After setting down the receiver on her most recent phone call, she fixes me with an icy stare and says, “Can I help you?” in the tone of voice usually reserved for telling people that their fly is undone.

“I’m waiting for . . . my uncle,” I say lamely.

She raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

I turn my back on her, looking around for someplace to lurk out of sight while I wait for Raymond to come down.

It’s almost lunchtime. Unless he’s planning to eat in his office, he probably goes out for a steak and martini in one of the many fancy restaurants in a three-block radius of this place.

The lobby is all black marble and sleek, reflective surfaces. There are no good places to hide. Not even a potted plant to crouch behind. I can see the receptionist getting antsy, casting glances in my direction more and more frequently. She looks like she’s going to call over one of the uniformed security guards any minute.

At that moment, the elevator pings. The gold doors part, and three suited men step through. The one in the middle is tall, bald, and obviously in charge.

Raymond Page.

I hurry over to intercept him.

I can see the security guard hustling toward us from the opposite side. He knows who Page is better than I do, and he has no intention of letting me talk to him. Unfortunately for the guard, I’m closer. I position myself right in front of Raymond, so he has no choice except to stop or run right into me.

“What?” he snaps, breaking off his conversation with the other two men.

“Mr. Page?” I say.

“Yes?” he says coldly.

He’s looking down into my face, his eyes as dark and stern as a hawk’s, with those drawn-together brows and his beak of a nose between them. His face is coarse—thick-skinned, and heavily lined. But there’s no mistaking that incongruous double row of lashes that line his eyes like kohl.

“What is it?” he barks, again.

“I . . . I know your daughter Bella,” I stammer.

“Then you should know better than to interrupt me at work,” he says.

He pushes past me and sweeps through the doors to the outside, the other two men hurrying after him. The security guard blocks me from following him.

“Time to go,” he says, arms crossed over his chest.

“Already leaving,” I reply, heading for the opposite door.

I can’t believe that. The mention of Raymond’s daughter didn’t interest him in the slightest. He had no curiosity. No concern that something might have happened to her.

It almost makes me feel bad for Bella.

Until I see her walking across the lobby arm-in-arm with the last person in the world I’d expect to see here: Nero Gallo.

Nero looks equally surprised. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him speechless before. His mouth is hanging open in a way that would almost be funny, if the sight of him and Bella together wasn’t such a punch to the guts.

Bella looks back and forth between us, confused and annoyed.

“What are you doing here?” she sneers. “Applying for a janitor job?”

I don’t look at her. I’m staring at Nero. He’s dressed up nicer than I’ve ever seen before, in a button-up shirt and slacks. His hair is even combed back. If I didn’t know him, I’d think he was one of the young professionals in the building. The perfect date for the bank manager’s daughter.

“Going for lunch?” I ask them. My lips are dry. It’s hard to speak.

“We already ate,” Bella says, like I’m a complete idiot. For once, I think she’s right. “Nero wanted a tour of Daddy’s new building.”

“You just missed Daddy,” I tell them, watching Nero’s face.

I think I see a flicker of something there. It’s definitely not disappointment.

“How do you know?” Bella demands.

“I just saw him leave.”

I’m still looking at Nero, trying to figure out exactly what the fuck is going on here.

He hates Bella. He always has. Did he do this to make me jealous? But he didn’t know I was coming down here today. I didn’t know myself until an hour ago.

Why would he meet Bella for lunch, dressed like a yuppie? It doesn’t make any sense.

Unless he’s not here for Bella at all . . .

I glance swiftly around the lobby, to see if any of his friends are lurking around. There’s nobody here—except the normal crowd of financiers and wealthy clients.

Nero sees my expression change. His face darkens. He doesn’t want me fucking this up for him.

“Let’s get going,” he says to Bella.

“I don’t know if I can show you the vault if Daddy’s not here . . .” Bella says.

The vault . . .

Nero casts me a look, telling me to keep my mouth shut.

I think I know why he’s here.

Still, it makes me burn with jealousy, seeing him freshly scrubbed and shaved, with Bella hanging off his arm. She’s wearing a pretty yellow sundress and heels, her sleek blonde bob shimmering every time she tosses her head. They make a gorgeous couple.

Meanwhile, I look so scrubby that I almost got booted out of this place before I spoke a word.

“I won’t keep you. Enjoy your date,” I hiss at Nero.

“We will,” Bella says with poisonous sweetness.

Nero doesn’t say anything at all. But I can feel his eyes burning into my back as I stomp out of the air-conditioned bank, back out into the sweltering heat.

I knew it. I fucking knew it.

Nero doesn’t give a shit about Bella, and he doesn’t give a shit about me. He’ll use either one of us when we suit his purpose.

He’s a snake. I was a fool to let him slip his fangs into me for even an instant.

Still, I feel myself pausing on the sidewalk. Like he’s going to leave Bella in there and chase after me.

Of course he doesn’t.

I’m just standing there all alone, while cars whiz by, and pedestrians have to part ways around me.

Whatever Nero has planned in there, it’s a hell of a lot more important than me.

14

Nero

Out of all the devious and criminal acts I’ve committed, taking Bella for lunch is the most repugnant.

I honestly think I would have found kidnapping a school bus full of children less distasteful.

I have to sit across the table from her in the Poke Bar, listening to every stupid thought rattling through her brain, while smiling and pretending to be interested.

I fucking hate pretending.

It doesn’t help that I had to dress like Patrick Bateman in American Psycho. Button-up shirt, polished shoes . . . it’s not for Bella’s benefit. It’s so I don’t draw the attention of the security guards once we head over to Alliance.

I let Bella think it’s her idea. I ask her a couple of questions about where her dad works—questions I already knew the answers to—and she says, “It’s right across the street—do you want to see it?”

I check my watch—12:38. I’ve already watched Raymond head out to lunch at precisely 12:33, three days in a row. I love a banker who keeps a tight schedule. It makes him so conveniently predictable.

I have no interest in actually running into Raymond. Actually, I want him out of the way so I can poke around all the places I’m not supposed to visit, with clueless Bella as my guide.