Would casual sex with someone I trust fix me? Am I ready for that?
What if I freeze again? What if my body locks up and my courage abandons me at the worst possible moment? For reasons I can’t fully articulate, I don’t want him to think less of me.
We get to the hotel just after lunch, and Keke makes it known loudly and repeatedly how much she hates it.
“There’s no view,” she complains as soon as we step out of the elevator. “What’s even the point of New York if I can’t see it?”
“We need to stay between the second and fifth floors,” I tell her calmly. “Easier access in an emergency. Less exposure.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “I’m not worried about emergencies.”
“That’s why I am,” I say, doing my best not to slap her.
She sighs dramatically and turns to Dani. “She’s very serious.”
Dani grins. “That’s why you hired her.”
The suite is impressive even by New York standards. Three bedrooms branch off a central living space with high ceilings, tall windows, and heavy drapes. The furniture is modern and clean lined, all soft neutrals and polished surfaces. There’s a long dining table, a sitting area with a huge L-shaped sectional, and a bar stocked with bottles.
Keke walks straight into the largest bedroom. “I’m taking this one.”
“Obviously,” Marco says dryly, already dropping his bag near the second door. “I’ll take this one.”
Dani points at the third bedroom. “Mine.” She looks between Liev and me. “You guys?”
“We’ll take the couch,” I say without hesitation. “It’s one night.”
Liev nods. “Works for me.”
“One of you could stay with me,” Keke says coyly. “I’m not picky about which one.”
“We’re good.” I give her a tight smile.
She wrinkles her nose and disappears into her room.
After everyone gets settled, we change quickly. Liev is already dressed in a tailored black suit, but I add a dark blazer to my thin sweater. We head back out, taking the same SUV we took from the airport. Liev drives, while I navigate us around the worst of the traffic.
Keke is buzzing by the time we reach the flagship store for Atelier Florian.
The space is a large, open showroom with white marble floors and rows of tall, glass display cases, lit from their top so each piece of jewelry is visible from every angle. Staff members are already setting up for tonight’s event. Rectangular tables with black linen are positioned along one side of the room, racks of clear acrylic chairs stacked against a wall ready for seating.
A team carries in crates of white roses, peonies, and greenery, arranging them in low, tight clusters on cocktail tables and at the ends of display rows. Tall, narrow, metal frames are being draped with soft white fabric to form subtle partitions near the entrance and around the secluded VIP lounge area. Up-lights, directed to wash the walls in warm light, have been placed on the floor along the perimeter, their cables carefully taped down.
Everything is arranged so there’s space to circulate around the cases, and no decor interferes with sightlines to the jewels themselves.
I have to remember to keep my mouth closed as I take it all in. It’s breathtaking, and I’ve never seen anything like it.
Keke kisses the owners on their cheeks before immediately disappearing into a back office with them to discuss the evening event.
The jewelry security team intercepts Liev and me by the front door. There are four of them, all dressed in suits similar to Liev’s. A handsome man with light hair steps forward, hand extended. “You must be the team from Elite Security.”
“Yes,” Liev shakes his hand. “Liev Kovalyov. This is Sera Worthington.”
“Etienne Laurent. We’ve accompanied the pieces from the museum in France.”
His accent is smooth and sexy as hell. I’m a little partial to Russian accents, but this guy would be a close runner-up.
“The parure of Madame le Poitier is our priority,” another guard adds.
