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“I just wanted to make sure you knew your place.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. My words have offended her.

“I work for Vadim. I don’t take orders from anyone else.”

“It’s not an order, just a piece of advice. It would be unwise to make enemies within management. And I am management, do you understand?” I point to the golden nameplate sitting proudly on my desk.

“Alma Lancaster, Deputy Director,” she says. “Fascinating.”

Apparently, not much scares her.

“I’m going to be very clear, Zoey, before you go too far and lose your job. Respect your bosses, stop sticking your nose into everything, and stay professional.”

“Will that be all?”

“No.”

She rolls her eyes, then smooths her burgundy-and-gold dress with the palm of her hand.

“Your mother has never taught self-defense.”

Suddenly, this woman who normally has so much to say seems to have lost her tongue.

“I contacted her to sign up for classes, and she didn’t have the faintest idea what I was talking about. Isn’t that weird?”

“That was a misunderstanding—”

“Have a good day, Zoey.”

Taking my victorious smile as her cue to leave, she turns awkwardly and shuffles sheepishly out the door.

***

Safely tucked away in the small outer pocket of my purse, my phone begins to vibrate.

[Unknown Number

If you want to know who I am, meet me

at 10 p.m. tomorrow

at La Maison Blanche.]

Oh I’ll be there, stranger, you can count on that. Whoever you are…

The moment of truth is approaching. And I’m spared the need to invent an alibi so that I can go to Avenue Montaigne alone. Vadim went out earlier tonight to meet Felix, with the aim of setting a few things straight.

I walk to the famous bar-restaurant perched on the roof of the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. As soon as I step out of the elevator, the receptionist leads me to the White Bar—it looks like the mysterious messenger must have given her my name.

The setting is breathtaking, but I don’t have time to take it in, because a woman sitting near the bar immediately waves me over.

My heart races. My blood pressure soars.

It’s her.

She’s beautiful. Extremely beautiful. A curvaceous figure; sun-kissed skin; long, wavy hair; and dark, slightly almond-shaped eyes. Everything about this woman makes it hard to tear your gaze away. I’m sure it’s not just me. As I approach, I scan her outfit: a fitted, black dress and red-soled shoes. Sexy and sophisticated.

“How do you know I’m the person you’re waiting for?” I fire off my question before I’ve even reached her.