What the fuck were you thinking?
I should have introduced myself. Or pretended to ignore Sloane completely. Right before I walked into the bar, my watch buzzed with an incoming text.
Clive: Sloane doesn’t know you’re coming.
Griff: What? Don’t tell me I flew to Zurich for nothing.
Clive: The threat’s real. You read the file on Volkov. But Sloane made Marina promise not to call me until after she talked to her manager.
I’d intended to just keep an eye on her. Clenching my right hand hard enough two of my knuckles crack, I slip behind a pillar and wait for Sloane to emerge from the Lac bar. With how she was dressed, she’s clearly on her way to theBeauty and Stylewelcome party, and I’m not letting her out of my sight for more than a few minutes until she’s safely back in her room.
The room right next to mine.
With the adjoining door she probably hasn’t even noticed.
She’s going to be fucking pissed when she finds out Clive—with Wren’s help—hacked the Baur au Lac’s reservation system and bumped another model from the top floor to the smallest room in the entire hotel.
Retrieving my phone, I send Clive another message.
I need everything Wren can find out about Sloane’s manager. He seems like a Grade A asshole, but she doesn’t see it that way.
Wren—Second Sight’s hacker and tech genius—moved out to Seattle with Dax’s brother-in-arms, Ryker McCabe, more than a year ago, but since the two men merged their companies, she works almost non-stop. If Austin wants to make this international black opsthinghe’s running work long term, he’s going to need to find his own tech resources. Pretty sure Wren’s not going to be available this much once she has the baby.
From my position, I have a clear view of Sloane as she exits the bar. The photos Clive and Wren included in my intel packet didn’t do her justice. They were mostly professional shots. The ad campaigns she’s been a part of, the head shots on file with the Harvey Ulstrum agency, a handful of social media posts.
In person, she’s every bit as beautiful, but a thousand percent more…real. And hiding a bruise on her cheek. The swelling is subtle—almost gone—but there’s a lingering puffiness underneath her right eye that didn’t come from her tears.
As she reaches the stairs to the third floor—and the cocktail party, she touches the corner of my handkerchief to her nose once before sliding it into her tiny purse.
Her lips are in almost constant motion, much like they were after Max-hole left her alone in that big booth in the corner of the bar. The fingers of her left hand too. Like an anxious tic. With one foot on the first step, she pauses, gripping the railing tightly and pressing her lips together.
“You can do this. Just like any other shoot.”
I don’t need my glasses when I’m this close. Sloane speaks with a precision I assume comes from learning English as a second language—and hiding that fact from the entire world.
Clive’s cousin better tell her about me soon because she’s spooked, and the longer I watch her, the stronger my need is to protect her.
* * *
Sloane
By the time I reach the Pavilion, my jaw is locked tight, my lips pulled firmly into a smile, and my breathing steady. Everything will be fine. Max has been protecting me for fifteen years. He won’t stop now.
Then why didn’t he listen?
Because the Ulstrum Agency has three other models here and Max has been campaigning to get you on this cover for years. You’re being ridiculous. He’s busy and you surprised him. He’ll fix it. Fix everything. Just like he always does.
If only the emotional side of my brain listened to the rational side more often. Or…ever.
The tuxedoed attendant stands up a little straighter when I approach. “Ms. Sanders! Welcome! Do you have a coat to check? Or your bag?”
“No, thank you. Is there a powder room inside or…?”
“Oh, yes. All the way to the back on the right. Enjoy the evening, Ms. Sanders.”
“Sloane, please.” I flash him a practiced smile, and he steps aside so I can enter the brightly lit space.
Through the windows lining every wall, garden lights twinkle, and the white tulle-wrapped tables, the sparkling chandeliers, and the music lend an air of magic to the night. Maybe it’ll be enough for me to forget my problems—at least for a few hours.
