“You don’t like chocolate, right?”
I narrow my eyes at his smug face. “Right.”
Sebastian chokes on his wine. “You don’t hate—”
I stomp on his toe under the table.
He yelps. “What the heck, Cy—”
“I’ll be skipping dessert tonight, thank you,” I say through gritted teeth, not missing the look Ben sends me.
Dinner service starts immediately, and while the bruschetta is fresh and bursting with flavor, the table conversation is as stale as expired crackers. You’d think, considering someone named Marcello might be eating his next meal with a knife in his back, there’d be a little more spark.
But maybe that’s just the anxiety still twisting my stomach into knots. Ramirez’s threat plays on a loop in my head—right alongside his oh-so-casual assurance that Craig Miller would handle the billion-dollar deal. And Mr. Edmond? He’s been off all night. Odd behavior for someone about to be a billion dollars wealthier.
I keep stealing glances at Ben, sharp in his tailored suit, a single curl falling over his forehead like it’s been placed there for the sole purpose of screwing with my focus. WhoisBennett Bradley now? The man whobrushes shoulders with criminals like it’s no big deal. Is that just part of his job description?
“Did you enjoy your time in town, Cybil?” Mr. Edmond asks.
My cheeks warm. “It was... eventful,” I say, reaching for my wine like it might erase the memory of this morning’s crash landing into a veggie cart. “I wish I had more time to explore.”
“You should rent a bike,” Ben says smoothly.
My gaze snaps to him. He’s hiding a smirk behind his water glass.
“Bikes aren’t really my thing,” I say through a tight smile. “Too unpredictable.”
Ben sets down his glass. The gleam is unmistakable—and infuriating. “Shopping more predictable? I heard blue tracksuits are in style.”
I want to stab him. Just a little. Nothing fatal. Maybe something in the arm. But I settle for stabbing my pasta instead. I’ve already given up chocolate—he’s not worth giving up carbs for too.Maybe if it were brussels sprouts.The veal arrives next, tender and rich, but I’m too busy skewering Ben in my head to appreciate it.
“I like your dress,” Mr. Edmond says, tossing me a kind smile. “You look lovely tonight.”
“Much better choice than a tracksuit,” Sebastian adds, throwing Ben a look.
Ben’s eyes remain on me. “I agree.”
His voice is low, steady, and aimed like a dart to my sternum. I pretend to be fascinated by my plate, but not before I catch the slow curve of his smile. My pulse thuds in my ears, and I force myself to breathe. Why is it so easy for him to rattle me? This—whatever this is—has to stop before someone notices.
Someone like Ramirez.
I glance down the table to find him watching us. Not smiling. Not speaking. Just watching.
“So, Cybil...” Ramirez says, swirling his wine. “What’s your background? How long have you been working as Earl’s assistant?”
“Executive assistant,” Mr. Edmond corrects him smoothly. “But not for long, right, Cybil? One day I hope to promote her to in-house counsel.”
Ben’s eyes cut to me, brows lifting. “You’re a lawyer?”
“Not yet.” I force a smile, hating the flush I can feel rising. “I’m studying for the LSATs and working to save money for law school.”
Ben’s watching me. And for one dizzying second, he looks... impressed?
“Cybil here is a rare gem,” Mr. Edmond adds, lifting his glass. “Understands the value of hard work. Refuses to accept help—even though she’s an asset to me and my company.”
“My father would be lost without her,” Sebastian says deadpan. “Isn’t that right, Dad?”
Mr. Edmond ignores him. I wish I could ignore the guilt crawling under my skin. Because he’s not wrong. Ihaveworked hard. Paying back loans. Taking care of my mom. Pushing myself every day to outrun the chaos I was born into. But I’m also sitting at a table with a man who has no idea I’m spying on him. Who thinks I’m loyal. Who doesn’t know I’ve been feeding information to a private agency in exchange for money I desperately need.
