Page 24 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

“And Jessica?”

Both she and Stefano come to a stop, each of them looking back at the woman.

“Yes?” she murmurs a bit apprehensively.

“That name will never do. Charming as it may be, there are nogirls next doorhere. Think of another, yes?”

Nodding her understanding, Jessica replies, “Okay.”

“Off you go.”

Beatrice disappears into her office, and Stefano continues to escort her down the hall. He gives her hip a squeeze and she looks up at him, entirely unsure of what to say.

“If all goes to plan, you’ll get two nights with the most coveted John in this place, and you’ll make a fucking killing.”

Overwhelmed by all that’s been said and done in the last fifteen minutes, Jessica doesn’t know how to process what he’s saying, let alone respond. Instead, she asks, “But—what now?”

“Now you spend an hour with Evelyn. You are not officially a part of the Queen’s collection until you are outfitted with enough lingerie from Clandestine’s Closet to appeal to any man.”

“Oh,” she mutters breathlessly.

“Don’t worry. This is the fun part.”

When they reach the end of the passageway, he leads her up a short flight of stairs, abandoning her long enough to press a button. At his touch, the mirror on the wall opens up, and Jessica stares in awe as he takes her hand and guides her through it. Her jaw goes slack when she realizes they are in the back hallway of the lingerie boutique.

Coughing out a laugh, she tells Stefano, “I really should have asked you more questions about your job over the last couple of years.”

He offers her a small smile, parting the heavy black curtain between them and the store. “Come on, Jess.”

He catches Evelyn’seye from where she stands, straightening merchandise near the front of the store. He dips his chin in a subtle sign of acknowledgment, and a soft smile graces her face as she proceeds to walk toward them.

“Don’t worry about the prices on anything, you can have what you love and what Evelyn agrees to,” he says, speaking to Jessica, yet keeping his gaze trained on the woman heading their way. She jerks her neck, tossing her long, black bangs out of her eyes, her short bob swaying around her chin with the action. “And you must answer any questions she will ask honestly. It’s important.”

“Questions? What kind of questions?”

Jessica’s voice forces him to find her eyes, and he stares at her for a second. Without even thinking about it, he sweeps her long hair over her shoulder and down her back as he gazes at her. One of her pretty brown eyes is slightly smaller than the other—the only flaw on her entire face, and almost entirely imperceptible at that. He’s always considered it the universe’s way of maintaining balance in the world. It wouldn’t be fair for her to be completely perfect.

“Stef?”

“What you share with her will be your only chance to give voice to your sexual boundaries.”

Her mouth falls open again, and he taps it closed just as they are joined by one of Clandestine’s finest stylists.

“Don’t worry. This is the fun part,” she says in greeting.

After passing Jessica along to Evelyn, Stefano stands back and watches as the women venture into the land of lace and leather, all the while wondering if he’s made the right decision.

Smoothing back a nonexistent stray hair, he draws in a sharp breath and turns on his heel to return to his desk. With each step he takes, he hopes with every ounce of his being his plan will come to fruition. If there’s one thing he knows for sure, it’s that there’s no one better for his beloved dove than Khalohn Morgan.

“What was thatabout?” Timothy asks. He stands from his desk abruptly, hurrying into the walkway with Khalohn as he makes his way back to his own seat.

Khalohn doesn’t bother trying to hide his grin, glancing at his friend as he replies, “Oh, just a chat.”

“Bullshit,” Timothy scoffs, keeping pace with Khalohn’s rapid stride. “Turner Jefferies calls you into his office for a private meeting after the all-hands, and you expect me to believe he wanted to talkgolf?”

Khalohn scowls playfully, stopping just short of his destination as he says, “Golf? I don’t play golf.”

“Stop being an asshole. Are you really not going to tell me?” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his slacks, which are at least a size too big for him, making him look young in that disheveled kind of way. Khalohn doesn’t blame the guy, acknowledging they’re all still a little wet behind the ears. Even with their master’s degrees and the name plates on their desks, they’re new financial analysts at Blakney Properties, paying their dues.

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