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While the waiter goes on about the fruity notes and tannins and whatever pretentious spiel he has prepared, I discreetly reach into the front pocket of my jeans and pull out my own phone, along with a small connecting cable. I connect the two devices on my lap, hidden from view beneath the white tablecloth, and within seconds, I’ve got a mirroring program downloaded onto Luka’s phone.
Triumph rises within me, explosive and hot. Step one of our surveillance operation is now complete. From here on out, I’ll be able to see everything Luka does on his phone in real time. Every picture he looks at, every password he types in, every call he makes—I’ll have eyes on it all.
“Willa?”
My eyes shoot up, startled. “Sorry?”
Luka chuckles. “I was calling you for a whole minute. Are you sure that’s even your name?”
Another breathy laugh escapes me. Dammit, I can’t keep making mistakes like this. “Sorry, I was just pulling up my Instagram for you. What were you saying?”
“I was asking if you wanted wine.”
My nose curls slightly. “I’m more of a tequila girl, actually. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” He turns to the waiter. “Bring us a bottle of Siete Leguas Reposado.”
“Of course, Mr. Antonov.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Thewholebottle?”
“What? Are you afraid I’ll outdrink you?”
I throw my head back and laugh. Do I feel like getting drunk tonight? Hell, no. But if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that liquor is an excellent way to loosen a person’s lips.
“Those are fighting words, Luka.”
“What if they are?”
“Careful, I’ll drink you under the table.”
His eyes seem to come alive, sparkling like polished obsidian. “You want to bet?”
I lean forward against the table, elbows braced on the surface with my hands tucked beneath my chin. “What’s the wager?”
“If I outdrink you,” he says. “I get to fuck you.”
Chapter 8
Luka
Iexpect her to break at my comment. I’m pushing my luck on purpose, but so far, Dani’s been relatively unperturbed by every curveball I’ve thrown at her. Her recovery after her glaring error about my brothers was so smooth I almost believed it. She’s excellent at thinking on her feet, but now I’m sure I’ve finally broken through her carefully crafted guise. There’s no way in hell she’ll let me—
“Okay.”
“Okay?” I echo.
The moment our waiter sets down the bottle of tequila and glasses, Dani picks it up and pours us a shot each. Her smile is coy, challenging, like she isn’t taking me seriously.
“You think I’m joking,” I realize.
“Obviously. If you’re trying to get a rise out of me, you’ll have to try harder than that.” She picks up her glass. “Cheers,” she says chipperly before tossing back her drink. “Looks like you’re one behind. You’d better hurry up.”
A low chuckle rumbles in my chest. If this is some kind of play to catch me off guard, it sure as fuck doesn’t come from the FBI playbook. Dani’s already pouring her second shot, so I pick up my glass and swallow the tequila. It burns all the way down, the sting of alcohol clearing my sinuses in a pinch.
“What if I tell you I’m being serious?” I ask.
She fills my glass. “You’re not.”
