Cain's smile was triumphant. "Good girl."
"Don't call me that."
"Why not? You just did exactly what I wanted."
Heat flooded my face anger or something else, I couldn't tell. "I'm not your good girl.
I'm your employee. There's a difference."
"Is there?" He was still too close, his presence overwhelming. "We'll see."
He stepped back, all business again. "Patricia is meeting us for lunch in an hour. We'll go over the details, get you the information you need. You'll have five days to memorize everything, practice your approach, and prepare."
"And what will you be doing?"
"Making sure everything else falls into place." He picked up his phone, already moving to the next thing. "The car will take you shopping after lunch. You'll need appropriate attire for a Hamptons wedding.
Charge it to the account I'll set up."
"You're buying me clothes?"
"I'm ensuring you look the part. If you show up in that " he gestured vaguely at my outfit "security will throw you out before you get through the gate."
My jaw clenched. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"Nothing, if you're trying to blend in at a coffee shop. Everything, if you're trying to infiltrate a society wedding." His tone softened slightly. "This isn't personal, Raven. It's strategic. You need to look like you belong there. Like you're someone they should listen to."
He was right. I hated that he was right.
"Fine. Clothes. What else?"
"I'll send you the full dossier tonight. Guest list, timeline, venue layout, security protocols. Study it. I need you perfect."
"No pressure."
"Fifty thousand dollars of pressure." He walked to the door, holding it open a clear dismissal. "Car's waiting. Don't be late for lunch."
I walked past him, hyper-aware of how close we were in the doorframe. He smelled like expensive cologne and danger.
"Raven."
I turned.
"This is going to work. Trust me."
The problem was, I did trust him. And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
Lunch with Patricia Whitmore was at a French restaurant so expensive they didn't have prices on the menu.
She was even more elegant in person designer dress, perfect hair, the kind of poise that came from years of playing the corporate wife. But her eyes were sad, haunted.
Cain did the introductions with effortless charm, then somehow made Patricia feel comfortable enough to talk. To really talk.
"James and I were married for eighteen years," she said softly, stirring her wine. "I gave up my career, raised our daughter, hosted his parties, smiled for the cameras. I thought we were happy."
"What changed?" I asked gently.
"He did. The more successful he became, the more… entitled he felt." She took a long drink. "The affairs started about five years before the divorce. His secretary. A consultant. A journalist who was supposed to be interviewing him for Forbes."
My stomach turned. "Did you confront him?"
"Every time. And every time he'd apologize, promise it wouldn't happen again, tell me I was overreacting." Her laugh was bitter. "Until Caroline."
"The woman he's marrying now."
"She was his executive assistant. Twenty-six years old." Patricia's hands shook slightly. "I found out when I saw charges on our credit card jewelry, hotel rooms, weekend trips. When I confronted him that time, he didn't apologize. He asked for a divorce."
Cain had been silent through all of this, just listening with that intense focus. Now he leaned forward slightly.
"Tell Raven what you told me. About the prenup."
Patricia's eyes hardened. "Caroline doesn't have one. I did James's father insisted before we married. But Caroline? He's going into this with no protection at all. Which means either he's finally found true love" her tone dripped sarcasm "or she's got something on him."
"Like what?" I asked.
"I don't know. But James is too smart, too careful to marry without a prenup unless he has no choice." She looked at me directly. "If Caroline knew who he really was what he's capable of maybe she'd reconsider. Maybe she'd protect herself."
"Or maybe she'd call off the wedding entirely."
"Either way, she deserves the truth." Patricia pulled out her phone. "I'm sending you emails, text messages, evidence of every affair I documented. It's all dated, all verified.
If you want to stop that wedding, you'll have everything you need."
My phone buzzed. Files downloading. Proof of infidelity, betrayal, lies.
"Why now?" I asked. "You've been quiet for five years. Why help us?"
Patricia's smile was sharp as glass. "Because I spent two decades building his career, raising his child, sacrificing everything. And he threw it away for someone half my age. Because Caroline is about to make the same mistakes I did, and maybe I can save her from wasting her life."
She stood, gathering her purse. "And because sometimes, revenge is its own reward."
She left, and I sat there staring at my phone, at the mountain of evidence she'd just handed me.
"She's terrifying," I said.
Cain's smile was appreciative. "She's effective. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Not really." He signaled for the check. "You have what you need?"
I looked at the files again. Emails with subject lines that made me sick. Hotel receipts. Photos that should never have been taken. The private wreckage of a marriage laid bare.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "I have what I need."
"Good. Then let's go shopping."
"I thought you were busy."
"I am. But I want to see what you choose."
His dark eyes met mine. "Everything about this has to be perfect, Raven. Including you."
The weight of his attention was almost physical. Like I was a project, an acquisition, something to be shaped and perfected for his purposes.
I should've hated it.
I should've walked away.
Instead, I finished my wine and followed him out of the restaurant, into whatever came next.
The boutique Cain took me to didn't have a name on the door.
Just a buzzer, a camera, and a woman who looked me up and down before deciding I was worth letting in. The interior was all white marble and soft lighting, with maybe six dresses total on display each one probably worth more than my car.
"Mr. Moretti." The owner glided forward, European accent dripping sophistication. "Always a pleasure. And this must be…"
"Raven." Cain's hand settled on the small of my back, possessive. "She needs everything for a weekend in the Hamptons. Society wedding. She needs to look like she belongs."