Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
He had too many things he wanted to say, but he knew better than to speak when there was this much going on inside his head.
After a long moment, Alena stepped back. “I’ll call a car service, I don’t want to make your driver get up early.”
He formed the complete sentences in his mind before speaking. “I don’t need his services tomorrow. He can sleep when he gets back.” He hated that they were talking about such mundane things.
“Oh, that’s good.” Alena ran her palms up and down her upper arms. “Where should I meet him?”
“Wait for him on the first floor.”
“Thank you.” Alena walked to the door, pausing to put her shoes on.
Alexander snapped himself out of the indecision paralysis that gripped him as he tried to figure out what, if anything, he should say. Could say, without sounding like a moron.
In the end he said nothing. He opened the door, Alena murmured something polite and appropriate. At the top of the stairs she glanced back at him once, smiling tentatively.
He could feel the words crowding in his brain, knew that he wouldn’t make any sense if he tried to speak.
The moment passed and she turned away, starting down the steps to the fourth floor.
Alexander waited until she was out of sight to close and lean against the door.
“Dummkopf. Alex, du bist sehr dumm.”
He turned, then walked over to the couch. Her red pashmina lay on the couch where he’d tossed it. As they were saying goodbye he’d waited for her to ask about it, hoped she wouldn’t.
He picked it up and held it to his face. It smelled of her.
Tossing the pashmina around his neck, he wandered towards his bedroom.
Why did he feel like this? It wasn’t like he’d never see her again. There was another Orchid Club event next month.
Damn it, he didn’t want to wait a month. He should have said something. Should have…
He hung her pashmina in the closet. He’d have to tell his valet—who selected, purchased, and laundered his clothes—not to touch the vibrant scarf, or find somewhere else to keep it.
Alexander turned on the shower and stepped in, hoping hot water would wash away this odd feeling of loss.
He braced his hands on the wall, let the water sluice over his back, and finally admitted that he might have fallen in love with Alena Moore.
* * *
Alena took everything that had just happened, put it in a little emotion-proof box at the back of her brain, and got to work.
As she’d expected for someone of Alexander’s status, he had servants who had taken care of her things the way a five-star hotel would. Her suitcase had been opened, clothes hung up, and the various bags and totes set out on top of the vanity.
The lovely room felt formal and a bit stiff, with high quality furnishings in muted colors, the only personality coming from the Arabesque wallpaper.
Alena unzipped her dress, and reached into the closet, trading evening wear for black leggings and a long-sleeved tunic style t-shirt with pockets, also in black. The outfit screamed “athleisure” and could be passed off as her sleepwear, if needed.
She buckled on her passport belt, with passport and credit card, both of which had her real name on them, safely inside.
She’d done the hard part—she was here, and that had been the biggest challenge of this whole job. The security at Wagner Global’s headquarters was too good. The next best option had been to get into this building, but security during parties and events hosted here was tight, and she needed some private time in order to get what she needed.
She’d considered trying to get a job as a member of the household staff, but everyone who was hired to work here, or even brought in for a day to assess a piece of art or provide some other service was heavily vetted.
The only one who could walk somebody inside, no questions asked, was Alexander himself.
After aggressively brushing her hair to get rid of any loose strands, she piled it up in a messy, casual-looking but secure bun, which would hopefully keep her all black outfit firmly in the “comfortable lounge clothes/sleepwear” category. A braid and beanie to make sure she didn’t leave behind even a single hair would have been better, but those would tip her whole look into the “cat burglar” category.
Next she opened one of her toiletry bags and took out several tampons. She pressed on the end of the stick and instead of an oblong of cotton, a small black device, about the size of a thumb drive, popped out.
Slowly she freed her tools from their various camouflages. Most important was her robotic laparoscope, which she assembled after disentangling pieces from inside a curling iron and several other tampons. The button camera was, of course, inside her travel sewing kit. White fingerprint powder had replaced the baby powder in the travel-sized bottle. The data cable was packed in with her laptop, and really didn’t need anything to disguise it. The item she’d worried about the most was still there. A small drill dressed up like a hair dryer.