And not with the Langford agency watching from the sidelines. If she said no, Darlene would complain. Not loudly, but politely. A word to Elise, a coolly constructed email about professionalism and chemistry and "a lack of connection," and Marise would be on ice for weeks. She would have to put in place her escape plan.
They pulled up outside Darlene’s apartment and Marise walked her to the door.
"Well," Darlene purred, "We can continue upstairs. I have a bottle of champagne waiting for us.”
Marise would have liked to refuse there and then, but she knew that was out of the question. It wasn’t late and Darlene had paid a considerable price for her company. “That would be nice,” she said with a practised smile.
They walked through the lobby to the lifts, the air of expectation in every step they took. The elevator ride to the penthouse was silent, but charged. Darlene leaned against the mirrored wall, watching her with a half-lidded gaze in the slightly predatory way of powerful people who were used to getting what they wanted.
"I hope you don’t have an early morning," Darlene murmured.
"My time is yours," Marise replied.
The elevator chimed and the door opened at the penthouse suite. Darlene led the way in, letting her coat slip off her shoulders and drop onto a nearby chair. The suite was immaculate, all soft lighting and white leather, with a wall of glass that offered an uninterrupted view of the skyline.
"The champagne is in the fridge. Pour us a glass," Darlene said, already unfastening her necklace and laying it carefully on the side table.
Marise nodded and moved to the bar. The fridge opened with a hiss of cold air, and she retrieved the bottle then popped the cork. She poured two glasses, and handed Darlene one. She took a long sip of her own, letting the alcohol dull her nerves.
Darlene stood in front of her, eyes sharp now, the flirtation hardening into something more direct. She reached out, brushed Marise’s cheek with her fingertips, then let her hand trail down to her collarbone.
"You really are exquisite," she murmured. "And you know exactly how to hold a room."
Marise didn’t flinch. She let the words settle as Darlene stepped in closer. Their faces were inches apart when she leaned in and kissed her. When they broke apart, Darlene said, “You’re better than I imagined you’d be, Veronica. Worth every cent.”
Marise stiffened at those last three words. Fuck the woman with her air of entitlement, thinking money could buy her anything. She wasn’t half the person Kathleen was. “Sorry…I have to go to the loo,” she said quickly
“I’ll be waiting,” murmured Darlene.
As soon as Marise closed the door, she pulled out her phone and opened the Fake-call app. She set it for four minutes then used the toilet.
When she returned, Darlene put down her glass and slid her arms around her waist. She tugged her closer, running her lips up her neck until she found her mouth. Marise respondedautomatically, her hands finding the curve of Darlene’s hips, her mouth parting slightly under the pressure. The warmth of skin, the taste of champagne, the faint scent of French perfume clung to them as the moment stretched.
Darlene broke the kiss first. Her breath was warm against Marise’s cheek. "Come to bed," she commanded.
Marise’s phone began to ring in her pocket.
With an apologetic, “I’ll have to take this,” she pulled free of Darlene’s arm and dug for the phone. She walked to the window, pretending to listen intently. After making a few comments, she tapped it off.
She looked over at Darlene, feigning concern. “I’m sorry. A medical emergency at home. I have to go.”
Darlene pursed her lips, not looking happy. “Is it important you go immediately?”
“I’m afraid so. My father’s been taken to hospital.” She pecked Darlene on the cheek. “Thank you for the lovely evening,” she said and hurried from the suite without a backward glance.
She stepped out into the dark street and hailed a cab. As she slid into the back seat, she finally let her shoulders fall.
All she felt was relief. She was a professional, did what was necessary. She’d never had any compunction about screwing people to get what she wanted, but Darlene turned her stomach, and she knew that Kathleen would never look at her the same again if she had.
Marise stared morosely out the window as the city passed in silence, her relief fading to dejection. What foul luck to turn up with Darlene to Kathleen’s dinner. Strangely, she wasn’t so much disappointed because her assignment was in jeopardy, it was because she had disappointed Kathleen.
And that was dangerous. She couldn’t afford to have feelings for her mark.
The next morning, she opened her laptop and started a file: Ted Winters.
She searched the internet all day, jotting down notes as she found something.
Ted was twenty-eight. A PhD student in Quantum Physics from NYU, he was doing his thesis on electrical conductivity in living systems. Impressive, but it wasn’t his credentials she was interested in, it was his social footprint.
