Page 16 of These Shoes Weren't Made for Stalking

A waiter appeared, and Mr. Steele ordered in perfect French. I tried not to find that attractive. I failed.

“Now,” he said once we were alone, “about that cufflink.”

He held out his hand, palm up.

“Mr. Steele…” I hesitated, my fingers toying with the cufflink in my pocket. The weight of it seemed to grow heavier with each passing second.

I had to trust someone.

Reluctantly, I pulled the cufflink from my pocket and placed it in his palm. Our fingers brushed, sending a jolt of electricity through me. The metal caught the light, winking like it held secrets of its own.

“You really need to start calling me Dominic.” His hand closed around the cufflink, and our eyes met. I felt a strange energy in the space separating us, like static electricity waiting to spark. “We are comrades now, after all.”

“Ah, okay…”

“Did you show this to the Sheriff?”

I bobbed my head. “According to him, there’s no way to prove it belongs to our suspect. Some random visitor might’ve dropped it just as easily.”

“I can try tracing where it came from,” he leaned back in his seat as he studied the cufflink resting on his palm. “It might give us a lead.”

I nodded, unable to look away from him. Despite my suspicions, despite the mystery surrounding him, I couldn’t deny the pull I felt towards this enigmatic alpha.

“Right.” I forced my mind back to the case. “You think you can trace it?”

“I have connections at most of the high-end retailers in the city. This design is distinctive—shouldn’t be hard to find out who bought it, if it was purchased in Millcrest.”

Our wine arrived, a rich red that probably cost more than my monthly income. The sommelier poured with practiced grace, and I took a sip to steady my nerves. Warmth bloomed on my tongue, followed by notes of cherry and something darker.

“Good?” He asked, watching me over the rim of his glass.

“Dangerous,” I replied, setting the glass down. “Like everything about you.”

His lips curved. “You think I’m dangerous?”

“Mr. Ste?—”

His brow lifted.

“Dominic.” I corrected. “I think you’re more than you appear to be.”

“And what do I appear to be?”

“A corporate alpha playing some kind of game.” I met his gaze. “The question is, what are the stakes?”

His expression darkened. I watched him place his wine glass on the table. “Higher than you might think.”

The waiter arrived with our appetizers—delicate plates arranged in artistic designs. The waiter introduced each dish in flawless French as he positioned them in a meticulous row.

“So,” Dominic said, once the waiter had disappeared. “Tell me about this Jake friend of yours. What made him special to the bakery?”

I twirled my wine glass, watching the liquid catch the light. “He was more than just an employee to Rosie. She took him in when no one else would give him a chance. Said he had a gift for pastries.”

“And now he’s missing.”

“Right after your mysterious visit.” I couldn’t help the accusation in my tone.

Dominic’s jaw tightened. “You still think I had something to do with the vandalism?”