Page 43 of Unmasking Mr. Crown

“A little faith, please?”

Noah shoved aside a mountain of discarded clothing and flopped onto her bed. "This man could be running for Congress soon. Blaine Sheridan is a big fish. A big, handsome fish.”

“A-ha! Gotcha!” she called from the closet.

“What do you mean, ‘gotcha’?”

She popped her head out. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Noah bit back a grin. “Would it be so awful to make a romantic connection in addition to a business one?"

“I’m not in the market for romance.”

He sighed. "So you've told me. Repeatedly."

Natalie stepped out of the closet with the confidence of a woman who could hold her own with Katie Holmes. Wide-leg dark denim. Winter-floral blouse. Black double-breasted blazer, its oversized gold buttons echoing her hoop earrings. Burgundy strappy heels. Quilted leather clutch.

"Well?" She tilted her head, ready for his veto. "Does this make the cut?"

"HOLY—are those the Dior jeans you were lusting over? The eight-hundred-dollar ones?”

“Found them on Poshmark for a hundred bucks. They’re missing a belt loop, but who cares? And before you judge: I sold an old Michael Kors bag and two Madewell sweaters. So, yes, I can afford these.”

Noah came up behind her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Color me wrong. You look incredible. Blaine Sheridan is gonna date you so hard, then marry the hell out of you."

"He will do no such thing. This is business.”

"But this guy could be perfect for you."

She patted his cheek. “Unfortunately, the timing is not.”

"But I want you to be happy, professionally and personally. Like, Thomas Crown-level happy. This guy’s got the looks and the bank account.”

Thomas Crown-level happy? Perhaps a bar no mortal could clear. And it’s not like she’d made it a goal. There’d been one small glimmer though, a few weeks after arriving back in Chicago. A conversation with a gorgeous guy at her favorite deli led to a coffee date one day, then drinks another. Tristyn, with a y. A spectacular mismatch wrapped in a perfect jawline. And the constant pinging of her phone with business texts proved she had no time for love.

“Thanks, Noah.”

“I need you to text me every 30 seconds that everything is okay, okay?” he said in his best Parks & Rec voice.

“You’ll get a full report tomorrow.”

Outside, she hugged him goodbye then climbed into the waiting car. She’d be at least fifteen minutes early thanks to Noah’s manic enthusiasm. On the ride, worry gnawed. She'd only seen photos of Blaine Sheridan, grainy ones with sunglasses. A wave of worry rippled through her.

What if I don't even recognize him?

Or worse—he doesn’t recognize me?

Why does tonight feel like it could end in disaster?

Her internal twenty questions carried her all the way to Hive’s iconic rooftop. Strictly reservation only with no social media presence. The definition of exclusive. Noah had booked it weeks ago. The hostess led her straight to the crown jewel: a glass-wrapped terrace glowing with frosted pendants hanging from the honeycomb ceiling. Butter-yellow leather chairs. Blue-tiled floors. Beyond the glass, Natalie’s favorite city. Mechanical by day, magical by night, she thought. She paused a beat to take it all in.

It’s incredible. Like a snowglobe for bumblebees, minus the snow. And the bees.

Oh, the wedding receptions I could design in this space.

“Ma’am? Is this table okay?” the hostess asked.

“Yes, it’s perfect, thank you.”