The ice in Maya's glass had long since melted, watering down a bourbon she couldn't afford to waste.
She checked her watch for the tenth time in three minutes. 11:45 PM. The Velvet Lounge was exactly the kind of place Maya hated - filled with men who smelled of vintage cigars and women whose handbags cost more than her annual rent. But the agency had been specific: Table four. Dark corner. Look for the man who looks like he owns the world, but is willing to sell a piece of it.
"Mr. Black?" she whispered to the shadows.
A man sat there, his silhouette cutting a sharp, lethal line against the amber glow of the back-wall spirits. He didn't look up from his tablet. He didn't even blink. He simply existed with a gravity that seemed to pull the oxygen out of Maya's lungs.
He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit that screamed "Old Money." His hair was dark, swept back with a careless perfection that made her want to run her fingers through it - and then slap herself for the thought.
"You're late," Maya said, her voice trembling slightly as she slid into the velvet booth across from him.
The man finally looked up.
His eyes were a piercing, glacial blue - the kind of blue that didn't just see you; it dissected you. For a moment, Elias Thorne felt a flicker of genuine confusion. He was waiting for a high-level informant to hand over encrypted files on the embezzlement at Thorne Global. Instead, he was looking at a woman with flushed cheeks, messy dark hair, and a look of sheer, panicked determination.
She was wearing a Thorne Global ID badge tucked haphazardly into her blazer pocket.
An employee? Elias thought, his gaze darkening. Is this a trap?
"I don't have time for small talk," Maya continued, her words tumbling out in a rush.
She reached into her bag and shoved a thick, manila envelope across the mahogany table. "There's five thousand dollars in there. Half now, half when the sun comes up tomorrow. Are we clear?"
Elias looked at the envelope. He looked at her. He could have ended it there. He could have called security. He could have told her that he was the man who signed her paychecks, not a man who took envelopes in dark bars.
But then, she leaned forward, the scent of vanilla and desperation hitting him. "The 'Platinum Package' promised the best. You're supposed to be a professional. My boss needs to see a fiancé, not a statue. Can you do that, or do I need to call the agency back?"
Elias felt a slow, predatory smirk tug at the corner of his mouth. A "Professional"? A "Platinum Package"?
He realized with a jolt of dark amusement exactly what she thought he was. She had mistaken the CEO of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate for a high-end escort.
He picked up the envelope, the weight of the cash insignificant to him, yet fascinating. "Five thousand," he mused, his voice a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated in Maya's chest. "You're paying quite a premium for a few hours of my time."
"I'm paying for a promotion," Maya snapped, trying to hide how much his voice affected her. "I need you to be doting. I need you to be attentive. And for heaven's sake, you need to look like you actually like me."
Elias leaned across the table, closing the gap until their noses were inches apart. He could see the slight tremor in her lower lip.
"Like you?" he whispered, his eyes dropping to her mouth. "For five thousand dollars, darling, I can make people believe I worship the ground you walk on."
Maya swallowed hard. The air between them suddenly felt electric, heavy with a tension that wasn't in her business plan. She fumbled in her bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
"Sign this," she commanded, her voice breathy. "The 24-Hour Rental Agreement. No kissing unless absolutely necessary for the 'performance.' No... extra-curricular activities. And you follow my lead at all times."
Elias took the pen from her shaking hand. He didn't even read the clauses. He signed the name Elias in a jagged, authoritative script.
"One rule you missed, Maya," he said, leaning back and pocketing the "payment" he would eventually use to buy her a very expensive lesson.
"What's that?"
"I don't follow leads," Elias said, his gaze turning possessive. "I take them. Now, shall we go meet this boss of yours? I'd hate to be late for our engagement."
As they stood to leave, Maya didn't notice the way the bartenders bowed their heads as Elias passed. She didn't notice the black SUVs suddenly circling the block. She only noticed the heavy weight of his hand as it settled on the small of her back—a touch that felt far too real for a five-thousand-dollar mistake.