Page 28 of Don't Tell

“Why would I do that?”

I shrug and move closer to her. “Because I want you to. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I have a job. I can’t just leave at will.”

I cup her face in my hands. Her eyes meet mine, and it feels like my soul is reaching out to her for a second. There’s no solid reason why I grab her face. I want to, and I do. “Leave that to me. Just focus on what I’m saying to you right now. I want you to come with me.”

She stares at me. I see the fight in her eyes, the calculations, her thought process. I see all of it. I’m beginning to develop a real preference for that look in her eyes.

“Mr. Nightingale…”

“Cade. Don’t ruin it. Come with me, Suzanne.”

She lets out a deep breath. “Fine.”

I grin and head back to my desk to grab my keys. Suzanne turns to leave the suite. I follow.

“Do you want to get out of your uniform?” I ask as we step into the elevator.

She nods. “Just give me five minutes, and I’ll meet you in the basement.”

The doors open, and we go in separate directions. I head to the service desk in search of Roger Tate. He stiffens the moment he sees me. His hands move up to adjust his tie.

“Mr. Nightingale, is everything okay? Would you like me to — ”

“Ms. Jenkins is leaving the hotel with me today. I have an important assignment for her.”

His mouth falls open. “Oh…but she… I mean…” I stare at him. “Of course, Mr. Nightingale. Whatever you need. She can have the rest of the day off.”

I walk away without a nod. I wait beside my car for two minutes before Suzanne joins me. I realize this is the first time I’ve seen her without her uniform, and I can categorically say that that uniform should be burned.

She’s wearing black jeans and a simple cream sweater. Her curly hair is down, flowing past her shoulders, framing her face. Her eyes search for me before we lock gazes.

Beautiful.

“I’m ready to go.”

I can’t help myself. I want to wait, but not when she looks like that. As she’s about to turn to the passenger's seat, I reach out and grab her waist. My lips swallow whatever protests she’s about to make. It lasts only for a second; I’m not a greedy man.

I move my hand to her wrist and walk her to the car door. I open it for her. When I look down at her, she’s glaring at me.

“I’m sorry. I had to.”

She huffs but gets in anyway.

We don’t talk for the entire drive. I put something on the speakers at low volume because the silence alone is too much for either of us to handle. The valley unrolls past the passenger glass, and her face is reflected over the vines.

I don't look at her again until we are in the parking garage.

The Nightingale building has a private elevator from the executive lot. She gets in without a comment. Hana Vargas is already on my floor. She has been here since 9:00 a.m., working with the acquisitions team on the timeline for her debut — a small show in February at a gallery in Hayes Valley. She is in the conference room with two of Tomas's people.

Hana looks up when we come in. "Mr. Nightingale. I wasn’t expecting to see you today."

The man and woman greet me briefly and wander off.

I gesture at Suzanne. "Hana, this is Suzanne. Suzanne, Hana."

They shake hands.