Nora wasn't sure what was worse—the fact that she'd just agreed to a deal with a criminal… or that she'd done it while imagining what he might look like without a shirt.
She followed Adrian Black down a hallway so quiet it could've doubled as a museum. Every step echoed under her cheap sneakers, which squeaked embarrassingly against the polished floors. He walked like a man who knew the weight of every footstep. Controlled. Precise. Deadly.
He stopped at a heavy black door at the end of the hall.
"This will be your room," he said, opening it.
Nora peeked in and blinked.
It wasn't a room—it was a suite. A queen-sized bed covered in charcoal silk sheets, a walk-in closet that made her want to cry, and a bathroom bigger than her entire old studio apartment.
"You'll find everything you need inside," he said. "Clothes, toiletries, even a new phone. You'll use that one for any communication while working for me. Your current phone will be stored and encrypted."
"Stored and encrypted?" she repeated. "That sounds suspiciously like 'we're going to read all your texts.'"
"We already did," he said dryly.
Nora's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?!"
He turned slightly, eyes gleaming with something that might've been amusement. "If you want to work for a man on multiple international blacklists, expect to lose a little privacy."
She crossed her arms. "And what else do I lose? My freedom? My fingerprints?"
"Only if you misbehave."
She stared at him. He didn't blink.
"Okay, you need to stop saying horrifying things in that deadpan voice," she muttered, stepping into the room and running a hand over the silk bedding. "It's messing with my fear response."
Adrian stood in the doorway like a shadow, perfectly still. Watching.
She should've felt like prey under his gaze. Instead, her stomach fluttered like it had missed the memo.
"Why me?" she asked, not looking at him this time. "I mean, you said you needed someone invisible, but you also clearly have resources. You could've hired a spy. A mercenary. A washed-up actress from a reality TV show."
"You were desperate," he said. "Desperation makes people useful. And loyal."
"Wrong," she said, spinning around to face him. "Desperation makes people dangerous."
A flicker passed through his eyes. It wasn't fear. It looked suspiciously like... respect?
"We'll see," he replied coolly.
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with a closet full of suspiciously perfect-sized designer clothes.
Nora exhaled. "Well," she muttered to herself, "this definitely beats sharing a bathroom with mold and a raccoon."
---
By the next morning, she was dressed in a tailored navy blouse and sleek black pants that hugged her in all the right places. The phone Adrian had provided was already buzzing with appointments and a digital schedule that read more like a war plan than a calendar.
9:00 AM – Breakfast with Adrian.
10:30 AM – Review fake nanny credentials.
12:00 PM – Grocery list and wine preference (Red. Never white.)
2:00 PM – Media training: how to smile like you're not lying.
4:00 PM – "Shadow time" with Adrian. (Whatever that meant.)
6:00 PM – Dinner. Quiet. Formal. No distractions.
She arrived in the kitchen by 8:55 AM, determined to look like someone who had their life together. Instead, she walked in to find Adrian shirtless, cooking eggs like a Calvin Klein ad had come to life and decided to open a diner.
Her brain froze.
Tattoo.
That was the first thing she saw—ink curling across his left shoulder blade, down his bicep. Something intricate. Sharp. Dangerous. Of course.
"Would you like coffee or just to continue staring at me?" he asked without turning.
"Both, ideally," she replied before she could stop herself.
He turned slightly, one brow lifted.
"I meant coffee," she said quickly. "Obviously. Just coffee. Extra caffeine. Maybe a sedative."
He handed her a mug wordlessly and returned to the stove.
Nora sipped and burned her tongue. Of course.
"You cook?" she asked, sitting awkwardly at the marble island.
"I don't trust strangers with my food."
"So… I'm the only stranger you do trust?"
"I don't trust you," he said, plating eggs with surgical precision. "But I trust your desperation."
"That makes me feel so special."
Adrian slid a plate toward her and finally met her gaze. "I need someone to play a role, Nora. Someone who can handle pressure. Who can lie with a straight face. Who can survive things most people can't."
"You mean bullets?"
"And secrets."
She chewed slowly. The eggs were annoyingly good.
"So what exactly does your job involve?" she asked. "Aside from cooking and dodging death?"
He studied her for a moment, like deciding whether she deserved an answer.
"I run an organization that brokers information. Political, financial, criminal. Some call it espionage. Others call it survival."
"And the FBI calls it illegal?"
He didn't deny it.
"Are you a villain, Adrian?" she asked quietly.
A pause. A shadow passed over his face.
"Not yet."
---
At 2 PM sharp, "shadow time" began.
It involved Nora walking two steps behind him through meetings, fake interviews, phone calls in code, and one very tense conversation with someone named "Mr. Xi" that made the hair on her neck stand up.
By the end of the day, her feet were aching, her head was spinning, and she was 90% sure she'd just accidentally agreed to help move a weapons shipment across Eastern Europe.
She slumped into the velvet armchair in her suite at 7:30 PM, half-expecting a tap on the shoulder and a "Surprise! You're under arrest!"
Instead, her new phone lit up.
Message from Adrian:
> "Meet me on the balcony in ten. Wear something warm. And bring wine."
She frowned.
This felt... different.
And that was exactly why she was nervous.