RAINE BELMONT
I laughed. Lena was spicy and adorable--much like an irritated chipmunk.
"Con artist, huh?" I leaned in a little closer, enough to catch the faint scent of vanilla and something else—turpentine, maybe? Was she an artist ... or an arsonist? hard tell what my little chipmunk was up to. "What gave me away? The suit? The devilishly handsome smile?"
She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "The fact that you just called yourself 'devilishly handsome' is a pretty big clue."
Lena adjusted her glasses again—a nervous habit, I was starting to realize—and glanced around the room like she was looking for an escape.
"So," I said, plucking a fresh champagne flute from a passing waiter's tray and offering it to her. "If you're not here to schmooze or get drunk, then what? Secret agent? Social media influencer?"
She hesitated before taking the glass, her fingers brushing mine for half a second. That tiny touch was enough to make my pulse kick up.
