By the following morning, Nora was starting to settle into the rhythm of her new double life—half glorified housekeeper, half undercover decoy in an international criminal chess game.
She hadn't been shot at yet, so that was a win.
She had, however, learned how to make Adrian's coffee exactly the way he liked it—black, bitter, and somehow judgmental.
"I scheduled your media coaching for noon," she told him as he reviewed a tablet full of encrypted messages at the breakfast table. "And the florist called. They're out of black roses. Should I tell them you'll settle for something less villainous?"
Adrian didn't look up. "Tell them if I see one red petal in this house, I'll shut down their entire supply chain."
Nora sipped her own coffee with a smirk. "Noted. World domination through floral threats. Very on-brand."
His lips twitched, but he said nothing.
Their banter was becoming a thing—a dangerous, flirty, frustrating thing. Sometimes it felt like she was tiptoeing along the edge of a cliff, not sure if she wanted to jump… or if he'd catch her.
"Also," she added, setting down her cup, "your two o'clock just got bumped up to eleven."
He finally looked up, eyes sharp. "Who?"
"Someone named Fiona."
The room shifted.
Adrian's jaw clenched. His grip on the tablet tightened ever so slightly.
"Cancel her."
Nora blinked. "Um. She said, and I quote, 'He can cancel me when he grows the balls to open his own front door.'"
Adrian exhaled through his nose, as if he was trying not to break something expensive.
Then, calmly: "Fine. Let her in."
Nora hesitated. "Should I—"
"No," he said, already rising from the table. "Stay. You'll want to see this."
---
Ten minutes later, the front door opened, and Hurricane Fiona entered the penthouse.
Tall. Blonde. Immaculate. Wearing heels that could double as weapons and sunglasses indoors because apparently, rules didn't apply to her.
"Hello, darling," she said, sweeping into the living room like she owned it. "Still decorating with shadows and secrets, I see."
"Still dramatic," Adrian replied evenly.
Nora stood by the kitchen island, frozen in place, watching them like it was reality TV.
Fiona turned to her with a slow, calculated smile.
"And this must be the new one."
Nora blinked. "Hi. Nora. Not the new anything. Just—assistant. Nanny. Household wine carrier."
"Cute," Fiona said, like the word tasted bad.
"Why are you here, Fiona?" Adrian asked, his tone colder than usual.
Fiona sauntered over to the bar and poured herself a drink at 11:10 AM like it was nothing.
"The Bureau's breathing down your neck again," she said. "And you're not answering our messages."
"Because I stopped working with you."
"And yet you still owe us a favor." She took a sip. "Or did you forget Istanbul?"
That made Adrian's expression flicker. Just for a second.
Nora watched carefully. Adrian rarely showed emotion. But Fiona... Fiona wasn't just anyone.
"I paid my debt," Adrian said. "With interest."
"Your debt is ongoing," she snapped. "They want information, Adrian. And this time, it's not negotiable."
"They want a name?" he asked.
"They want a list."
He was silent.
Then: "Get out."
Fiona laughed. "You really think you can protect your empire without leverage? Without someone watching your back?"
Adrian's voice was a whisper now—low and lethal. "I said. Get. Out."
Fiona turned to Nora with a smile. "If you haven't Googled him yet, you really should. Preferably before he gets you killed."
With that, she strutted out like she hadn't just dropped a grenade and walked away.
The silence she left behind was deafening.
---
"I'm guessing she wasn't here to sell cookies," Nora said cautiously.
Adrian didn't respond. He stood perfectly still, back to her, facing the skyline.
"She's FBI?" she asked.
"Former," he said. "Now she plays both sides."
"And you used to…?"
"Work together," he said flatly. "That's all."
The tension in his shoulders told her otherwise.
"She thinks you're in danger," Nora said.
"She knows I'm dangerous," he corrected.
Nora walked around the counter and stood a few feet from him.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
"I don't need concern, Nora."
"Well, tough. You hired a woman with a bleeding heart and boundary issues, remember?"
His eyes met hers then—cool, guarded, and something else. Something wounded.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
"Too late."
He stared at her a moment longer, then nodded once and left the room without another word.
---
That night, Nora couldn't sleep.
Fiona's visit had shaken something loose in her. Not just curiosity—fear. Real fear. For the first time, she wasn't sure if Adrian Black was the predator or the prey.
Or if she was about to become both.
She wandered the darkened penthouse in a hoodie and leggings, sipping chamomile tea like it could ward off nightmares.
That's when she heard it.
Music. Low. Classical. Coming from behind a closed door she'd never seen open.
Adrian's study.
She shouldn't.
She knew she shouldn't.
But she knocked anyway.
"Come in," came the reply.
She pushed open the door slowly.
The study was lined wall-to-wall with books—leather-bound, heavy, mysterious. A fire crackled in the corner. Adrian sat in an armchair, reading something in a language she didn't recognize.
He looked up.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Too many secrets in the air."
He nodded toward the other chair. "Sit."
She did, curling her legs under her.
They sat in silence for a while. It wasn't uncomfortable.
"Who's on the list Fiona mentioned?" she asked finally.
His jaw tightened. "Enemies. People I've double-crossed. People who want revenge."
"Is my name on it yet?"
He didn't answer.
That scared her more than anything.
"I meant what I said earlier," she whispered. "I'm already in this. So you might as well trust me."
"I don't know how to do that," he said.
"Try anyway."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he closed his book and looked her dead in the eye.
"If I let you in, Nora, you'll never get out."
She swallowed. "Maybe I don't want out."
His gaze lingered on hers—long enough to make her heart stutter.
And then, slowly, Adrian Black smiled.