"I wasn't expecting you to call back so quickly."
Marcus Thorne's voice was warm through the phone as Aria sat in a coffee shop three blocks from his office building. She'd spent the morning researching his company and preparing for this conversation.
"When an opportunity interests me, I don't see the point in waiting," she replied. "Your assistant said you have an opening for a curator position?"
"I do. My private collection has grown beyond what I can manage alone. I need someone with expertise in European art, particularly Russian pieces."
Aria's pulse quickened. Of course, he specialized in Russian art. Half of it was probably stolen from families like hers.
"That's exactly my area of focus. I've worked extensively with imperial Russian artifacts."
"Perfect. Can you come in this afternoon? Say around three?"
"I'll be there."
Two hours later, Aria stood outside Thorne Industries adjusting the neckline of her dress. She'd chosen it carefully. Professional but not boring. Black silk that showed she had a body without being obvious about it. The kind of outfit that made men think they were getting glimpses they weren't supposed to see.
Especially when combined with a strategically loosened button.
The elevator to the fiftieth floor gave her time to get into character. Elena Sterling, an art expert from London. Sophisticated, educated, and just mysterious enough to be interesting.
The reception area costs more than most people's houses. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered views of the entire city. Modern art covered the walls, pieces that belonged in museums.
"Ms. Sterling?" The receptionist was young and pretty with a smile that meant she was paid very well. "Mr. Thorne is ready to see you."
Marcus's office was enormous. One wall was entirely windows looking out over Manhattan. The other walls displayed art that would make museum curators weep. And behind a massive desk sat the man himself.
He looked different than at the auction. More relaxed, less formal. His suit jacket hung on his chair, and his sleeves were rolled up. There was something almost boyish about him that made her chest tighten unexpectedly.
"Elena." He stood and walked around the desk to greet her. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Thank you for making time to see me."
As she moved toward him, Aria stumbled slightly. Not enough to seem clumsy, just enough to make her reach out to steady herself. In the process, her hand brushed his arm, and her already-loose button gave way.
The silk gaped open, revealing the lace edge of her bra before she quickly covered herself.
"I'm so sorry," she said, color flooding her cheeks as she fumbled with the button. "How embarrassing."
Marcus's eyes had dropped automatically to the glimpse of lace, then immediately back to her face. But she caught the way his jaw tightened and the slight flare of his nostrils.
"Don't worry about it," he said, his voice rougher than before. "These things happen."
But his eyes kept flicking back to her neckline as she finished fixing the button. The professional businessman was still there, but now there was something else underneath. Something hungry.
"Should we sit down?" he asked, gesturing toward a seating area near the windows.
They settled into leather chairs facing each other. Aria crossed her legs, letting her skirt ride up just enough to be interesting. Marcus tried not to look, but she caught him glancing at her thighs.
"Tell me about your background," he said. "What made you specialize in Russian art?"
"My grandmother was Russian. She fled during the revolution with nothing but a few pieces of jewelry. Growing up, I was fascinated by the stories she told about the world she'd lost."
"That must have been difficult for her. Losing everything."
"It was. But she always said the real tragedy wasn't losing the jewels or money. It was losing the art. The beautiful things that connected people to their history."
Marcus nodded like he understood. "Art is immortal in a way that people aren't. It survives wars and revolutions."
"Exactly. That's why I became a curator. To help preserve those connections."
As they talked, Aria made sure to lean forward occasionally, giving him glimpses down her neckline. She watched his eyes darken each time and watched his hands clench slightly on his chair arms.
"What about your most recent position?" he asked.
"I spent three years with a restoration project in Switzerland. We were cataloging pieces scattered during World War Two." She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. "Before that, I worked for a private collector who preferred to stay out of the public eye."
Marcus's attention kept drifting to her movements, to the way the silk clung to her body when she shifted position. Professional conversation is becoming something else entirely.
"Your collection is impressive," she said, gesturing at the paintings on his walls. "That Kandinsky is museum quality."
"You have a good eye. It took me two years to acquire that piece."
"From a museum?"
