PAIGE
The Bentley Continental GT's engine growled, vibrating through the leather seats. I stared out the window, hyper-aware of Reomen beside me. The scent of his Creed Aventus cologne and clean skin filled the small space.
He took a sharp turn, his shoulder brushing my arm. I flinched away.
"Problem, Ms. Rimestone?" he asked, his voice a low purr.
"Just eager to get this over with," I snapped, my gaze fixed on the passing lights of Fifth Avenue.
He gave a dark chuckle. "Patience. The main event hasn't even begun."
The car slid to a halt under the blinding lights of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. I shoved the door open before the valet could reach it, stumbling onto the red carpet in a rush of silk and panic.
Reomen emerged smoothly from the driver's side, adjusting his Tom Ford cufflinks. He looked at my frantic exit, a supremely smug smirk on his face.
