Page 78 of Ruthless Arrangement

His fingers pause their exploration. “People who can open doors. Or close them permanently.” He leans closer, his breath warm against my ear. “People who know things.”

Ice floods my veins. “What are you talking about?”

But he’s already pulling away, settling back onto his pillow. “Get some sleep, Lea. Tomorrow will require your full attention.”

I lie rigid beside him, mind spinning.Is it a threat? A lure? More manipulation?

I slide further under the covers, wincing as the movement awakens fresh aches. Nico’s breathing has already deepened again, but I don’t trust his apparent return to sleep. He’s shown me plenty times that nothing about him is as it seems.

* * *

I sip my champagne,letting the bubbles dance across my tongue as I observe the room through lowered lashes. The five-star hotel’s private event space vibrates with quiet power; an exclusive gathering of international figures whose wealth and influence cast long shadows across both legitimate and shadowed realms. The lighting is dim, casting everyone in the most flattering glow while concealing the subtle tells that might reveal too much.

My midnight blue dress whispers against my skin as I shift my weight, the fabric chosen by Nico, modest enough to be taken seriously, revealing enough to mark me as his. The bruises from last night’s “lesson” remain concealed beneath the high neckline, my split lip artfully camouflaged with makeup.

I catch fragments of conversation around me: shipping routes discussed in the same breath as stock portfolios, political shifts mentioned alongside supply chains. Every sentence seems to carry double meaning, and I’m recording it all in my mental notebook.

“Impressed?” Nico materializes beside me, one arm sliding possessively around my waist. His touch ignites a conflicting storm of responses, desire and wariness, comfort and alarm.

“It’s quite the gathering,” I reply, careful to keep my voice neutral while leaning into his touch, a purposeful response that affirms his ownership for any watching eyes. “The mayor’s chief of staff speaking so openly with that shipping magnate from Singapore is particularly interesting.”

Nico’s lips quirk upward, approval glinting in his dark eyes. “You notice the right details. Good.”

The praise shouldn’t warm me, but it does, a pavlovian response I’m struggling to control.Four weeks ago, I was an ambitious new journalist chasing a career-making story. Now I’m playing girlfriend to Chicago’s most dangerous power broker while trying to unravel his connection to my increasingly mysterious mother.

And my body still aches from how thoroughly he claimed me last night.

“The Korean delegation arrives in twenty minutes,” Nico murmurs against my ear, his breath warm on my skin. “Stay close when they do.”

I nod, taking another sip of champagne. “Should I prepare to be invisible or engaging?”

His fingers trace small circles at the small of my back. “Observe first. Take part if invited. These men respect intelligence but resent presumption, especially from women. Balance the line carefully.”

“I always do,” I remind him, meeting his eyes.

Something flashes in his eyes, pride mixed with caution. He’s still recalibrating after last night, when I proved I could match his brutal honesty with my own. When I acknowledged that we’re both using each other while refusing to back down.

My phone buzzes in my clutch, three short beats that signal a message from Sienna, my only remaining tether to the normal world.I’ll check it later, when Nico is occupied. For now, I need to focus on navigating this landscape of predators in bespoke suits.

“Varela.” A silver-haired man approaches, hand extended. “A pleasure to see you outside of negotiation rooms.”

Nico’s posture shifts subtly, straightening, hardening, though his smile remains perfectly calibrated. “Senator Harrington. I didn’t expect you until later.”

I recognize the name. Senate Intelligence Committee, three terms, rumored to be eyeing a presidential run.What’s he doing at a gathering of international business interests with known criminal connections?The journalist in me practically salivates at the potential story.

“Plans change,” Harrington replies with practiced affability before turning to me. “And who is your charming companion?”

Nico’s hand tightens at my waist. “Ms. Lea Song. A journalist working on a profile piece.” The way he phrases it, not quite a lie, not fully the truth, reminds me how skilled he is at operating in gray areas.

I extend my hand, channeling the poise my mother drilled into me since childhood. “Senator. Your work on the Pacific Rim Security Act was quite illuminating.”

Surprise flickers across the senator’s features before settling into appreciation. “You follow international policy?”

“Among other things,” I reply, keeping my tone light. “The implications for trade agreements with Korea were particularly interesting, especially regarding pharmaceutical exports.”

It’s a deliberate probe, watching for reactions. Nico’s fingers press warning into my side, but I maintain my pleasant smile. The senator’s eyes narrow before he chuckles.

“Ms. Song, you’re better informed than most policy advisors on my staff.” He turns to Nico. “Careful with this one, Varela. Beauty and brains. That is a dangerous combination.”

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