Rowan and Stacy were talking about operational vehicles. Rowan smiled, then laughed. This made Kiera smile, too. It had been too long since she’d seen her dryad friend so happy. While living here with Catherine, she’d seen him only once. Kiera didn’t like remembering that time, the bitterness that had been so strong between them. Since Catherine’s death, he’d been a shell of his true self. And now…
He’s coming back to the Rowan I know so well, Kiera thought. It made her heart ache, which was not a feeling she allowed often.
Rowan turned toward the house. Kiera slunk back into the shadows as his gaze swept the hallway, searching. He didn’t see or hear her, but he sensed her presence. He always had, and Kiera didn’t doubt he always would. Sometimes, it irritated her. However, right now, she figured it was best to let them see her lingering.
She stepped onto the front porch, where the sun’s last light of the day washed over her. Rowan opened his mouth as if to say something, but Stacy spoke first. “You look like a fucking badass! Deadly, yet pretty. How do you not have men falling over around you?”
Kiera raised a brow, her gaze flicking from Rowan to Stacy. “For real?”
“I’m not flattering you,” Stacy replied. “I mean it. You might have to teach me tricks about dressing for combat, too.” Her laughter rang into the night.
Kiera met Rowan’s gaze. He knew she’d had few people she could call friends in her life, let alone other women. Let her be your friend, his look seemed to say.
She turned back to Stacy with a cunning smile. “Let’s get you ready to storm that bastard’s home. I have a few things you can add to your look.”
Spencer whistled. “Amy Greentree, you clean up quite nicely.”
It took everything in Amy not to blush at his appreciative survey. She turned in front of the floor-length mirror in the hallway. She had chosen a deep blue, long-sleeved dress accented with silver shoes and jewelry. She’d curled her golden hair so it fell in soft waves down her back and over her shoulders.
Spencer offered her a hand and turned her. “How am I supposed to focus on my job with you looking like this?”
How could he keep up this shameless flirting without asking her on a fucking date? Amy wondered. She didn’t say it, though. Instead, she laughed and commented that he cleaned up nicely, too. His dark hair was combed back, brown eyes glittering. He’d worn a suit, simple and dark and sleek. They made a lovely pair, and Amy knew it.
“I’m surprised you own a suit,” she remarked. “I thought all your attire was bodyguard and personal trainer shit.”
Spencer feigned offense by putting a hand on his chest. “Please, Amy. You should know I have many sides.”
“Let’s hope I’m distracting enough to keep Victor from knowing what’s really going on,” Amy murmured as Spencer led her through the hallways of the Thorn house. Rowan, Kiera, and Stacy were off somewhere, preparing for the night.
Only the groundskeeper Miles was around, and he was working a patch of roses as if his life depended on it. He shot up from the rose bush as they emerged from the house, red-faced and frazzled. Still, he produced a beaming smile and waved them off as they got into the car Stacy had appointed them tonight.
“Ready?” Spencer asked as he started the car.
Amy inhaled deeply. “Born ready. The only part I’m mad about is that this is for work, and I can’t drink. Some white wine would be perfect right now.”
Spencer winked. “After. I promise to get you the best bottle of white wine you’ve ever had.”
Her laughter trailed with them from the house, joining the car’s revving engine. The sun was close to setting, the lingering rays turning the road a burnt orange. Spencer spurred the car onward, taking the many twisting turns through the countryside toward the city. The numerous glimmering buildings soon appeared, the city sprawled out like a case full of stars.
Amy had grown to appreciate her quiet life in the country, but sometimes, she missed the bustle of the city, especially at night when she had events like this to attend. Damn, she wished this wasn’t for work. She could be drinking and dancing instead. Wasn’t that the sort of thing people like Victor wanted her distracted by, though? Frivolity and lavishness while menacing darkness lurked out of sight?
She steeled herself, remembering the purpose of tonight’s event. Soon enough, the ritzy hotel came into sight. It was exactly the sort of thing Amy imagined Victor would own. A tall white building, several decades old, with huge golden chandeliers, marble entries, sprawling staircases, and food catered by the best in the city.
Amy remembered her meeting with her friend from the day before and hoped the woman had passed word along about what they’d discussed. Another thing to make Victor think Stacy would attend. Plan is in place, she thought. Now we have to fucking execute it.
Spencer handed off the keys to a valet, then led Amy up the stairs with a gentle hand at her waist. Amy presented her media badge at the door, then was ushered in along with Spencer. Lavishly dressed patrons packed the hotel’s main foyer.
The room screamed of wealth, from the women’s furs to the men’s sleek suits, the drinks in their hands, and the chatter around her. They spoke of business ventures and vacation homes Amy could only ever dream of. It made her want to shake her head and laugh. She didn’t, though. She went into journalist mode. She wanted to do this for Stacy, but she also had to turn in an article for her boss.
“We’ll look suspicious if we don’t drink,” Spencer murmured, reaching for two glasses of bubbling liquid as a man with a tray swept past. He handed one to Amy.
“Only one,” she replied. “And drink it slowly.”
“I’ll have my wits about me,” he promised.
They ambled from room to room, observing the attendees and several art pieces lining a wall. An auction of some sort seemed to be in the works. A string quartet played in a corner. The pair finally emerged into a large ballroom. At the front of the room was a dais and a podium with a banner hung behind it, picturing Victor. The image made him look like the king of the world. Amy suppressed a snort of laughter by drinking.
“Want to dance?” Spencer asked.
Amy nodded, and he led her to the center of the floor, where they had a good vantage point of the room without seeming like they were looking for someone. Spencer took one of her hands in his and slid an arm around her waist, tugging her close to him.
She looked around the room. She noticed a cluster of men over sixty standing near the dais, speaking in low voices. They wore serious expressions and kept snapping at passing tray men for drinks or food. “Is that the Corbinelli clan?” Spencer asked.
Amy had seen photos of them in online portfolios. She nodded. “Victor’s father, grandfather, and a spattering of uncles. All wealthy as fuck. He plans to do something tonight to impress them, I’m certain.”
“Like trap Stacy?” Spencer shook his head. “I don’t understand why he feels like he has to do it this way.”
It was because Stacy was a witch, but Spencer didn’t know that.
Amy grinned wryly instead of explaining. “I can’t wait to see his face when he learns the truth.”
“I hope we’ll be out of here by then.”
Amy took her phone from her small purse and texted Stacy, informing her that the Corbinellis were here, but they had not yet seen Victor. Soon, she hoped. She allowed her mind to drift back to Spencer. The music was pleasant, and he was warm.
Maybe it was the atmosphere or the adrenaline, but she blurted, “When are we going to have a real date?”
