The door to the coffee shop across the street opened.
And there she was.
Grace O'Sullivan, dressed in a cream-colored blouse and charcoal pencil skirt, her blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Professional. Polished. Perfect.
She paused on the sidewalk, checking her phone, completely unaware that she was being watched. That she was being hunted.
I stood, leaving cash on the bar—enough for my drinks and a generous tip. No credit card. No trace.
It was time to make our "coincidental" second meeting.
I stepped out onto the sidewalk just as Grace was crossing the street toward the coffee shop. The timing was precise, calculated to the second. She was looking down at her phone, not paying attention to her surroundings.
A mistake.
We collided—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to startle. Her phone clattered to the pavement.
"I'm so sorry," I said, steadying her with a hand on her elbow, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her blouse. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
She looked up, an apology already forming on her lips, only to freeze when she recognized me. Her eyes widened, pupils dilating slightly—fear or excitement, it was hard to tell. Perhaps both.
"You," she breathed, the single word carrying a weight of recognition and wariness.
I smiled, bending to retrieve her phone from the ground. "We seem destined to keep running into each other, Ms. O'Sullivan."
She took the phone from my outstretched hand, careful not to let our fingers touch. "Is it destiny, or are you following me?"
Direct. Unafraid. Challenging.
God, she was perfect.
"A fortunate coincidence," I replied, gesturing to The Crimson Room behind me. "I was having a drink after a meeting."
She didn't believe me. I could see it in the slight narrowing of her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. But she couldn't prove otherwise, and social conditioning made it difficult for her to directly accuse a stranger of stalking.
"Well, thank you for picking up my phone," she said, taking a step back. "If you'll excuse me?—"
"Let me buy you a coffee," I interrupted, nodding toward the shop. "To apologize for nearly knocking you over."
She hesitated, conflict playing across her face. Curiosity warring with caution. The smart choice would be to walk away. To run.
But Grace O'Sullivan wasn't just smart. She was curious. And curiosity is such a useful weakness to exploit.
"I don't even know your name," she said finally, a small concession that told me she was considering it.
"Rafe," I offered, extending my hand. "Rafe Conti."
I watched her process the name, searching her memory for any recognition. The O'Sullivans and the Contis had a long,complicated history, but we operated in different cities, different spheres. It was possible she'd never heard of my family.
But the slight widening of her eyes told me otherwise. She knew exactly who the Contis were.
"Conti," she repeated, her voice carefully neutral as she ignored my outstretched hand. "As in the New York Contis?"
"Originally," I confirmed, lowering my hand without offense. "Though we've expanded our... interests in recent years."
"I see." Her posture shifted subtly, becoming more guarded. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline your offer, Mr. Conti. I have a lot of studying to do."
I nodded, respecting her decision while having no intention of honoring it. "Another time, perhaps."
