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On second glance, he looks more like an assassin than a chauffeur. I think I can see his eight-pack through his suit. All the security guys around this building look like this; like they take their jobs very seriously.

“Miss Monroe,” he greets me.

“Oh. Hi.” It’s truly pathetic how disappointed I am that it’s not Harlan himself who’s here to meet me. He’s not waiting in the back of the car, either; it’s empty. As I slide into the backseat, I wonder what he told the driver about me.

Though I don’t know where we’re going, I’m surprised when we leave downtown. From the sleek black glass tower we head southward, over the Granville bridge, straight down South Granville, then make a couple of turns as we wind into Shaughnessy. It’s barely more than a fifteen-minute drive, but it feels like we’re in a completely different world.

I’ve only driven through this tree-lined neighborhood a few times over the years, ogling the huge estates and mansions, both old and new, many of them walled-off and gated.

We stop in front of an ornate black iron gate, and it opens for us. Then we roll past the stone wall that looks like it’s been there for a hundred years, and up the gently curving drive, past lush, formal landscaping. The house is immense. Old stone, a sprawling two stories.

Harlan told me our dinner wouldn’t be in public. But I didn’t expect it to be at someone’s home.

The driver parks us in front of the entrance and comes to open my door for me. He offers to take the cake box for me as I slide out, but I prefer to carry it myself. It feels like a sort of security blanket as I follow him up the wide front steps.

The door opens from inside before we get there.

Harlan Vance has opened it himself, wearing a black suit and black collared shirt with a black tie. My breath lodges in my throat.

This feels intimate, too. Him. Me. Seeing each other outside of Vance Tower.

And in his home, presumably.

“Hello,” I say nervously, when he doesn’t greet me, just stares. I’m getting maybe one percent used to his staring. It’s likehe’s too busy running calculations in his head to speak. “You live here?”

“I do.”

I feel the driver ebb away, leaving us alone, as Harlan’s eyes rake over me—from my hair, side-swept in a loose knot, and down my new black sheath dress, which features zero cleavage, a knee-length hem, and just a slight side slit. It’s flattering, classy, but Dani insisted he hasn’t “earned” anything sexier. I tend to agree with that.

“I brought cake,” I say quickly, before he can comment. I’m not sure I want to hear a complimentora critique on my appearance. Either one would just make me more nervous. “It’s a vanilla cake, always a crowd pleaser, but it’s layered with decadent white chocolate ganache,” I babble, “drizzled in more ganache, piled high with fresh fruit, and topped with edible flowers.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” he says warily. The man is more guarded than one really needs to be, what with all the security.

“It’s just what I do,” I say awkwardly. “It’s for your guests. I mean, your family.”

I step inside. He hasn’t exactly invited me in, though he does step aside a bit in a suggestion of welcoming.

He closes the door behind me, shutting out the evening sunlight as I wander into the massive foyer.

The floor is gleaming marble. The chandelier above is vast, the lighting dim and elegant. A massive double staircase curves up to the second floor on either side. The house isn’t modern and sparse like his office, but like his office, I can already see that it’s masculine, meticulously neat, and clean. It’s also hella fancy.

“Please, allow me, miss.” I startle as a middle-aged man in a tidy suit appears like magic at my side. He whisks away the cake before I can recover.

“Was that… a butler?” I say, astonished.

“Of course.” Harlan appears confused, if not slightly irritated, by my wide-eyed awe.

“Oh. I guess I was expecting more of a talking teapot situation.”

We stare at each other.

I guess theBeauty and the Beastreference went right over his head.

I clear my throat, extremely uncomfortable, and look around again.

“My family will be here any minute,” he says. “We should get settled.”

He leads me into a formal sitting room off the foyer. This place is intense. It feels like a vampire lives here, except for the lack of cobwebs and coffins. It’s still bright outside, but all the heavy drapes are drawn. It’s like I’m in another world, or another time.