I slide onto a vacant barstool. When he looks my way, I order the specific cocktail Isabel instructed. “A Black Widow, please,” I say.
He nods once, the movement almost imperceptible, and begins mixing the drink. Julian places the finished cocktail on a napkin in front of me. As my fingers brush the paper, I see the neatly printed words: WHEN READY, DROP THE GLASS. LOUD. THE SIGNAL.
My pulse accelerates. This is it. Julian’s eyes flick past my shoulder, and in one smooth motion, he palms the napkin, crumples it, and drops it into a bin. I look up to see Nico weaving through the crowd toward me.
“Forgive me,” he says when he reaches me, his hand immediately finding the small of my back. “A minor fire that had to be put out.”
Before I can respond, he pulls me onto the crowded dance floor, my drink left behind. The music has a heavy, sensual beat. We dance for a few minutes. He pulls me flush against him, one hand splayed across my lower back, the other tangling in my hair.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into my ear. “I can’t wait to get you alone. To finish what we started in the car.”
I arch against him. “I can’t wait any longer,” I say, my voice husky with a desire that isn’t entirely feigned. “Take me to your office. Now.”
He grins and takes my hand, leading me toward the private elevator.
I stop. “Dancing made me thirsty. Let me get a sip of my drink.”
A different bartender has taken Julian’s place. I reach for the glass. This is the moment.
I take the drink and turn, deliberately bumping into a passing guest. The crystal slips from my fingers, shattering on the granite floor with a loud crash that cuts through the music. In the brief commotion, I grab Nico’s arm, my voice a raw command: “Forget the drink. I need you to fuck me. Now.”
A dark, triumphant grin spreads across his face. He pulls me into the private elevator, his mouth capturing mine in a hungry, bruising kiss as the doors slide shut. His hands are everywhere. The ascent feels eternal.
When the elevator stops, he fumbles with the keycard, his usual grace gone. The door beeps, and he swings it wide, his eyes never leaving mine. “After you,” he murmurs.
I step inside, my heart pounding so hard I’m certain he can hear it. This is it. In minutes, Moretti will arrive. My job is to have Nico distracted, on his desk, vulnerable.
But something is wrong. The room is brightly lit; the air is icy, almost clinical. And Blake—who should be downstairs—stands grimly by the window.
My eyes scan the room, and then I see him. Tied to Nico’s black leather desk chair, with his face bruised and his eyes wide with terror, is Julian, the bartender. Isabel’s inside man.
Oh god.
I turn back to Nico. The hungry desire is gone, replaced by a cold, methodical fury that stops my breath.
“Did you really think,” he says, his voice soft and terrifying for it, “that I wouldn’t see the trap?”
The door clicks shut behind me, the sound final. I am completely trapped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
NICO
The lookon her face is everything I expected. Shock. Fear. The dawning horror as her plan crumbles around her. It’s a beautiful, terrible thing to witness—the moment a person realizes they’ve lost.
“Close your mouth, Lea,” I say, my voice casual as I walk past her toward my desk, where Julian sits trembling. “Or should I call you by another name? Actress? Traitor?”
Her eyes dart from Julian to Blake by the window, then back to me. I can see her mind working, looking for an angle, an escape.
“Nico, I don’t know what you think?—”
“Stop.” I hold up a hand. “The performance is over. The audience has gone home.”
I circle my desk, running a finger along the polished surface. Behind me, the soft click of her heels. “When did you know?” she asks, her voice a bare thread of sound.
I allow myself a small smile. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”