By late afternoon, the apartment felt too quiet—the kind of stillness that made her nerves prickle like static under her skin. The shower had helped a little. The soft dress she slipped into—light, feminine, something she had no business wearing for a man she was supposed to be manipulating—helped both too much and not at all.
She curled her hair loosely over one shoulder, dabbed perfume on her wrists, and stared at herself in the mirror with a conflicted mix of dread and anticipation she couldn't make sense of. Her reflection looked almost hopeful. She hated that. She blamed the dress, the anticipation of Zane's knock, the twisted thrill that ran through her when she replayed his voice saying, *I want to take you to dinner.*
She reminded herself of the plan.
Keep him close.
Stay in control.
Don't fall.
