Page 97 of Manhattan State of Mind

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About a half hour later, there’s a knock at my bedroom door.

Ungracefully, I totter over, the skyscraper heels and me still signing a truce. I yank the door open and—holy crap. My jaw drops so hard it almost smacks the floor.

I knew he’d clean up nice, but I wasn’t expectingthis.

There he stands, a vision of masculine elegance. He’s Bruce Wayne meets James Bond, with a touch of Darcy all wrapped up in a sinfully tailored black tuxedo. The razor-sharp lines of the jacket highlight his wide shoulders and hug his muscular arms in all the right places. His striking brown eyes stand out against his tanned complexion and artfully groomed stubble. Even in my sky-high heels, I’m no match for his towering height.

He should come with a public safety announcement: Do not make important life choices after viewing.

Those deep, brooding brown eyes meet mine, and bam! My heart rate goes haywire, hitting a solid ten on the panic scale.

“Lucy,” he murmurs, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. “You’re nothing short of breathtaking.” His gaze sweeps down, giving the twins a generous once-over before continuing its southbound journey. “You could stop traffic. Though, that seems to be a superpower you have, regardless of what you’re wearing.”

I make a weird gulping sound, somewhere between a squeak and a dying seal.

The way he’s sizing me up, all caveman-like and unapologetically masculine, sends my stomach on a rollercoaster ride.

“What, you don’t believe me?” he asks. “Every pair of eyes will be on you in that dress.”

His nostrils flare, and I have no idea about his endgame tonight, but in this moment, my self-pep talk, Matty’s pep talk, and all common sense make a grand exit.

All that matters is that this God in a tux keeps looking at me like I’m the belle of the ball.

“Not too shabby yourself,” I mutter, aiming for casual and landing somewhere in the region of flustered.

Not too shabby? If only he knew my ovaries were forming a fan club in his honor, cheering at full volume.

Keep it cool, woman. Don’t let him catch a whiff of your attraction.

He chuckles, a playful glint in his dark brown eyes. “Thank you. I do my best not to repel people with my hideousness.”

I snort inelegantly. “Somehow I doubt you’ve repelled any woman of late.”

His expression darkens. “You didn’t exactly jump for joy when I asked you to come with me. But I’d like you to have a good evening.”

I make a noncommittal sound as a weird fluttering sensation invades my chest. If I didn’t know any better, it could be mistaken for hope.

I quash that feeling ruthlessly. “I feel like my neck should have its own security team. What if something happens to this necklace?” I grasp it nervously. “What if it falls off?” I’m pretty sure I’d notice, but you never know.

He shrugs it off. “Nothing will happen. It looks beautiful on you, by the way.”

“I’ll put the outfit and necklace away as soon as this event is over.”

“Sure,” he says, though something about my comment seems to irritate him.

He offers his arm. “Shall we?”

Those eyes. That smile. Being under his spell like this is dangerous.

As we walk out together, his hand firm on my back, guiding me along, one thought loops through my mind on repeat: I’m screwed.

TWENTY-SIX

Lucy

Our car glides to a halt outside the outrageously opulent Quinn & Wolfe seven-star hotel in Midtown Manhattan. The sight of glamorous women congregating outside the entrance sets my nerves on edge. A wave of unease washes over me—I feel out of place here, even in my stunning dress.