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A less self-assured woman might doubt her own powers after such a reception. But I know my worth, and I won’t be brushed aside so easily. Still, Natalie occupies far too much space in my thoughts for a woman who barely looked me in the eye through dinner. An unknown player, guarding her secrets and motives as closely as a blackjack dealer guards the hole card.
And I’m not stupid. In my line of work, I need to be on my guard for leaks and moles—and new acquaintances.
Alicia Crane has taken off on a sudden vacation, according to her office, and will not be available for the foreseeable future, so I can’t ask any pertinent questions in that direction.
But I want to uncover more about who this Natalie Moreau really is and what she wants with me. So I call the one person I know I can rely on.
“Daddy, I need a favor.”
“Anything,principessa. Hold on one moment. You,” he says to someone in the room with him, “need to sleep a while.” I hear the sound of fist meeting face, and then he comes back on the line. “What is it that you need?”
“A woman named Natalie Moreau.”
“Is she causing trouble?” Daddy’s tone shifts instantly, protective instincts kicking in.
“No, nothing like that,” I assure him quickly. “I just want to know more about her. She’s…interesting.” I can’t help but smile when I think of Natalie’s intense gaze, the way she seems to be challenging me with every word, even when she’s agreeing with me.
“Alright,” he agrees cautiously. “But sweetheart, be careful. You don’t want to get too close to someone you don’t know before I check her out.”
“Don’t worry, Daddy,” I reply, my tone light despite the weight of his warning. “I’m always cautious. That’swhyI want the information.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
I recite the few scant details I know and he promises to put his best men on it immediately.
I tap my ruby ring thoughtfully against my desk after we hang up. Soon I’ll pierce the veil around this Natalie Moreau. Because whether it’s dealing with the Mancini Family or navigating attraction, I’ve always been happy to take a gamble.
After all, the house always wins in the end.
CHAPTER8
NATALIE
The sterility of the situation room provides a sharp contrast to the life of luxury I’ve been living for the past few days. Here, it’s all harsh fluorescent lights reflecting off whiteboards covered in organizational charts and surveillance photos. The stale air carries the bitter aftertaste of lukewarm coffee brewed hours ago.
Stephen Bell stands at the head of the table, remote control in hand as he fast-forwards through footage from the dinner with Alessa at my Park Avenue apartment.
I take my seat next to his right hand, and the rest of the team, already there and waiting, greet me. “Let’s get started,” Bell snaps, and we all turn to the screen as the video begins playing.
We watch as I open the door and Alessa enters. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, and her green eyes seem to pierce through the screen even now as she looks around. She begins to prowl through the living room, just as I remember her doing on the night.
“Look at her body language,” Bell comments. “She seems almost predatory.”
“Predatory?” I question defensively before I can stop myself. Immediately, I regret the word choice. I don’t want to appear too emotionally invested. Clearing my throat, I add, “What I mean is, she might simply be confident, not necessarily predatory.”
“She’s predatory alright,” Bell growls. “Either way, she doesn’t seem intimidated by you, which could be valuable information for us moving forward. Right, Hays?”
Kris Hays nods slowly. “It’s a possibility.”
As the video continues, we analyze every detail of our interaction—every glance, every touch, every seemingly innocuous comment. The team takes note of Alessa’s mannerisms and habits, trying to piece together her personality and motivations. But I can’t help but feel that there’s something they’re missing…something they’re almost determinednotto see.
The angles cycle through as Alessa and I move from the foyer to the dining room, then the living area after dinner.
“There, slow down and play it,” Hays says, leaning forward. Bell hits play and we watch Alessa tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering a beat too long.
Hays studies the screen. “Classic proximity-seeking behavior. She’s drawn to you, Miller, despite her hesitation. Well done.”
Heat rises in my cheeks even as my stomach twists. Hays means it as a compliment, proof of my skills at assuming a cover so completely that I blur the line between truth and fiction. But her praise only sprouts tendrils of doubt in my mind that wrap around my conscience andsqueeze.
