Page 9 of Nothing to Win

“Quid pro quo.”

“Exactly,” Julius said.Wasn’t a bad idea.“Play it by ear.”

“Right,” he murmured.

Julius checked his watch as he stood up.“Great strategy, this is going to go our way.”

That was the plan.Do enough work and anything was possible in business.

FOUR

SUNDAY.DINNER.

What kind of dinner?Private?Public?

The garment bag had been brought to her bedroom by one of the deputy housekeepers earlier.Hours before.She’d ignored it.Time marched on until ignoring it was no longer an option.Eventually, she had to get ready for their debut date.First of how many?

Standing there, staring at the bag, Gia didn’t want to unzip it.Inhale.Open the bag or go in her robe.Obvious answer to that—assuming the garment bag held more than just underwear.With Brogan Spurn, who knew?If even half the stories were true…

Reaching the pearl zipper, her breath slowed as she drew it down.

Claret red was the first peek.Silk.Cowl-back boatneck.And a matching stole.Damn.She liked it.

As Brogan pointed out, she’d been raised with luxury and privilege.To her mother’s credit, she was a consummate lady.The sensible heels, the clutch, and jewelry in the accompanying pouch complemented the outfit and the picture he wanted her to embody.Sophisticated.Classy.Her sleek chignon and modest makeup played right into it.

Oh, hmm, at least he was leaning into her upbringing.It was reassuring he didn’t plan to cramp her style with streetwalker couture.Would that dampen the blow for her father?Not in the slightest.

A knock on her door tore her attention from the mirror.Her bedroom door, why would—when she left the closet he was already there.He?More than six foot tall, dark hair, it was a little late for Fantasy Stranger to be visiting her private space.Usually this kind of guy only showed up in a woman’s dreams.

“Who are you—how did—”

Someone in her room?In her house?How could that happen?That would just never—

“You got keys?”he asked, holding out a hand.

“Who are you?Who let you in?We have security—”

“Is that what you call them?”Smirking, the man opened his jacket to produce a document folded lengthways.Two pages.He magicked a pen from somewhere and held both toward her.“For your signature.”

A contract.Clarity.

“Who are you?Spurn sent you?”

“Yes.Name’s Carver,” he said as she crossed to take the pen.“Sign it.”

“Don’t I get a chance to read it?”

“Take all the time you need,” he said and stepped back.“Ask me to walk away without the signed contracts in my possession, deal’s off.”

So much for patience or fairness.

“It’s now or never?”

“Yes,” he said.

She scanned the top sheet.

Carver backed away.“I’ll report your decision to Mr.Spurn.”