What Dani doesn’t remark on—and I’m thankful for it—is the fact that I’m wearing one of Celine’s dresses. It’s fitted, with a plunging neckline and black-and-white stripes that run diagonally along the entire length. It’s one of those dresses that Celine could wear once and no one would ever forget.

I chose it intentionally.

Our heels click against the marble in tandem as we stroll toward the elevator. Dani agreed to meet me in the lobby so we could ride up together.

“How much time do I have?” I ask as she hits the button for the top floor and the doors slide shut. My heart rate begins to climb.

“Twenty minutes, which isn’t enough time for a new client, but his calendar is completely packed for the next month.” She’s talking a mile a minute. “Natasha had to bump another client and juggle a bunch of things around. I’m still surprised that she agreed to this.”

“Reservations are already made, for two at eight p.m. this Friday, with the bill going directly to my family’s account there.” We needed a carrot to dangle in front of Jace’s assistant, and Dani suggested dinner at Per Se for her and her boyfriend.

“He doesn’t take new clients unless they meet a certain minimum threshold, and there’s a screening process and everything that you haven’t gone through.” Dani frowns with worry.

“I’ll meet the threshold.”

“Do you even know what it is?”

I smirk. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll meet it.” Celine told Dani who I am, so she should realize that I have a lot of money. I assume that’s the only reason she agreed, albeit reluctantly, to go along with this plan in the first place. The woman who came in yesterday, in her hiking boots and jeans, would not have been able to pull these kinds of strings otherwise.

That’s the power of money.

“You didn’t tell her that I was a friend of Celine’s, right?”

“Nope.”

“Good.” I need to watch his face when I say Celine Gonzalez’s name.

“Natasha could get into trouble for this if Jace starts digging into why he has no files on you.” Dani worries her mouth. “You really are going to invest a lot of money with him, right?”

“If he impresses me.”

If Dani’s smart, she’s wondering if this has anything to do with yesterday’s run-in—if this is more about wanting to sleep with the handsome asshole than investing my money with him. She’s definitely wondering if I’m going to railroad her friend and make her look like an idiot. I feel only slightly guilty about using her for this “forced meet” as Grady calls it. But it’s the only way I’m going to get the answers that I need about Celine.

My ears pop with the quick ascent, the high altitude weighing on my lungs. I don’t know how people handle being up here, nearly in the clouds.

“Marnie,” Dani calls the second we step out. She begins rushing through floor-to-ceiling mahogany, crystal chandeliers, and white Italian leather, toward two women sitting behind the mammoth front desk, her heels speeding up as they click against the travertine.

If the lobby of Falcon Capital Management is meant to make a statement, it’s that FCM has made an obscene amount of money at the hands of its investors.

The woman on the left—a narrow-faced girl with mousy brown hair and a long pointy nose—stands, yanking her headset off. Round, doubtful eyes that are too close together appraise me. “Margaret Sparkes?”

“Yes.” No one refers to me by my given name. Not even the media. That’s why I asked Dani to use it. I assume that if Jace even notices me tucked into his calendar, he won’t put two and two together. An heiress to an energy fortune would already have an investment firm to manage the family money. And I do.

“This way.” Marnie’s floral perfume wafts as she leads me away.

“Thank you for your help.” I wave to Dani, dismissing her. I’m sure she’d love to be a fly on the wall, but I’m not having any of that.

I’m forced to pick up the pace to follow Marnie’s lithe body down a long hallway of small fishbowl offices where people mill about and phones ring and a low chatter buzzes. As we weave farther back, I see the distinct separation between the general office environment and what I’m guessing is the executive space, complete with solid doors and frosted glass and plenty of space for everyone.

“Natasha, this is Miss Sparkes, for that eleven thirty with Jace.”

Natasha, an attractive Scandinavian-looking blonde with high cheekbones, a severe updo, and an even more severe face, looks up from her desk. Sharp eyes size me up from head to toe, the flash of shock so fast I nearly miss it. She glares at Marnie. Dani said that the three of them—and Celine—were somewhat of a group, occasionally connecting for lunch or morning coffee. I wonder how much of a friend Natasha truly was to Celine. “Have a seat, please.”

Marnie nods at me once and then takes off abruptly as male voices approach from behind the glass door. As if she doesn’t want to be anywhere near this side of the floor.

“All right. I’ll see you next month. Say hi to your dad for me. And make me some more money.” A silver-haired man exits with a chuckle, winking at both Natasha and me before disappearing down the hall.

I’m not normally a nervous person, and yet I can’t keep from tapping my fingers against the cold metal armrest. A moment later, a deep male voice hollers, “Natasha! Come in here!”

With a full breath, she stands and stalks forward, her tall, leggy frame accentuated by a short skirt. “Yes?” The harsh edge in her voice falls off to make room for a soft coo. All I hear is “Where is this person’s file?” before the door shuts behind her.

My stomach instantly tightens. This seemed like a brilliant idea last night. When I was stoned. I’m fighting the urge to get up and leave but . . . No, I need to confront him, I decide. There’s something here. I don’t know what exactly—and it may not prove to be anything except that Jace Everett didn’t want his secret fling with the Mexican secretary from downstairs out in the open—but it’ll drive me insane until I find out.

Natasha reappears, her face a shade paler than it was and looking chastised. “I’m sorry, but we’ll need to reschedule.”

“Why?”

She gives me a pointed stare but then explains in a fake, polite voice, loud enough for her boss to hear, I presume, “We’re awfully sorry but there’s been some sort of glitch with the investment questionnaire you completed for Mr. Everett, and he’d feel much more comfortable locating it for perusal before continuing.”