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I take a long sip of my gin and tonic. Let the gin and lime and sugar and quinine settle on my tongue. Let my mind sink into my role.
Matteo’s gaze shifts to Fuches. The Swiss bank executive isn’t the carefree man he was in Barcelona. He’s practically vibrating with nervous energy.
Matteo’s handshake settles Fuches, but barely. The man stays as tightly wound as a spring as Matteo leads him through the crowded space.
They stop in front of my table.
Fuches looks me up and down, noting my magenta skirt and blazer, my silk camisole, my pulled back hair.
He doesn’t recognize me. He sees another anonymous blonde.
“Mr. Holmes.” I offer Matteo my hand first. I smile at the theatrical code name he chose to tease me. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He shakes with a firm grip. His eyes go to the front pocket of Fuches’s jacket.
There’s the outline of an envelope. And something behind it. A weapon.
He reaches for it.
Matteo starts to block him, but I shake my head.
The man won’t confront me here. He’s not the type who makes a scene.
“And you, Mr. Fuches. I only wish we could meet under better circumstances.” I offer him my hand.
He stops reaching for his pocket. Shakes instead.
“Can I order you a drink?” I ask.
Fuches looks around like he’s expecting an assassin to jump out from under a table and stick a knife in his throat. “I’d rather go somewhere private.”
Concern flares in Matteo’s eyes. “It’s safer here. Who knows what she’ll do in private?”
Fuches’s eyes dart around the roof again.
Dammit, he’s too close to the edge. I need to talk him down. I don’t want to dumb a body. And I don’t want to freak Matteo out by killing out witness.
There’s no way he’ll be cool with cold blooded murder.
“Wherever you feel comfortable, sir,” I say, with as much deference as I can muster. He needs to feel in control. And he’s used to women bending for him.
“My hotel is around the corner,” Fuches says.
“As soon as I finish my drink.” I smile and raise my glass.
He and Matteo watch as I take a long sip. There’s something about my rival’s stare. The way his eyes go to my lips, my throat, my chest.
The way he watches me is just—
Really fucking sexy.
But, somehow, it’s not distracting. Somehow, it centers me more.
I set my half full glass on the table. “I do need a show of good faith first. That’s a strict policy, I’m afraid. My employer is a stickler about these things of things. He insists we release footage at the first sign of noncompliance. I believe your wife still uses the Gmail account?” I quote the address.
Fuches frowns. “You should be ashamed of yourself, recording people’s intimate moments and exploiting them.” He nods to Matteo to join his outrage.
But Matteo doesn’t offer the protest he wants. “It’s best to let this one go.”
