I do not explain.
I see her again, too clearly for a woman who left my office hours ago.
Chestnut-brown hair swept back neatly, smooth enough to be professional but soft enough that I had wondered what it would look like loose. Gray-green eyes that did not drop from mine even when she understood I was testing her.
She had a narrow, elegant face with high cheekbones and a mouth that tried to stay composed even when her body betrayed the smallest reactions.
She dressed like a woman who understands professional armor.
Tailored suit, silk blouse, minimal jewelry. Heels that did something to me. Nothing loud or out of place. Every detail chosen to say she belonged in that room, even if her firm was young, even if the client across from her was powerful enough to change her future with one signed agreement.
She was nervous when she walked in.
I saw that immediately.
Not in her voice. Not in her hands. She was too disciplined for that.
But in the careful stillness. The way she measured the lobby. The way she noticed security without acknowledging it. The way she held herself, as though she could not afford to be anything less than exact.
Then she opened her mouth.
Direct saves billable hours.
I had almost smiled.
That kind of reaction is dangerous.
“Do you think she suspects?” Matteo says.
I return my attention to him. “If she's as intelligent as I think she is.”
“Then why hire her?”
“Because she came anyway.”
“That could make her reckless.”
“Or ambitious.”
Matteo closes his laptop fully now. “And you trust ambition?”
“I trust it more than innocence.”
He considers that.
Innocence is unpredictable. It jumps into shark-infested waters and tries to keep its head above the surface. Ambition jumps in as well, but takes precautions first because it wants to be sure the prize is worth the risk.
Victoria Murray may not know at all, but she knows enough to be careful.
That balance is useful.
It is also dangerous.
For her.
For me, if I am foolish.
I do not make a habit of foolishness.
