His voice lowered. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look around like you need rescuing.”
She swallowed.
“I don’t.”
“Good.” He held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
“No.”
The word came out before fear could stop it.
For half a second, even Evan seemed surprised.
Then his face changed.
Not anger exactly. Anger was loud. This was quieter, uglier.
“Excuse me?”
“I need it for work.”
“You need it to ignore me.”
“I don’t ignore you.”
“You ignored me all day.”
“I was on shift.”
He stepped closer again, and Clara backed into the wall.
“Who is he?” Evan asked.
The question struck like a slap because she had no idea what he meant.
“What?”
“Don’t act stupid. You’ve been different for weeks. Looking at me like I’m some problem you’re trying to solve. Working late. Hiding your phone. Wearing makeup to a hotel full of rich men.”
“I wear makeup to cover—”
She stopped.
Too late.
Evan’s eyes dropped to her sleeve.
His mouth tightened.
“To cover what?”
“Nothing.”
His hand closed around her wrist.
Pain shot up her arm, bright and familiar.
“You think you’re better than me now?” he whispered. “Because you fold sheets for people who spend more in one night than you make in a month?”
“Let go.”
His grip tightened.
“Say please.”
Clara looked at him.
The security camera was above them.
The door was behind her.
The hotel was full of people.
Still, fear made her mouth form the word.
“Please.”
Evan smiled and released her.
Then he touched her cheek, gentle enough to make her skin crawl.
“See? We’re fine when you don’t make things difficult.”
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Evan’s eyes sharpened.
“Give it to me.”
Clara did not move.
His smile vanished.
“Clara.”
The employee door opened behind them.
Maya stood there holding a trash bag, her gaze moving from Evan’s face to Clara’s wrist.
“You okay?” Maya asked.
Evan turned charming so quickly it was almost impressive.
“Yeah, we’re good. Just having a private conversation.”
Maya did not look at him. “Clara?”
Clara wanted to say no.
One syllable.
Two letters.
A doorway.
But Evan’s hand brushed the back of hers, a warning hidden inside almost-affection.
“I’m okay,” Clara said.
Maya’s expression did not change. “Mr. Alden needs you upstairs. Emergency turnover.”
Clara blinked.
It was a lie.
Maya never lied well, but she lied bravely.
Evan looked between them. “Her shift is over.”
Maya finally looked at him. “Not anymore.”
Clara moved before Evan could stop her.
Back through the door.
Back into the hotel.
Back under fluorescent lights that made everything look safer than it was.
Maya locked the door behind them.
“You’re coming home with me,” she said.
Clara shook her head. “He’ll come there.”
“Then we call the police.”
Clara gave a small, empty laugh.
Maya’s face hardened. “Don’t laugh like that. Like nobody ever helps anyone.”
Clara looked down at her wrist. Evan’s fingerprints were already blooming beneath her skin.
“I need one more hour,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“To think.”
Maya looked like she wanted to scream.
Instead, she grabbed Clara’s shoulders carefully, as if afraid she might break.
“One hour,” Maya said. “Then you leave with me.”
Clara nodded.
She meant it when she nodded.
That was the worst part.
At 10:36, Clara was alone in the service pantry on the penthouse level when her phone buzzed.
She thought it would be Maya.
It was Evan.
I’m inside.
Clara stared at the words until they blurred.
Another message appeared.
Don’t make me come upstairs.
Her throat closed.
He could not get upstairs. Not tonight. Not with Julian Thorne’s private security. Not with Mr. Alden watching every elevator like his career depended on it.
But Evan had a gift for doors.
He could smile his way past suspicion. He could become polite in front of witnesses. He could look wounded in exactly the right way.
A third message appeared.
You have ten seconds.
Clara turned toward the service elevator.
She should call security.
She should call Maya.
She should call anyone.
Instead, fear moved her feet.
That was how it worked. Fear did not always freeze a person. Sometimes it walked them straight toward the thing that might kill them.
She rode the service elevator down to the second floor, intending to intercept him, calm him, send him away.
The doors opened.
Evan stood at the end of the hall.
Waiting.
Her heart stopped.
He smiled.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Clara stepped back into the elevator and hit the close button.
Evan’s hand shot between the doors.
They opened again.
His smile stayed in place, but his eyes had gone dead.
“That wasn’t nice.”
“How did you get in?”
“I told the front desk I was your fiancé.”
“You’re not.”
His jaw twitched.
“You really want to correct me right now?”