Page 61 of Bene

Her words said one thing, but her tone said another. Bene tried not to get too strange about it, if only because the girl looked no more than nineteen years old—how had she gotten this job, anyway?—and it was her job, after all.

“Bene Guzzi.”

“Just give me a sec.”

“Sure.”

In no time at all, the chick had called through to Vanna’s penthouse, and with the confirmation that he was a welcomed guest, she handed over the key to the private elevator. “Drop it off when you come back down, please.”

“No problem.”

With the key in hand, Bene headed for the elevator with the plaque labeled Penthouse right above the closed doors. Shoving the key into the pad beside the doors, he waited for the beep that signaled the elevator had been unlocked for him to use. He hit the button and waited for the doors to open which only took a couple of seconds before he stepped inside.

Hitting the button for the penthouse—the only button on the wall, other than the emergency stop or the call buttons—he couldn’t help but notice how the girl across the lobby was talking on the phone again behind the front desk. Which wouldn’t be something that concerned him, except she was clearly looking right at him while she spoke.

And she said his name.

Not loudly.

He didn’t hear it.

But he saw it.

Watched her lips move to form his name perfectly. Bene Guzzi.

What was that about?

The doors closed before he could think on it.

Soon enough, the rising elevator lurched before coming to a stop, the doors sliding open to reveal a long hallway that led to a single door on the right. He passed a plant resting on a decorative table, sitting across from a large painting of Toronto on the wall right across from it. Vanna already had her door opened wide when Bene came to stand in front of it.

“Hey,” she said.

Her grin had his own growing.

“Hey,” he murmured.

She still wore those fishnet thigh-highs. Only now, he was fully able to appreciate the rest of her outfit, including the skin-tight black dress that stopped a good six inches above her knees, and showed off all kinds of leg.

In fishnets.

The low cut of the dress gave him an ample view of her cleavage, and instead of her usually understated makeup with the dramatic wing, she’d smoked out her eyes and painted her lips a dark, stark red that had his mouth going dry.

“Going out?” he asked.

Vanna shook her head. “Nope.”

“You dress like this just because?”

“I like to look as beautiful as I feel.”

Huh.

Well, he wasn’t complaining.

“Are you coming in?” she asked.

“As soon as you invite me.”