I exit the elevator in the lobby to find it empty except for the security guard and a doorman.
 
 Desmond is on duty again, so I toss him a smile. “Hey!”
 
 “Abby.” He pushes to stand, smoothing a hand over the front of his well-tailored jacket. “I made a reservation for Lise for Sunday brunch. I’ll report back on Monday.”
 
 “You’re going to love it,” I say with confidence, even though I’ve never tasted the bistro’s brunch offerings. “Let me know what your favorite dish is.”
 
 He falls in step next to me as I cross the lobby. “Will do. Are you calling it a night?”
 
 I nod. “I’m going to surprise my sister with pizza.”
 
 “Excellent choice.” He grins. “I’ve yet to find a pepperoni pie in this city I hate.”
 
 I don’t bother to tell him that Carrie’s favorite has always been and will always be prosciutto and arugula on a thin crust.
 
 The doorman tips his head forward as he holds the heavy glass door open for me to exit.
 
 “Thank you,” I whisper. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
 
 “I can hail a taxi,” Desmond offers. “Unless that car is waiting for you.”
 
 I glance in the direction he’s pointing toward a black Mercedes parked near the curb. I’ve seen hundreds of these cars in New York City since I moved here, but a sinking feeling settles in my gut because this screams Declan.
 
 It takes less than a second for my fear to be confirmed when the back passenger window slowly lowers.
 
 “Mr. Wells,” Desmond says. “I thought you left fifteen minutes ago.”
 
 I turn to face the guard. “I’ll leave you to chat with Mr. Wells. Goodnight.”
 
 “Night!” Desmond calls after me as I start walking down the sidewalk.
 
 I don’t make it ten feet before I hear a car door slam behind me.
 
 “Abigail!” Declan’s voice snaps through the air with an authoritative bite. “We need to talk.”
 
 Without glancing back, I shake my head. “I have somewhere to be.”
 
 A large hand circles my bicep before I can take another step. The silk of my white blouse may separate his touch from my skin, but it still sends a pulse of electricity straight through me.
 
 “Turn around, Abby.”
 
 I thought I’d have tonight to steel myself for my next conversation with him. I have a million questions about when he decided to buy Llura Condoms and why he thinks I’m the perfect woman for the job.
 
 I spin to face him. “Yes?”
 
 His gaze locks on mine. “Join me for dinner.”
 
 “I have plans,” I shoot back with a sugary sweet smile.
 
 “Break them.”
 
 “No.” I shake my head.
 
 “Yes,” he says with a nod.
 
 “Why?”
 
 The corners of his mouth edge toward a smile, but he chases it away with a bite to his bottom lip. “We need to talk strategy.”