of service workers.
The sight before me and the sweet perfume of flowers steal my breath when we exit the building and step into the garden. Winding pathways are lined with flowers in varying shades of pink, purple, and blue.
