CHAPTER TWELVE: …let the sharks smell blood.

ACE

There was a reason I pushed her away after the kiss.

She tasted like fire and something soft I couldn’t name—but if I gave in, even for a second, I’d ruin everything. I couldn’t afford to like her this much. Not with who I am. Not with what I do. Not with how many people are watching.

Hope wasn’t just a girl in my space anymore. She was inside my life—inside me—and that made her the perfect target. My enemies would use her, break her, bleed her dry just to get to me.

And I wouldn’t be able to stop them if I was too blinded to see it coming.

So yeah, I pushed her away. I told her we’d pretend the kiss didn’t happen. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Her lips. Her breath hitching. The way she looked at me like she didn’t know whether to punch me or pull me back in.

I hated how much I wanted both.

I leaned back in my office chair, fingers steepled beneath my chin. A quiet knock pulled me from my thoughts.

Bob walked in without waiting.

“She hasn’t acted on Evan,” he said flatly.

I didn’t need to ask who. Hope. I’d known about the Cranes Electronics link from the moment Bob passed me the footage. Hope and Bob tailing one of our employees to a shady handoff behind the restaurant. I saw how much thought she was putting into the situaton. I saw the hesitation in her eyes.

“She’s cautious,” I replied.

“She’s stalling,” Bob countered. “You’re giving her too much freedom, I just hope that you don't end up disappointed.”

“She’ll act when she’s ready.” I wasn’t going to second-guess my decision. Not when I’d already handed her the case Clara dropped.

Bob gave me a look, one that said, You’re getting too soft.

I ignored it.

As he left, I returned my attention to the list of confirmed guests for the upcoming gala. A charity event, publicly. But really? It was a veiled summit between the major families. A truce meeting in tuxedos. A smile-and-shake gathering with champagne flutes full of poison.

And I needed Hope on my arm.

She wasn’t ready for the world I was about to drop her into. But I’d be damned if I went in alone.

---

Later That Day

She looked up from her desk when I stepped into her office—my office that she now occupied part-time. A curious look on her face. Maybe a little annoyed. She probably thought I was here to talk about Evan or the protesters.

But I wasn’t.

“I have a business trip,” I said, not giving her time to speak. “It’s this Friday. A gala, technically. You’ll be coming as my date.”

Her brows lifted in disbelief.

“A gala?”

“It’s a formality. Charity dinner. You’ll wear a dress, smile at old men, and try not to stab anyone.”

“And I get a say in this when?”

“You don’t,” I replied smoothly.

She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut in. “It’s important. Eyes will be on me. And you’ll need to look like you belong.”

The words hung in the air between us. I could see the flicker of questions in her gaze, but she didn’t ask them. Not yet.

“Any questions?” I asked.

“Just one,” she said. “Do I get to pick the dress or are you going to control that too?”

My lips twitched. “I’ll have someone send options.”

She rolled her eyes but I didn’t miss the blush creeping into her cheeks. Or the way her fingers toyed with her pen a little more nervously than before.

The tension between us hadn’t gone anywhere.

It was just in a corner waiting to be confronted.

********

HOPE

The day for the trip approached faster than I would have appreciated, and as usual, Ace hadn’t sent anyone to go over dress options or at least mention if I was supposed to wear something specific.

Typical Ace.

Even as his assistant, his habit of dropping news and then vanishing hadn’t changed. It had been days since he told me I’d be attending a charity-slash-mafia gala with him, and nothing since. The man was a master of mind games and delayed logistics.

At least the new accommodation was a small win. I’d been moved again, this time to a proper guest suite. It wasn’t on the top floors near Ace, but it was far better than the service quarters. Clean sheets, privacy, and—most importantly—no Bee poking around my every move.

Or so I thought.

A soft knock came early Friday morning. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, blinking at the time.

6:02 a.m.

I dragged myself to the door, still tangled in my oversized shirt. When I opened it, there stood Bee—small frame, bright eyes, and two sleek dress bags hanging over her arm like she belonged on a runway.

“You’ve got options,” she said, smiling as if the ungodly hour didn’t exist.

I blinked. “You again?”

She grinned wider and walked past me like it was her room. “Nice upgrade. I approve.”

I shut the door behind her. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but how do you keep showing up like this? You’re everywhere.”

Bee shrugged as she began hanging the dresses on the wardrobe handles. “I overheard the boss muttering something about needing dress help while I was on service duty. So I volunteered.”

“Just like that?”

“Yep.”

I squinted at her. “Why would you volunteer?”

Bee turned with a tiny smirk and said, “If you aren’t in need of a familiar face who can relate, I definitely am. Besides, you need someone honest. These stylists think women want to look like vases.”

That made me snort.

She gestured dramatically at the dress bags. “Voilà. Ace’s personal stylist sent these over this morning. I was told to deliver them, help you pick, and disappear. But let’s face it, you’d be lost without my commentary.”

I watched her curiously as she pulled the gowns out one by one. She was always…available. From the Master's house to showing me around the kitchen, now this? There was more to Bee, but I wasn’t ready to dig yet. I just wanted to survive this trip without embarrassing myself.

She held up a navy blue gown with a plunging neckline and sleek silhouette. “This one says ‘I’m classy but don’t test me.’”

“Noted.”

“Or this red one,” she pulled out next, “says ‘try to touch me and you might not live to see the afterparty.’”

I chuckled, then paused, fingers brushing over the scarlet fabric. “I kind of like that one.”

Bee nodded approvingly. “Figures. You give off the whole ‘femme fatale but secretly soft’ vibe.”

“And you give off the ‘quiet but nosy’ vibe.”

She grinned proudly. “Guilty.”

As we sifted through the options, her tone dropped slightly, almost conspiratorial.

“So… I bumped into Bob yesterday,” she said casually, holding up a pair of silver heels to the light.

My brow lifted. “And?”

“And nothing. Except, he smells way too good and has this whole grumpy charm thing going on. I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

I snorted. “You’ve got a crush on Bob?”

“Don’t judge me.” She placed a hand dramatically over her chest. “It was unexpected.”

I laughed softly. “I’m not judging. I’ve had my fair share of unexpected... feelings too.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Oh?”

Crap. Did I just open that door?

“Just a little something for Ace,” I mumbled, eyes immediately focusing on a nonexistent spot on the floor.

Bee’s eyebrows flew up. “Oooooh. Now we’re talking.”

“It’s nothing,” I added quickly. “It shouldn’t be anything.”

“But it is something.”

I sighed. “Unfortunately.”

There was a long pause before Bee quietly said, “That makes two of us falling for the wrong brothers.”

That made us both laugh—quietly at first, then louder. It felt good. Like letting air out of a balloon before it burst. We weren’t just playing roles anymore. In that moment, we were two women caught up in the same chaotic storm.

She helped zip me up into the dress and stepped back, tilting her head.

“You look like trouble,” she said. “Ace won’t know what hit him.”

I gave her a dry lo

ok. “Thanks. I think.”

She winked. “You’ll kill it. Just don’t let the sharks smell blood.”