Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I push that away, though. In my line of business, it doesn’t pay to think that way. Especially since I will be hurting this man before too long.
James tucks my hand in the crook of his elbow, and we walk into the glass-and-marble lobby. An armed security guard sits behind an elegant, yet oddly contemporary desk given the history of this building. He nods at James.
“Good evening, Monsieur,” he says, eschewing the usual old-fashioned greeting. I expect that comes from knowing Lord Dennison doesn’t care about that stuff, which says this guard knows him well.
James leads me to the bank of elevators, then chooses the one on the end. It slides open immediately, and we step inside. There are no buttons to push, only a numerical panel with an LED screen. James pushes in a multi-digit number I couldn’t care less about. I even make a showing of searching for something inside my clutch while he does so.
The elevator whooshes up to the eleventh floor, which is the penthouse. When it opens, we step right into a large open sitting room done in a contemporary style, which is also at odds with the historical style of the building. Sleek lacquered furniture, austere Italian-tiled floors, and lots of chrome and glass. It doesn’t fit with the man I’ve come to know in the last few hours as we talked and sipped at wine. He’s down to earth and traditional. It’s like he’s trying to be something he’s not.
I catch my reflection in a mirrored wall that separates the living area from the dining room. My dress looks amazing, my jewelry demure. I left my hair loose and wild tonight, which was a bit of a risk. It would have been a safer bet to tame it into a sleek chignon, but I left the riot of tiny ringlets that frame my head—according to Saint, like a halo—because that’s inherently who I am. I’ve given up way too much of myself working for Mercier this past year. If a hairstyle choice screws up our plan tonight, then so be it.
Luckily, Lord Dennison seems entranced with me—the full package—which makes my job easier.
While William’s research was thorough, the first thing I do upon entry into James’ apartment is scan for security alarms and cameras. I see none, which says that despite James having a lot of expensive stuff in his home, he feels safe in this secured building with an armed guard and a coded elevator between him and any supposed thieves.
Shouldn’t have invited me in, James.
“Would you care for a glass of wine?” James asks as he releases my hand. He doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he moves over to a butler’s pantry, which is replete with wineglasses of all shapes with a small wine rack built into the wall.
“I would love that,” I say, casually strolling down the length of one wall that holds various vases and small sculptures. The purple-and-blue Chihuly glass sculpture is an eye-catcher, and I can’t help but be enamored of it. Of course, William knows he has this among his collectibles, but the beauty is off-putting for a moment.
“This is beautiful,” I say, playing slightly coy. “What is it?”
“That’s a Chihuly,” he says with a smile as he twists a corkscrew into a bottle of wine he’d chosen. “He’s an American glassblower. If you ever get a chance to see one of his exhibits, I highly recommend it.”
Smiling, I move close to him. He pours two glasses, picks one up, and hands it to me. Before he can pick up his own, I ask, “How about some music?”
His eyes flare with surprise.
“Something slow,” I purr.
James’ face turns slightly red, but he bobs his head. “Of course, of course. I have something that will set the mood.”
As he turns from the butler’s pantry to a cabinet right behind us—presumably that holds the sound system—I deftly move my hand over the top of his wineglass, dropping the tiny pill I’d been pinching between my middle and forefinger since I’d retrieved it from my clutch in the elevator.
I don’t even look that way, knowing it will sink and easily dissolve within seconds, leaving no taste behind.
James chooses some John Mayall, and I smile approvingly. When he moves back to me, I make him reach for his own wineglass. I don’t want him to see me anywhere near it.
He holds it up. “Here’s to a lovely evening with a beautiful woman.”
I clink my glass to his, smiling demurely, and we both take a sip of the red liquid. It’s good. I have a small pang of guilt for not only ruining his wine, but also for ruining his entire night.
Lowering his glass, James glances around a bit hesitantly before his gaze returns to me. “I have to say… I’m a little nervous.”