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“Madam VP.”

Vlad's monotone voice snaps me into work mode. This is the call I've been waiting for the last twenty-four hours. Everything is in place; now we just need the Russian president’s help in securing the needed information to follow through with the plan. Okay, the semi-plan. Eh, more of a rough sketch of future events we hope will fall into place.

So really, no plan.

“Is this line secure?”

“As secure as it can be,” I respond, knowing full well the team has taken the necessary precautions for this important call.

“Tomorrow we talk.”

I nod even though he can't see me.

He rattles off an address that I quickly jot down on a nearby notepad. Without a goodbye or “see you soon,” the line goes dead. The smooth screen peels from my cheek, sticky with sweat from the humid island weather. The tip of the pen taps against the notepad as I flick it up and down, staring at the address.

“It's a park,” T says behind me. A quick look up shows him scowling at his phone. “If we hadn't already met this guy, I'd say hell no, too many vulnerable points.”

“But we have, and we’re going,” I say, my focus on the mosaic tile decorating the outdoor bar stool top.

A calloused hand rubs against the exposed skin of my lower back, dragging my deep thoughts from the millions of possibilities that could come up in the meeting to the breathtaking man beside me. A happy smile pulls at my lips. “He'll have access to the information we need, right?”

Trey nods, his eyes searching. No doubt he’s taking in the tight features of my face which give away the layers of stress building beneath my skin and stuffing every corner of my mind.

“I’m sure he will. In Chile, he said you should come to him when we wanted the truth.” A deep line forms between his brows. “It's almost like he knew this would happen.”

“No,” I say in dismay. “There's no way he knew all this would come to a head like it has.” Doubt sinks in even though my words ring true. “Right?”

The slick fabric of his shirt presses against my sweaty back as he steps closer. Leaning forward, he slides his lips across the shell of my ear, causing a delicious shiver to zap down my spine.

“I have something planned for tonight,” he whispers. I close my eyes, focusing on the building heat low in my belly. This is the fire Taeler was talking about last month. His close proximity can set my hormones ablaze.

“What is it?” I ask, my breathless words giving away the heat pulsing through my core.

“Dinner.”

My eyes pop open. Angling my head back, I search his intense gaze. “Dinner? You're still fake engaged, remember?”

He slowly nods. “Which is why what I have planned will happen here, just us.” His gaze cuts away as he chews on his plump lower lip. This sudden shift from confident Trey to vulnerable catches me by surprise.

“What's wrong?”

“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his long dark hair. My attention follows the motion.

“You need a haircut.”

“Will you go on a date?”

I raise my brows. “A date.”

Trey clears his throat. “With me. Tonight.”

I chuckle at his stammering. “Trouble,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I think we're past that part of this”—I motion between us—“don't you?”

He shakes his head, determination now steeling his features. “Never. I never want to take what we have for granted, Mess. Plus, this would count as our first date.”

Chewing on my thumbnail, I think back. “New York?”

“If you think a street vendor hot dog and almost getting mugged constitutes a date, then I need to raise your expectations. Tonight, Mess.” Again he leans close. This time his dark stubble scrapes across my cheek as he slides a kiss to the corner of my lips.