“Where?”
“Stone & Vale. Private estate restaurant in Westchester. Old-money place, very selective, impossible to get into on a normal night.” She pauses. “Apparently not impossible enough, since they bent over backward the second they heard your name.”
“Good.”
Her expression doesn’t change, but something in her posture does. A tiny closing-off. A reminder to herself, maybe, that she arranged this. That she’s sending me to another woman.
I hate that I notice. I hate more that I care.
She sets the updated reservation on the desk. “Your driver has the address. Marina’s car will pick her up in the city andbring her separately. Security at the estate has your updated requirements.”
Efficient. Thorough. Perfect.
And visibly unhappy about it.
I step closer. Too close for an employee. Too close for a man who intends to spend the night charming someone else.
“Zatanna.”
She looks up. “Yes?”
My gaze drops to her mouth for half a second before I drag it back to her eyes. “You did well.”
Her lashes flutter once. “Thanks.”
The room goes quiet. I should leave.
Instead, I adjust my cuff and say, “You’ll stay available tonight.”
Her brows rise. “For what?”
“In case I need something.”
Her lips part, her tone coming out dry. “Like an emergency extraction?”
“Possibly.”
That gets the faintest huff of laughter out of her.
And there it is again—that unbearable pull in my chest. The one that makes this whole plan feel like a mistake.
She steps back first, breaking the moment. “I’ll keep my phone on.”
“No.”
Her hand stills on the door handle. She turns, blinking at me. “No?”
I take my coat from the back of the chair, already shrugging it on. “You’re coming with me.”
For a second she just stares.
Then she laughs once, short and disbelieving. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You arranged the date,” I say, adjusting my cuffs. “You’ll be there in case anything changes.”
“Changes?” she echoes. “Mr. Vasiliev, I’m not a wedding planner with an emergency toolkit.”
“You’re my assistant.”
