LENA GARRETT
The moment the car door shut behind me, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. My fingers curled into the leather seat, my pulse still hammering from the way Raine Belmont had looked at me—like I was a puzzle he couldn't wait to solve.
Idiot.
I shouldn't have given him my number.
The driver—some silent, suited man Vanessa had summoned with a snap of her fingers—didn't speak as the car glided through the city's neon-lit streets. The tinted windows turned the world outside into a blur of color, the same way my thoughts were spinning.
Research. That's all this is.
But Raine's smirk, the way his fingers had danced over the piano keys like he was used to getting exactly what he wanted—it had thrown me off. I wasn't here to flirt with some rich boy playing at being charming. I was here because the Belmonts had secrets, and secrets had a way of burying people.
My phone buzzed in my clutch.
I didn't need to look to know who it was.
I looked anyway.
