CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
LILA
“Have you tried the strawberry protein shakes I sent with Aster?” I ask, phone tucked between my cheek and shoulder as I rummage through my bag, trying to get ready for work.
“I have, and I actually like them,” Mom laughs. “The nurses mix them with vanilla ice cream. It makes it taste like a milkshake.”
“Have you gained any weight this week?”
“Yes, honey. Three pounds. Please stop worrying and focus on your new job.”
I cut her off, firm. “You are way more important than any job.”
“I know. But you’ve worked so hard for this. Also…” Her voice dips, suddenly curious. “I was wondering about the fifteen million, so I did a little asking around…”
My stomach flips. Oh no. She can’t know about the wish.
“Well,” she continues casually, “a nice, handsome man came by and said it was a grant from the Heartford company. So, I want you to work extra hard, because they’ve been good to us.”
“What did he look like?” I ask, trying to sound neutral.
“I don’t remember much, pain meds and all, but he was very well-mannered. Kind. Handsome, too.”
Beck. He must’ve stopped by. But why?
“That’s… nice of them,” I murmur, sliding on my tennis shoes. “Mom, I’m so sorry. I have to go. I’m waiting for my Uber to call. I’ll see you in the morning. I love you bunches. ”
“I love you too. And hey, bring me a chocolate protein shake tomorrow?”
I laugh, loving how joyful she sounds. “Of course.” I hang up and sigh.
Focus.
I’m going to clean Beck’s house today, so I keep it simple: black tennis skort, black tank top, no makeup, hair twisted up in a claw clip. Nothing special. Nothing tempting.
BUZZ.
BUZZ.
BUZZ.
My phone vibrates in my hand. Text from an unknown number. Well. I know who it’s not. The Red Mask. He left me last night without a word.
So, who the hell is this?
UNKNOWN: Change of plans. Come down.
My body locks up.
Is this… Volkov, the Wolf? Am I in danger? Should I call the cops? No. Calm down, Lila. He’s in prison.
UNKNOWN: I’m waiting, Lila. I’m not a patient man.
My lungs seize. I glance at the air vent in the corner of the room, the one with the hidden camera. My voice barely escapes. “Are you still watching? If you are… is it safe to go with this person?”
A pause. I catch my reflection in the floor-length mirror and freeze.
God, I look insane. Talking to a vent and whispering to no one. What the hell am I doing?
THE RED MASK: Yes. You’re good.
He answered. He’s still watching. Which means, whatever this is between us… he feels it too.
I look down from my window and see it: midnight blue, sleek, commanding. An Aston Martin DBX is parked in front of my rundown building like it doesn’t belong in this part of the city.
Is that… for me? What the hell? Is it Beck or Clint?
I untwist my hair and run a brush through the tangles until it falls in soft waves past my shoulders. I swipe on a little mascara and lip balm, just in case it is them and I have to attend a work conference or something, and just in case he is watching.
I take the stairs two at a time, heart racing. When I push through the dirty glass front doors, I stop dead in my tracks.
There he is. Not Beck. Not Clint. Not the Phantom. Not the Red Mask. Not Leon.
Kage. Standing there like every bad decision I want to make.
This is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen… and he hates me. So why is he here? To fire me for real this time?
He leans against his car with one hand in his pocket, a cigarette hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth like he’s posing for a cologne ad.
His hair is tousled like a young DiCaprio.
His charcoal-gray Tom Ford suit is tailored to perfection, hugging every sharp line of his muscle.
His black button-down is unbuttoned just enough to make my nipples harden. And his pants frame his thighs and…
Nope. Don’t look. Don’t look at the bulge.
My eyes drop anyway. And there it is. The outline. I am so fucking horny for this man.
I try to channel Aster’s confidence. Don’t let him know what he’s doing to you. But he probably already knows. He sees it every day when he looks in the mirror.
I run a hand through my hair and force a smirk, biting down on my bottom lip as I meet his gaze. His eyes are green, guarded, lethal, locked onto mine. "What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, fake attitude dripping from my voice .
The corner of his mouth twitches. It is not quite a smile, but it’s something. I have never seen him smile. Who knows, maybe I never will.
"Change of plans," he says coolly. "You can clean Beck’s house next week. I need you to be my personal assistant for the day."
I blink. "Where is your actual assistant?"
"She’s in Europe for two weeks. Lucky for me, I’m stuck with you." His tone is flat and unreadable.
