Chapter 4
FOUR
NELL
Nell’s house hummed with its usual productive energy. In her world, there was always something happening—some deal or acquisition, some business to attend to—even in the quiet hours after midnight.
She had always found solace in the quiet. It was in this silence that she did her best thinking. She had always had a mind she had never entirely been able to turn off.
Her office was lit by a single brass desk lamp illuminating the spread of meticulously organized paperwork sitting before her. A glass of whiskey sat untouched to her right, her Cartier watch rested beside it.
Mortimer was sleeping, curled in a pike position on the corner of her desk, his snores keeping her company.
It was almost 1 a.m., and Rowan had left hours ago.
“You need sleep, too,” Rowan had pointed out in that matter-of-fact way of hers.
“Idle time is a liability,” Nell had replied, already flipping to the following document. “You’ll be more useful to me tomorrow if you’re rested. Go home.”
And, as always, Rowan had obeyed—not because she had to, but because she trusted Nell’s word was final.
Now, Nell sat alone, reviewing contracts and financial projections for a new business opportunity she was exploring.
The work was never finished, and she liked it that way. There was always something to do.
Nell reached for her phone, scrolling to her response to Sarah’s discovery of the meaning behind her puzzle. She savored the brief thrill of satisfaction as she reread their text exchange, her lips curling into a gradual, excited smile. She had been right about Sarah—she was fun.
Nell wasn’t usually the type of woman who answered late-night texts. She was the woman who let others wait. She dictated the pace, no one else.
But Sarah? Sarah was the exception. Sarah made her want to answer right away. A few clicks on her computer, and her return text had been sent almost immediately, complete with a travel itinerary informing Sarah that she would be meeting her in DC the following evening.
The Prescott House wasn't a hotel in the way people typically thought of them—it was for the invited and the elite.
A twelve-room mansion tucked away discreetly in the heart of Georgetown, Washington, DC—an establishment where power came to be unbothered.
The kind of place where the concierge knew your preference for everything without ever needing to ask, and the walls had absorbed more secrets than they could ever tell.
Nell stood in the lobby, a sanctuary of dark wood paneling, the fireplace casting a quiet glow across her profile. She had given explicit instructions—Sarah Gallagher would arrive exactly two minutes after her.
Not a second early. Not a second late. Exactly as she planned.
In an ideal world, Nell had intended to pick Sarah up directly from the airport hangar, but her meeting with Senator Fairchild had run over. So Nell had sent her car and instructions for Sarah to be brought here to The Prescott to freshen up.
Nell rechecked her watch. Sarah should be joining her in three, two, one.
Perfect.
She felt the weight of Sarah’s presence before she heard the click of heels on the marble floor, and as Nell turned, there she was.
Tall, poised, dressed like a woman who knew exactly how much attention she could command but who chose discretion instead.
Nell swallowed hard as she took Sarah in, the midnight blue slip dress creating a sleek and effortless look.
And that slit up the side? It was damn near criminal the way it hinted at just enough without offering too much.
A tailored blazer was thrown over her shoulders, structured but relaxed, an afterthought that was anything but.
Delicate gold accents adorned her ears, wrist, and neck.
Nell noted the last with particular interest as she traced the line of the thin chain disappearing beneath the neckline of Sarah’s dress.
Her sleek, light brown hair was tucked neatly behind one ear, revealing the angles of her jaw. And when she smiled, it was the unmistakable confidence of a woman who did not hesitate that drew Nell in.
But it was her eyes—hazel, astute, continually assessing—that made Nell’s mouth twitch in approval.
She allowed herself a single moment of appreciation of Sarah’s beauty, letting the burn of it settle low in her before she smothered it with the same precision she used for everything else.
Because this wasn’t about desire. Not yet. Tonight was about a proposal of sorts. One thing she hoped Sarah would be open-minded about. She had already proven to her that she could keep up, but tonight, Nell wanted to know if Sarah could truly match her.
As Sarah approached, Nell registered the way Sarah took her in as well, with the same pointed consideration, the same careful curiosity, and she couldn’t help the involuntary way her shoulders relaxed under that look.
Her mouth twitched, but Nell refused to give herself away as she leaned in to greet Sarah before ushering her out the front door.
They walked to their destination—a last-minute decision purely because it was a nice evening and Nell wanted to walk. Early July in DC hadn’t brought the full blast of thick summer humidity with it yet.
