Page 9 of Devil’s Azalea (Nightshades #3)

“So with that, I ask you all to proceed to the theater where the performance will start in approximately ten minutes. Thank you—and cheers!” Jason Moore announces with a charming smile, raising his wine glass.

“Cheers!” The crowd echoes his toast, sipping their drinks before streaming towards the theater.

I move in the opposite direction—towards the councilor, who’s talking to a group of men I’m guessing are his subordinates based on their stiff postures.

From my peripheral vision, I spot a suited man approaching. One of Jason’s bodyguards, no doubt. I pretend not to see him and pick up my pace.

He speeds up and suddenly cuts in front of me, blocking my path. “That’s the way to the theater, ma’am.” He gestures politely, but his expression is anything but.

“I suppose your interference would be helpful—if I were actually heading to the theater.” I lay the accent on thick, deliberately pitching my voice to carry to Jason, who pauses mid-conversation to glance our way.

“But I believe I have a date with that man standing right there.” I nod towards the councilor.

Jason dismisses his entourage with a flick of his wrist and strolls over, brows climbing, eyes twinkling as he takes me in. “Carol?”

The bodyguard retreats a step, gaze darting between us uncertainly.

“In the flesh, darling.” I flash my most dazzling smile, channeling every ounce of Carol Walker’s refined confidence.

The real Carol has been invited to this thing twice before and never once showed, always choosing to buy auction items through a proxy.

But this year, Jason Moore personally reached out to let her know that a piece of art she’d been searching for over the past six months would be on his auction block.

The two got to chatting, and he promised to be her guide for the evening, since she expressed reservations about navigating a crowd of strangers.

“Wow, look at you—you’re stunning. It’s nice to finally meet you in person.” With a subtle nod, Jason has the guard melting into the background as he shakes my hand.

“High praise coming from a man like you,” I say flirtatiously, earning a low chuckle from him.

“Come on, the show is about to start. Let me take you to my box seat.” He offers me the crook of his arm, which I accept with gracious poise.

We walk through the now-quiet hall, and I’m hyperaware of the eyes on us—his security detail. I count four, but I’m pretty sure there are more lurking out of sight.

If I’m going to make a move, it’ll have to be when we’re alone.

That means enduring the full hours-long ballet and then some, because he’s scheduled to give another speech after the show to kick off the auction. People would definitely notice if he were suddenly… unavailable.

I keep the charm turned up to eleven as he escorts me to his private box, where two security men are standing guard. Yeah, I for sure can’t do anything here.

The box is different from the usual theater balconies. There’s thick glass separating us from the rest of the audience—insulated, soundproof, and I’d bet my last dollar it’s bulletproof.

“This seat has the best view in the theater,” Jason brags, casually draping his arm across my shoulders.

My spine stiffens involuntarily. Relax , I command myself. “I can tell. It’s like we’re standing right in front of the stage.” I add a little giggle for good measure, acting suitably impressed, and he preens at the validation.

A somber string of orchestra music filters through hidden speakers inside the box, and a lone ballerina pirouettes onto the stage, looking morose. The crowd claps. I suppose this could be an intriguing start if you’re into these types of shows.

I feign interest in the performance while conducting a thorough assessment of my surroundings.

Jason wasn’t lying—this is the best view.

Not only is the stage right in front of us, but with the way the box is angled, I can see almost everyone in the audience, including the people in the other box seats.

Except for one.

The box next to ours has blacked-out windows. Whoever is in there can see out, but nobody can see in.

Who the hell needs that kind of privacy? A surprise VIP? Someone with something to hide?

Whatever. Doesn’t fucking matter. My target is Jason. And if I’m going to convince him to take me up to his office during the auction, I need to ramp up my seduction act.

But it turns out, I don’t even need to try.

For the next hour, Jason takes on the role of seducer like he’s been rehearsing for it all week, his fingers brushing my bare shoulders as he talks. And he talks a lot. He can’t seem to shut up. Bombarding me with boasts about his role as a councilor, about his business ventures—blah blah blah…

It’s all fluff. Nothing useful. Just an ego parade meant to impress some high-rolling art collector. He even invites me to his home to come check out his “gorgeous collection”— and judging by the way he wiggles his brows, it’s clear that’s not all he wants me to see.

He’s married, for God’s sake. Even if his wife isn’t big on public appearances, married is married no matter what.

Not that his infidelity matters to my mission, but it adds another layer of disgust to his character .

By the time the final notes of the ballet fade and the dancers take their bows, I’m desperate to escape his suffocating presence. I’ve had enough of him. No way I’m following him to his office now. I’m changing the plan.

“Well, thank you for an entertaining evening,” I tell him as I start to get up. Jason follows me smoothly, moving into my space. We’ve been flirting for an hour; it’d be weird if I just walked out.

So I lean in—barely having to bend given his diminutive stature—and press a soft kiss to his cheek, leaving behind a perfect imprint of toxin-laced lipstick.

He quickly takes advantage of my proximity, slipping a hand to the small of my back, pulling me closer. My skin crawls beneath his touch, but I keep my seductive facade, lips curved in invitation. When he leans in to claim my mouth, I press a restraining hand against his chest.