"From a private estate. The family needed money more than they needed art."
The irony was incredible. Marcus Thorne was sitting there talking about families forced to sell their treasures while surrounded by art he'd murdered people to obtain.
"What exactly would my responsibilities be?" she asked, leaning forward again.
Marcus's eyes dropped automatically to her neckline before jerking back up. "Cataloging, authentication, acquisition advice. I'm always looking to expand the collection."
"It sounds like an incredible opportunity."
"The salary is generous. Six figures plus bonuses." His voice was getting rougher. "You'd have your own office and access to resources most curators dream of."
"There's just one problem," he added.
Aria's stomach clenched. Had he figured out who she was?
"What problem?"
Marcus leaned forward, closing the distance between them. "I have a policy against getting involved with employees. But I have a feeling that's going to be very difficult with you."
Heat shot through her body. He was flirting with her during a job interview. The arrogance was breathtaking.
"Mr. Thorne..."
"Marcus. And don't worry, I'm not suggesting anything inappropriate. I'm just being honest about the situation."
"What situation?"
"You're beautiful and intelligent, and we clearly share similar interests. Under other circumstances, I'd be asking you to dinner instead of offering you a job."
His honesty was disarming. Most powerful men were more subtle, at least during business meetings.
"I appreciate your directness," she said.
"So you'll take the position?"
"I'd like to think about it overnight."
Marcus stood and walked her to the door. As he shook her hand goodbye, he held on longer than necessary. His thumb brushed across her knuckles in a way that was definitely not professional.
"I hope you'll say yes. I have a feeling we'd work very well together."
The elevator ride down felt endless. Aria's mind spun with everything she'd learned. Marcus wanted to hire her to manage his art collection. The same collection that included pieces stolen from her family.
It was perfect. She'd have access to his private spaces, his schedule, and his most valuable possessions. She'd be able to study his security and find the perfect opportunity to strike.
But she hadn't expected him to be so direct about his attraction. The way he'd looked at her, like he was already imagining her naked, had sent heat through her body despite everything she knew about him.
Outside the building, she found a quiet spot to call Vera.
"How did it go?"
"He offered me the job. Managing his private art collection."
"Perfect. When do you start?"
"I haven't accepted yet. I told him I needed to think about it."
"Why? This is exactly what we've worked toward."
"He was very direct about being attracted to me. It might complicate things."
"Or it might make things easier. Rich men think with their dicks. Use that."
Vera was right. A little workplace attraction wouldn't throw her off her game.
"I'll call him tomorrow and accept."
"Good. The sooner you're inside his organization, the sooner we can finish this."
After hanging up, Aria walked through Central Park thinking about her conversation with Marcus. He'd seemed genuinely interested in her opinions about art. And his policy about employees suggested he had some kind of moral code.
But that could all be an act. Rich psychopaths were often charming.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Marcus: "Forgot to mention, the position comes with access to the company box at Lincoln Center. Hope you enjoy the opera."
How did he know she liked opera? Then she remembered the Prague Opera House. He'd been paying attention to details she hadn't realized she'd revealed.
She typed back, "I love opera. Thank you for thinking of it."
"Dinner tomorrow night? To celebrate your new position. Assuming you say yes."
This was happening exactly as planned. Get the job, get close to him, and make him trust her completely.
"I'd like that. And yes, I'm saying yes to the position."
"Excellent on both counts. I'll pick you up at eight."
As the car pulled into Manhattan traffic, Aria felt a mix of satisfaction and unease. Tomorrow night, she'd have dinner with Marcus Thorne as his newest employee. She'd let him think he was seducing her while she learned everything about his vulnerabilities.
But the way he'd looked at her during the interview, the genuine desire in his eyes, had affected her more than it should have. For a moment, she'd forgotten he was her target and just felt like a woman being appreciated by a very attractive man.
That was dangerous. She needed to remember that everything about Marcus Thorne was a lie, including his charm.
Tomorrow night would test whether five years of training had been enough to resist whatever game he was playing.
Because, despite everything she knew about him, part of her was looking forward to seeing him again.