Sarah matched her stride—shoulder to shoulder—her pace perfectly aligned. Nell had been right in her assumption, which made her smile. Sarah might like control, but Nell loved it.
As they walked, she couldn’t help but wonder—how much control was Sarah willing to surrender? All of it? That thought sent a shiver down her spine. She felt electrified at the idea. If Sarah would let her, if Sarah would give it to her, Nell was ready.
A tantalizing thrill curled through her chest as she glanced at Sarah. Sarah caught her and smirked, like she knew where her mind had been. Nell liked that she knew.
Nell spoke first. “I hope The Prescott is up to your standards.”
It wasn’t a question, more of a statement that implied Nell already knew the answer. The Prescott housed royalty, it would be impossible for it not to be up to anyone’s standards.
Sarah glanced at her, a smile forming at the corner of her mouth. “That depends.”
A perfect lawyer’s answer. Of course. Sarah wasn’t in the business of concrete answers. Not yet, at least. Nell could change that.
She raised a brow. “On?”
Sarah shifted slightly, the slit of her dress parting enough to reveal the curve of a toned thigh as they crossed the street.
“On whether you put me there because you thought I’d like it . . .” Sarah paused in a calculated way that made Nell want to applaud. “. . . or because you liked the idea of knowing exactly where I am.”
Nell let out a low, entertained chuckle. “Does it matter?” She noted the pleased tone her words carried as Sarah tilted her head slightly.
“Intentions always matter.”
Nell didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she let the silence stretch long enough for anticipation to settle. She was already having too much fun with this.
With the kind of thoughtful ease that made people nervous, excited, desperate for what came next, she turned her head slightly toward Sarah and murmured, “Then, I suppose you’ll have to decide which answer you prefer.”
Sarah laughed, the sound perfectly cutting through the warm air. “I thought you weren’t in the business of offering choices, Ms. Stanhope.”
Nell smirked at the use of her surname as they turned the corner, arriving at a townhouse with no sign. “You always have a choice, Ms. Gallagher, and not only in the options that lie before you.”
A doorman smiled upon recognizing her. “Good evening, Nell.”
“Garrett.” She greeted him. “I hope you and your husband are doing well?”
“We’re both very well, thank you. Enjoy your evening,” he called after them.
Nell led Sarah into the Foxhall Club, directly to the booth in the back corner she always sat at—the one with the best view of the room where she could watch without being watched. The same one where conversations went unheard but never unnoticed.
The moment they settled into the deep leather seats, two drinks appeared exactly as Nell had arranged them to be.
Sarah, to her credit, took the briefest moment to absorb everything. Nell didn’t know if she would even call it a hesitation. Sarah glanced at the waiter, then at the perfectly chilled glass in front of her, before shifting her attention to Nell.
Nell didn’t explain. Tonight, they were playing by her rules, and they both knew it.
Sarah studied her with those assessing eyes. Then, with the kind of confidence Nell had already grown to expect, she picked up the glass, brought it to her lips, and took a measured sip.
Nell waited.
Sarah hummed softly, rolling the taste over her tongue before tilting her head slightly. “Vesper martini. How very Bond of you.”
Her lips curled as she lifted her glass, meeting Sarah’s gaze over the rim. “You strike me as someone who appreciates clarity.”
Sarah smirked, the ghost of amusement sparkling in her eyes. “And if I had wanted something else?”
Nell couldn’t help her low chuckle. She liked this—how Sarah tested her, played with her. She wasn’t uncomfortable with their dynamic. If anything, Nell could tell she was intrigued by it.
“Then you would have spoken up. You have a voice, Sarah. I expect that when we are together, you will use it. That’s my first rule.”
There. Rule number one, out in the open.
The words thrilled her as they left her mouth. They were unhurried and intentional as she savored them. Sarah held her gaze for a beat longer, showing no reaction, then, never breaking eye contact and entirely aware of what she was doing, she took another leisurely sip.
A concession. A small one, but still a concession.
Nell took her own sip, pleased. She let the silence stretch enough before shifting gears.
“So, tell me—how did you solve the puzzle?”
Sarah leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other. Nell was momentarily distracted by Sarah’s ever-rising hemline, tracking even more of that toned thigh she had glimpsed earlier.