Oh. So she’s a woman and not a man. Of course, she is…And she is probably sex in heels and smells like expensive floral perfume. He probably knows her scent by heart, the way it clings to him when they’re making out in his office and he’s nibbling at her neck.
Ugh. Damn her.
"So, I am getting paid, right?" I cross my arms and lift my chin, not backing down.
Kage smirks just a little.
"Yes. But being with me is the real reward."
The sarcasm is sharp, but I hate how much I like it.
"Oh, please. Get over yourself, rich boy." I yank open the passenger door and slide into the seat like I don’t care that I don’t belong in this car or in his world. But God, his car smells like him.
Sandalwood.
But beneath it are two other notes, faint but unmistakable. The scent of fresh leather clings to the seatbelt as I buckle in, and there’s a trace of smoke in the air, like he lit a cigarette and put it out before taking the first drag.
All the same scents as the Red Mask. But somehow, they feel different. Or maybe I need them to be.
He climbs in beside me with the kind of ease that makes it hard to remember he is a jackass who hates me for no reason. But of course, I want those beautiful lips between my thighs and on my cli—
No. Chill, Lila… have some self-control. He hates you. Just get through the day without thinking about sleeping with your boss.
But my heart doesn’t listen. Because maybe, just maybe, this is a chance.
A chance to see who he really is beneath all that cold, unreadable exterior.
And to finally put my suspicions to rest. To make sure he’s not the man behind the mask.
Even if part of me hopes he is. Even though I know he’s not. Because why would he be?
He can have any man or woman he wants. So why would he waste his time on me? He hates me. I don’t know why, but he does. So if he is the one behind the mask…
Was it to mess with me? To toy with my feelings for fun? Or worse, was it some kind of twisted charity? A pity project to make me feel wanted for once?
You are spiraling and jumping to conclusions. Do not judge him like you did with Clint, not before you actually get to know him.
“Do you smoke?” I ask, instantly regretting it.
Really, Lila? That’s what comes out first?
He shifts in his seat, one hand still resting on the wheel. “No. Those cancer sticks are bad for you.”
I glance over at him, studying the sharp line of his jaw. “You never smoke on occasion?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Nope.”
His tone is short, sweet, and to the point. He still hasn’t looked at me, eyes locked on the road like I’m not even sitting beside him.
I pick at a loose thread on the hem of my skort, pretending it doesn’t bother me. “Cool. Just curious.” Silence fills the car as we merge onto the highway .
RING.
RING.
RING.
Kage lifts his phone and turns slightly away, his voice dipping low. “Hallo. Ja, ich habe sie gerade abgeholt. Nein, ich habe es ihr noch nicht gesagt. Ich schaffe das, hor auf, dir Sorgen zu machen.”
The words are sharp and fluid. German, I think. But I can’t make out a single word. My chest tightens. He sounds different. More forceful, but smooth. Natural. Like it is his first language.
And the craziest part is he doesn’t even have an accent. If I hadn't heard him just now, I would never have known he spoke another language. And when I thought this man couldn’t get more irresistible, he proves me wrong. The confidence. The control. The power in his voice.
God help me. It makes him even sexier, and I didn’t think that was possible.
His jaw clenches, hands gripping the steering wheel like he’s trying to control more than just the car.
I glance at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. Not yet.
“Ich liebe dich,” he says, then ends the call with a flick of his thumb.
"Who was that? What were you talking about?"
And for the first time today, he looks at me.
"If I wanted you to know, I would’ve spoken English," he says. His voice is smooth, but there’s the faintest curve at the edge of his mouth now, and I see a faint dimple in his cheek.
Not a full smile. Just enough to betray that he’s amused.
Like I’ve gotten under his skin, and he doesn’t entirely mind it.
"Why am I not surprised? I knew you were talking shit about me. Nothing new." I roll my eyes. "So, what’s my assignment today, Bossman? "
“We’re meeting with Volkov’s sister, Natasha.
She helped us put him behind bars after he tried to force her into taking over the family business.
Sex trafficking and prostitution. She wanted nothing to do with it, but he didn’t take no for an answer.
Eventually, she had her men contact us. Now she’s a world-famous fashion designer and known as the ruthless sister.
But in the past week alone, twenty-five girls have gone missing, and somehow Volkov might still be pulling strings from prison. We need to find out if she’s involved.”
“Does she live here in New York?”
“No. She lives in France, but she’s renting a place on the outskirts of New York. We’ll be spending the day with her, trying to get information and an update on him.”