Chapter 3

Aida stepped off the last marble stair onto the thick carpet of the ballroom floor. She walked purposefully toward a passing waiter, reached out, and lifted a tall crystal flute of champagne from his silver tray.

She kept her eyes fixed on Grayson Lott. He was laughing loudly at something a man next to him had said. Aida timed her steps, waiting for the exact second Grayson began to turn around. She walked straight into his path.

She let her ankle roll slightly, faking a stumble. Her body pitched forward.

The champagne flew out of the glass. The pale golden liquid splashed directly onto the sleeve of Grayson's custom-tailored charcoal suit.

Grayson's face instantly twisted into a dark scowl. He spun around, his mouth opening to shout a string of curses.

Aida gasped, her eyes widening in perfectly manufactured panic. "Oh my god, I am so sorry!" she cried out. She quickly pulled a silk handkerchief from her clutch and began dabbing frantically at his wet sleeve.

Grayson looked down. The moment his eyes registered her face, the furious scowl vanished. A slow, oily gleam of intense interest replaced the anger in his eyes.

He reached out and grabbed Aida's wrist. His fingers clamped down like a steel vise, the grip painfully tight, digging into her delicate bones.

Aida winced. A sharp spike of pain shot up her arm. Every instinct screamed at her to rip her hand away, but she forced her muscles to relax. She looked up at him through her lashes and offered a soft, apologetic smile.

"I am Aida Ruiz," she said, keeping her voice light. "CEO of NovaTech. I am so incredibly sorry about your suit."

Grayson didn't let go of her wrist. His eyes slowly dragged down the length of her body, lingering on the curve of her waist before snapping back up to her face. "A dry cleaner won't fix this, Aida. We should discuss compensation somewhere a little more private."

Aida's stomach twisted into a tight, sickening knot. Warning bells shrieked in her head. But the image of the five-million-dollar term sheet upstairs flashed in her mind. She kept the smile plastered on her face and nodded. "Of course."

Grayson's hand slid from her wrist to her waist. He gripped her hip hard, his fingers pressing possessively into her side, and physically pushed her forward, forcing a path through the crowded room.

Up on the second-floor balcony, Brendan stood perfectly still. He watched Grayson's hand resting heavily on Aida's waist. His expression remained unreadable, but his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. After a long moment, he brought his cigar to the glass ashtray and pressed it out with a slow, deliberate twist-not in anger, but in calculation.

"Grayson is moving faster than expected," he murmured to Alex, who stood a few feet behind him. "He'll try to take her somewhere private. That's when we move." He glanced at his watch. "Have the intercept teams get into position. I want to be in the underground garage in five minutes." His voice was flat, controlled-the same cold instrument it always was.

Alex nodded and spoke quietly into his earpiece.

Brendan watched as Grayson pushed Aida toward the revolving doors. He didn't move a muscle, but his eyes tracked every step. Then he turned and walked toward the staircase, his long strides unhurried, predatory. "Tell the security detail to get the vehicles ready. Now."

Down on the street level, Grayson pushed through the heavy revolving doors, pulling Aida out into the cold, damp night air. The sudden chill made Aida shiver violently.

A hotel valet jogged up, holding an umbrella. A sleek, black Maybach silently rolled up to the curb, its tires hissing on the wet pavement.

Grayson reached out, pulled the heavy rear door open himself, and mockingly bowed. "After you."

Aida hesitated for a fraction of a second. The dark interior of the car looked like an open grave. She took a breath, bent her head, and slid into the plush leather seat in the back.

Grayson climbed in right behind her. He slammed the door shut and leaned forward. "Take us to my penthouse," he told the driver.

The Maybach pulled away from the curb, its powerful engine purring as it merged into the heavy, glowing stream of traffic on Fifth Avenue.

From the balcony, Brendan had already descended the stairs and was now striding through the lobby toward the underground garage. He tapped his earpiece. "Alex, what's our tracking on Lott's driver?"

"Confirmed, sir. The route is heading south toward Lower Manhattan-likely his private basement garage in the Meatpacking District. No public cameras inside that structure," Alex replied.

Brendan's eyes narrowed. That was the trigger. If Grayson took Aida to a completely private, unmonitored location, the "test" had just become a kidnapping. "Abort the espionage track," Brendan said, his voice hard as steel. "Move to phase two. I want the intercept teams at the following coordinates. We hit him before he gets her behind closed doors."

Deep in the subterranean concrete levels of the hotel's parking garage, Brendan walked with long, furious strides toward a massive, black, armored Cadillac Escalade.

He yanked the heavy rear door open and threw himself onto the leather seat. The air inside the SUV instantly felt thick with his suffocating, violent energy.

Alex jumped into the front passenger seat. He held a glowing tablet in his hands, his eyes locked on a blinking red dot moving across a digital map of Manhattan.

"Target vehicle is heading south toward Lower Manhattan," Alex reported, his voice tight.

"Follow them," Brendan ordered the driver. "Tell the intercept teams to get into position."

Three unmarked, black SUVs roared to life. They peeled out of the parking garage in a tight, synchronized formation, looking like mechanical ghosts hunting in the rain.

Inside the Maybach, the silence was heavy. Grayson suddenly shifted his weight, sliding closer to Aida. He reached out and wrapped a thick lock of her dark hair around his finger, tugging it slightly.

Aida's entire body went rigid. Her breath caught in her throat. She kept her eyes straight ahead, looking past the driver's shoulder. In the side mirror, through the rain-streaked glass, she saw the aggressive, boxy headlights of a massive black SUV riding dangerously close to their bumper.