The city is turning gold outside the windows, the skyline slipping toward dusk, and I’m standing in front of my bar cart pretending the whiskey in my glass is why my hand feels too warm.
It isn’t.
A knock comes at the door.
“Come in.”
Zatanna steps inside with the tablet hugged to her chest again, a printed reservation in her hand. She’s changed nothing about herself since this morning and somehow still looks like trouble. Soft hair, flushed cheeks, those dark eyes that never seem to know what to do when they land on me.
“I just wanted to confirm,” she says, all business, though I can hear the effort behind it. “Your reservation is for eight at LeVerdin. Marina Leston already confirmed. She’ll be there on time.”
I look at her for a long second.
She mistakes my silence.
“You are going, right?” she asks. “Because if I made all these arrangements and you cancel, that’s honestly a little insulting.”
I almost smile. “A little?”
“Yes,” she says, chin lifting. “A lot, actually.”
I set the glass down.
She’s trying very hard to sound annoyed and not at all like the thought of me taking another woman to dinner bothers her.
It’s almost cute.
“I’m going,” I say.
Relief flickers across her face before she schools it away. “Good.”
She steps forward and places the reservation card on my desk. “Le Verdin has a private dining room, excellent security, and a discreet entrance. You said you needed someone well-connected. She’s all of that.”
I glance at the card, then back at her. “No.”
Her brows pull together. “No?”
“Change the location.”
She stares. “It’s in less than two hours.”
“Then move quickly.”
Her mouth parts, closes, then parts again. “Mr. Vasiliev, she said she had to call in three favors to get that reservation.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive.”
A flash of annoyance lights in her face. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been told.”
She sets the tablet down a little harder than necessary. “And where exactly do you want this new location to be?”
“Outside the city.”
That stops her.
“What?”