“Councilor, please,” I murmur. “Everyone can see us.”

His lips twist into a smirk of masculine triumph. “Of course. We can go somewhere private after my speech.” He winks, and I giggle again, like a fucking airhead.

I’ve got him on the hook, so I have to keep playing along. But with the lipstick stain now marking his cheek—right above his jawline—he won’t have the chance to try anything with me. It’s only a matter of time before the azalea toxins kick in. I just need to get away from him before that happens.

I back towards the door, keeping my gaze fixed on Jason, ignoring the two guards still in the box with us. “That sounds scandalous, Councilor. I'm in.” I wink and reach behind me for the handle.

As I step into the corridor with Jason right on my heels, the door next to us slides open—and my entire world narrows to a single point of focus.

Rafael .

A jolt of heat mixed with dread rockets through me, flooding my veins. And the people spilling out of the other box seats blur into background noise.

My ears pop, and silence descends so completely I can hear my heart hammering against my ribs as those beautiful silver eyes arrest mine.

He stands motionless, studying me with undisguised interest, clad in a perfectly tailored gray suit and plain black tie that somehow makes his eyes stand out even more. His midnight hair is slicked back from his face, not a strand out of place.

Handsome as sin.

He isn’t supposed to be here. Greg promised .

He can’t recognize me. Right?

But then he tilts his head, eyes twinkling like we’re sharing some secret. Fuck, that looks a hell of a lot like recognition.

Instinctively, I retreat a step—straight into Jason’s chest. He takes it as an invitation and eagerly wraps his arms around my waist. Perfect. Just what I needed.

Then I see her.

A blonde head pops up over Rafael’s shoulder as some woman clings to his arm and leans in to whisper something.

The second her lips start moving, the room snaps back into focus, and all the sounds slam into me at once—chatter, music, footsteps. Too much noise. Yet Rafael’s gaze doesn’t waver. It’s magnetic, pulling at me, and I can’t look away. I can’t.

“Hey, what is it, my pretty?” Jason’s voice intrudes.

Right. The mission. Focus on the goddamn mission, Emilia. I can’t allow Rafael’s unexpected presence to ruin everything. Not when I’m so close to my goal.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” I clear my throat and finally tear my gaze away from the magnetic man.

Jason looks up and greets my nemesis like an old friend.

“Rafael! I hope you enjoyed the show?” His voice grates against my eardrums, but at least the question does its job—Rafael’s attention shifts away from me, just long enough for me to discreetly exhale and try to calm the thundering in my chest.

“It was certainly… interesting,” Rafael answers, voice deep and dry. Then his laser-focused gaze snaps right back to me. “Who’s your date?”

Jason beams like an idiot and nudges me forward. “This is the well-accomplished Carol Walker. Art collector and writer.”

“Carol Walker.” Rafael rolls the name on his tongue, his face blank. But I fucking know the asshole recognizes me.

Still, I can’t afford to break character. Rafael might recognize me, but that’s no reason to blow my cover with Jason. So I lift my chin haughtily and stare down my nose at him. “And you are?” I ask with the kind of posh arrogance that makes people apologize for breathing too loudly.

The collective gasp from Jason and the blonde woman tells me I’ve just committed the social equivalent of blasphemy. Perfect.

The corner of Rafael’s mouth twitches. Oh, the bastard is enjoying this.

“Rafael Moretti, at your service, Miss Walker.” He extends his hand, and I realize with dread that I’ve maneuvered myself into an impossible position—I have to touch him.

Fuck .

His warm hand swallows mine whole, sending electric currents racing up my arm.

The handshake is perfectly appropriate in pressure, but something in the way his fingers curl around mine suggests possession rather than greeting.

If he decides to maintain his grip, there’s no way I could possibly get my hand out unless I want to make a scene. Which I don’t.

He watches me intently, his gaze all sharp curiosity and unsettling calm, like he’s cataloging every microexpression, every flutter of my pulse.

My heart hammers so violently, I half expect it to punch right through my ribs—or just give up entirely and flatline from the overwork.

Not to mention my skin being on fire, and not in the sexy way.

I can already feel the sweat dripping down my back.

God, please don’t let my hand be sweaty too. Please, please.

“Nice to meet you,” I manage, my voice sounding unnervingly thin. I cough lightly as I try to pull my hand out of his. He doesn’t let go , and somehow my pulse spikes even higher.

Then, slowly, his thumb brushes across my knuckles. Once. Twice. The gentle stroke sends a jolt of electricity through me, and just when I think I’ll explode, he releases me with a smug, satisfied smile.

I swallow hard and quickly turn away, pretending I’m not rattled to my core—completely forgetting about Jason until he opens his damn mouth again.

“Say, how about Carol and I join you for the auction, Rafael? You’ve skipped out on my events the past few years, and now that you’re finally here, I’m eager to show you what you’ve been missing. Maybe convince you to come back next year.”

I freeze. Fuck. Fuck. Say no. Say no. SAY NO.

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Rafael says, that amused note still coloring his voice.

My fists clench at my side as fury and panic rip through me.

Of course he said yes.