Elisabeth's POV
This has to be the worst decision I have ever made in my life. My stilettos echoed against the marble flooring as I hurried to keep pace with Jefferson's determined stride.
I had no clue what possessed him to act this way. Or what possessed me to follow along so willingly. Just moments earlier, we were comfortably seated in that upscale restaurant, and suddenly I found myself being whisked away before our appetizers had even been served.
Everything changed the instant he spoke those two words.
"Number eighteen."
His tone remained perfectly composed, yet something in his delivery made my pulse quicken. He offered no explanation whatsoever. Simply rose from his chair, retrieved what appeared to be an enormous stack of bills from his jacket, and tossed the money onto our table without bothering to count it.
"What exactly are you doing?" I had demanded, my voice climbing several octaves as he seized my wrist and began steering me toward the restaurant's entrance.
