Karl ignored the women, but if any man looked my way, Karl met each furtive glance with a level stare.

Establishing territory. It didn’t mean anything. He’d do the same with any woman at his side—friend, lover or acquaintance. The wolf peeking out.

The lobby itself was spectacular but not ostentatious, and that’s not an easy look to achieve, no matter how much money you spend. The foyer was large without being cavernous. Dark doors blocked the sun and good soundproofing muffled the street sounds, plunging the visitor into a peaceful oasis, complete with two walls of aquariums, a ten-foot-square “sand garden” with a half-toppled castle, a wall fountain, driftwood benches and a handsome young man gliding about with a tray of iced water.

Those milling about the foyer were mostly tourists. Human tourists, probably here to check out the nineteenth-floor observatory. All good public relations. To them, Cortez Cabal was simply Cortez Corporation—a huge company like any other.

As Karl veered toward the front desk, I excused myself to get a closer look at one aquarium. I knew how Karl planned to get past the receptionist and a man’s charm is always more effective when he doesn’t have a woman at his side.

Before I could leave, his grip tightened on my elbow, holding me back as he surveyed the area—his gaze touching on and evaluating everyone in the lobby. Again, typical werewolf, however much he denies it.

As I admired the fish, I watched Karl’s reflection in the aquarium glass. He was talking to the receptionist, doing nothing as blatant as flirting, simply giving her his undivided attention. She fell for it. They all do. Of course, I’m not one to talk.

A few minutes later the receptionist sent us, with a security guard escort, to a private elevator. We stopped on the top floor. Judging by the generous use of marble and the bank of receptionists and secretaries, I guessed it was the executive level.

“This man insists on speaking to Benicio Cortez. He wouldn’t state his business.”

The receptionist on duty there glowered at the guard, as if to say that we should never have gotten past the front desk. The guard pretended not to notice, probably already preparing his “I did what I was told” defense when this breach of protocol was investigated. Blame would fall on the lobby receptionist, and I felt bad about that, but if she could be so easily swayed by a good-looking charmer, she shouldn’t be in charge of the main gate.

The receptionist turned to Karl. “And you would be…?”

“An emissary, here on behalf of my Alpha.”

“Alpha? You mean—”

The receptionist exchanged a glance with the guard, who took a slow step back from Karl before stopping himself. Karl’s lips twitched, fighting a smile.

“Hector Cortez is in,” the receptionist said. “That’s Mr. Cortez’s—”

“I know who Hector Cortez is. I doubt you want me returning to my Alpha telling him I was granted an audience with the second-in-command. Mr. Cortez understands the importance we place on hierarchy, which is why he always speaks to the Alpha himself.”

The receptionist looked to the others behind her. A cry for help that no one answered, all busying themselves with their tasks.

“You can check on that by calling him, can’t you?” Karl said. “If I’m wrong, he’ll send Hector.”

An exchange of looks, then a few murmured words from the receptionist, and the guard escorted us through a pair of doors.

I PRESUMED WE were in a waiting room, but there were no year-old magazines or battered chairs to give it away. It looked more like a home office—the kind you see in magazines, with deep leather chairs, a recessed bookcase and twin oak desks. Pastries rested on a silver platter topped with a glass lid, a dainty container more suited to petit fours than the chocolate chip muffins within. Beside the door was a built-in coffee and cappuccino machine.

The guard left after receiving a call, probably telling him it would be impolite to hover over a werewolf delegate. That didn’t mean we were left alone. Every few minutes an employee found a reason to come to the waiting room, some pausing outside the door, the more daring entering and filling their cups at the coffeemaker.

“Getting a glimpse of the beast,” I whispered.

“All I need is a cage to pace in.”

“It’s your own fault. Benicio would have granted you an audience without involving Jeremy.”

“I know.”

“But that wouldn’t have been nearly as entertaining, would it?”

He smiled and leaned back, stretching his legs and crossing them at the ankles. “They’d be gawking at you too, if they knew what you were.”

“That’s the difference between us—I avoid the limelight; you jump in with both feet.”

“No, I simply tire of clinging to the shadows. Now and then, it’s nice to step out.”

I shook my head and got a glass of water, then sat down again.

“Speaking of shadows, how was business in Europe? Profitable, I presume?”

Karl shrugged. “Profitable enough.”

I waited for details, but they didn’t come. Usually he loved regaling me with tales of his escapades, knowing that I loved imagining myself climbing over those rooftops, narrowly escaping detection. I shivered just thinking about it.

“Getting restless?” he said after a moment. “How about a self-guided tour?”

“I doubt that’s allowed.”

“Think anyone will stop us?”

HOPE: LEARNING FROM THE MASTERS

Karl waited until the hall was empty, then we slipped from the room. He led me to the left, picking up speed as voices turned the corner at the other end.

We spent the next ten minutes prowling the executive floor of Cortez Cabal headquarters—probably second only to major government buildings for security—and no one even noticed.

We slid easily back into our old roles. Karl as the ever-patient, ever-entertaining teacher, instructing not with lectures but by example. Me as the eager student, lapping it up—both the lessons and the chaos, that steady low-level thrum that set my heart thumping but left my brain clear.

I watched and took mental notes. Paid attention to how he could predict where every security camera would be. Noted how he avoided people just as deftly, not darting out of their way, but turning so they saw only his back and passed, intent on their work, presuming he belonged.