“Looked like a little more than that,” he answers back, and I immediately hate him.
“Please, Sebastian.” Cybil gestures vaguely at me. “Him? Give me some credit.”
My pride is taking hits like I’m in the ring with Mike Tyson. I don’t know why it bothers me that she doesn’t recognize me, but it does. And the irony of our worlds colliding again, right now, when everything’s at stake? I’ll have to unpack that later. Right now, if I want to protect my cover and keep Cybil safe, I need to play along.
“My apologies,” I say stiffly, glancing at Ramirez. “She tripped on her dress.”
“You stepped on my dress,” Cybil corrects without missing a beat.
“Semantics.”
She cocks her head, sweetly savage. “Is it?”
The challenge I see in the glare she’s sending excites me. I want nothing more than to accept, but not here. Not in present company. I glance at Lorenzo Ramirez. “My apologies for the delay, sir.”
“A real knight in shining armor, huh?” I don’t miss the sarcasm or the suspicion in Pug Face’s words. “How about you rejoin the party, Mr....”
In for a penny...
“Craig,” I answer smoothly.
At the edge of my vision, Cybil’s eye twitches. It’s the smallest tell—but I catch it. And my face cuts into a wide smile.There’s no going back now.
“My name is Craig Miller.”
Chapter 6
Cybil
Dallas, Texas
Monday night
Craig Miller?It takes everything in me to keep my jaw from unhinging.Craig freaking Miller?I must’ve heard that wrong. Had to. But when I spare a glance in Ben’s—notCraig’s—direction—he’s flashing me a smile.
And. Then. He. Winks.Winks!
Does he think this is a game? Some kind of joke? Probably, and unfortunately, I recognize the infuriating glint of humor dancing in his eyes. There’s only one reason he’d usethatname. He’s caught me in my pretense and knows that Iknowexactlywho he is.
Shock doesn’t even begin to describe what I felt the second my eyes landed on Bennett Bradley in the hallway. I thought fatigue was playing games with my brain. No way was my cousin Rex’s best friend, and the tormentor of my summers, standing in the same hallway, at the same gala, in all of Dallas—in all of Texas—as me.
But here he is, barely resembling the boy in torn jeans, dusty boots, and T-shirts that I remember. He’s grown into a man who fills out a tuxedo like a Hemsworth, and dang it if the way he’s looking at me doesn’t stir up something I’d left abandoned near the old oak tree at my aunt and uncle’s ranch twelve years ago.
I thought I had him almost convinced he was wrong, especially when I saw a flash of confusion settle into the fine lines around his eyes, but like a tick on a bloodhound, he won’t shake loose. Just like when we were kids.
And now he’s standing in front of my boss, sending me what probably looks like a flirtatious wink—and lying.
But I don’t react.
I can’t.
Not here.
Upbeat country music hums in the background, but the air between us is thick with suspicion. Mostly aimed at Ben. Except for the two men I don’t recognize standing across from Mr. Edmond—their attention is zeroed in on me.
The first man, tall and broad, looks to be in his late sixties. His dark features, sharp eyes, and tailored tuxedo emphasize wealth, power, and a ruthless intelligence compared to the man next to him. The other man has a lean, wiry frame and a beaked nose that gives him the look of a vulture.
These are the men Mr. Edmond and Sebastian are here to meet. The kind of men who don’t leave witnesses when things go sideways. The kind of men whose attention I don’t want. Not when I have a listening device stashed in my clutch.
