Page 112 of Sigma

He shakes his head emphatically. “No, ma’am.” And then he’s gone without waiting for a response from me.

I bring the bag into my room and lay it across my bed. Open it.

It’s a little red dress—no tag, no hint of the designer.

I put it on. It’s elegant and sexy, showing a lot of skin without being too revealing, flaunting my curves, emphasizing my skin and hair tone. How did he get my measurements exactly right? Who made it? It fits like a glove, as if he’d had a dressmaker measure every inch of me first, when I know he hasn’t.

Impossible.

Yet, here it is, a custom dress that fits better than anything I’ve ever worn.

Finished getting ready, I waffle on how to get to the restaurant—drive, or be driven? There’s nowhere to land, so I can’t fly.

My phone rings—Alexander, my personal pilot. “Hello, Alex.”

“Ma’am. I’ve got instructions here from Mr. Roth himself. He says he’s been asked, and I quote, by you know who, to fly you where you need to go.”

“I know where I’m going and there’s nowhere to land.”

“That’s been arranged, ma’am.”

I sigh. Men.That’s been arranged. “Very well.”

I head up to the roof and find the jet waiting and warmed up. The flight is short, and I look through the footwell view-bubbles and see that the parking lot has been vacated entirely, leaving a space plenty large enough to land.

Which we do, smoothly.

Exit, fix my hair and the hem of my dress—there’s literally a stripe of red velvet carpet leading from the exit of the jet to the front door, which is being held open by none other than Tomás, Apollo’s assistant and second in command.

He nods to me, smiles. “Is my pleasure to see you again, Miss Roth.” It was his voice I heard, outside the castle. The familiar one. I still can’t place why his voice tickles at my memory.

I smile back. “Under these circumstances, I can say it’s a pleasure to see you too.” I gesture at the restaurant. “Wait, don’t tell me—Apollo bought the whole restaurant for the sole purpose of this little display.”

Tomás snorts a laugh. “He buys parent company which owns…” he trails off, hooking his index fingers around each other, hunting for the right word in English. “Chain? I think this is right word.”

I nod. “If he wants to impress me with displays of wealth, I hope he understands he’s going to have to do better than that.”

Tomás gestures. “Say to him. He is there.”

“Thank you, Tomás.”

“But of course.”

I head inside—the restaurant is a small chain-style Greek restaurant, mostly white interior with faux murals of Ægean life and cheap booths and Ionic columns seemingly at random.

The restaurant is empty, with the exception of three chefs on the other side of the kitchen window and a young woman wearing black slacks and top, a white apron, and a terrified expression. Granted, there are also two armed guards inside the door, and by armed I mean carrying fully automatic rifles, so I understand her terror.

“You could at least post the guards outside,” I say, crossing the restaurant, gesturing at the young server, who can’t be more than eighteen. “She’s about to wet herself.”

Apollo is lounging at a booth in the center of the restaurant, sipping coffee and scrolling on his phone. He snaps his fingers. “You heard her. Outside the door. No one in.”

“Sir,” the men say in unison.

I sit opposite him. “You didn’t entirely eschew the trappings of the empire, it seems.”

He smirks at me, and god that smirk gets me every time. “I’m worth several billion dollars and formerly dealt with, as you once said, the most violent, brutal, ruthless, and ambitious men on the planet. Security is a nonnegotiable.”

I look around. “I must admit, Apollo, that I had envisioned somewhere slightly…more…than this for our first meeting in over two years.”