Page 57 of Lady and the Hitman
He didn’t look at me. Just said, “They know not to ask questions.”
The elevator climbed. Fast. Silent.
I leaned into the corner and studied him—the dark suit, the coiled strength in his frame, the utter calm in his jaw. “You don’t strike me as a tech billionaire,” I murmured.
“I’m not.”
“Then how?” I asked, genuine curiosity threading through the lust. “How do you have this much money? These connections?”
His eyes met mine, unreadable.
He didn’t answer right away.
A long silence stretched between us, thick with heat and tension. I could see the muscle ticking in his jaw, the way his gaze flicked away for just a second—like he wasweighing something. Like he wasn’t used to being asked, and even less used to answering.
“I don’t usually talk about it,” he said, voice low. “Not because I can’t. But because most people wouldn’t believe me. Or they’d wish they hadn’t asked.”
That only made me more curious.
“But I’m not most people,” I said softly.
He studied me for a beat longer. Then nodded, barely.
“I spent ten years in military special operations,” he said finally. “Classified work. Off-books. When I left, I didn’t leave empty-handed. I made deals.”
“Deals?” I repeated.
He nodded once. “Certain people owed me favors. Others owed me silence. I parlayed that into contracts.”
“So you’re not a criminal,” I said slowly. “But you’re not ... not.”
“I’m what people hire when they want results. And no trail.”
“And now you ... hunt women in zoos.”
His lips curved. “Only the ones who ask for it.”
My thighs clenched.
The elevator chimed. The doors opened onto a private suite floor—marble and gold and lush carpeting that whispered beneath our feet.
He didn’t hesitate.
The suite was absurd. Modern and massive. A wall of glass looked out over the city. The furniture was soft and curved, low light casting everything in amber glow. There was champagne chilling in a silver bucket, already sweating from the humidity of the room. Rose petals, scattered deliberately—not cheesy, but decadent.
I turned in a slow circle. “Did you plan this?”
“No,” he said. “I had it ready.”
My breath caught.
“For when?” I asked.
“From the second I read your letter.”
He stepped closer, voice dark and deliberate.
“I knew you’d come.”
