Page 48 of Code Name: Atticus

“Yeah, uh, practice pretending we’re happily married?”

“Right. Pretend.” She started to walk away, but I pulled her into my arms instead.

“Because tonight, at the party, I’m going to have to touch you. Hold you. Look at you like you’re my whole world.”

“I know.”

“I need you to understand—it won’t be acting.”

“Mason—”

“However I look at you or touch you, it’s real. All real.”

“We should shower.”

I raised a brow. “Yeah?”

When Brenna nodded, I lifted her in my arms and found her mouth with a kiss. It was everything—desperate and tender, hungry and careful. Her hand gripped the front of my shirt, and I raced up the stairs.

“You sure you want to shower now?” I asked, walking into the bedroom.

She glanced over at the bed. “We should probably get dirty first.”

“Now, you’re talking.”

What happened next was a blur of heat and need. Clothes disappeared, hands explored, and we got lost in each other’s bodies. Searching, learning, pleasuring. Then, repeating.

At four-thirty,I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting my tie for the third time.

“You look good,” Brenna said from the doorway. She was wrapped in a towel, her hair still damp from the shower.

“So will you.” I pulled her against me and threw the towel away. “Though I prefer you this way.”

“Morrison might find it a bit casual for Maison Blanc.”

“Morrison can go to hell.”

She laughed. “Go downstairs. If you stay here and watch me get dressed, we’ll never make it to dinner.”

She had a point. I went down to the kitchen and poured myself a scotch—just enough to take the edge off, not enough to dull my senses. We’d need to be sharp tonight.

When Brenna descended the stairs a few minutes later, the dress she wore made my mouth go dry. It was black, elegant, and understated. Her hair was styled in a simple twist, and she wore diamond earrings that shimmered in the light.

“You’re staring,” she said.

“Can you blame me?”

Maison Blanc occupieda corner lot in downtown Atherton. The valet took my keys, and when we went inside, we found Emma and Kodiak—Jordan and Sarah—already sipping martinis.

“Well, hello. Don’t you look gorgeous?” said Kodiak, earning a glare from me.

“Watch it?—”

“Gentlemen, ladies.” Morrison’s voice cut through my warning. He approached with Liu and Castellano flanking him like lieutenants. “So glad you could make it.”

The maître d’ led us to a private dining room in the back. The space was intimate—one table, floor-to-ceiling wine racks, no windows. Perfect for conversations you didn’t want overheard.

Morrison took the head of the table, naturally. Castellano and Liu flanked him, leaving the four of us to face them like it was a job interview. Which, I supposed, it was.