Chapter 4

...NIKOLAI...

Sienna Vale looked at me like she was deciding whether murder would be legally justifiable.

Interesting.

Most people reacted differently in my presence.

Nervousness.

Submission.

Careful politeness.

Sienna reacted with irritation.

I found that far more dangerous.

“I’m going to assume this is some kind of mistake,” she said coolly from behind her desk.

“No mistake.”

Beside her, Jules Ambrose openly stared between us with the enthusiasm of someone watching a tennis match.

Subtle.

“I should probably leave,” Jules announced, making absolutely no move toward the door.

“Yes,” Sienna said immediately.

“No,” I said at the same time.

Her eyes narrowed.

Mine remained steady.

The tension thickened instantly.

Jules looked delighted.

“I suddenly understand why people enjoy reality television,” she murmured before finally standing. On her way past me, she paused briefly. “Try not to emotionally traumatize each other before lunch.”

Then she disappeared.

Silence settled over the office.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Manhattan behind Sienna, sunlight catching against the gold accents scattered throughout the room. The space suited her.

Elegant.

Organized.

Controlled.

At least, it had been controlled before I arrived.

“What proposition?” she asked finally.

Straight to business.

Good.

I stepped farther into the office, ignoring the subtle way her posture stiffened at my movement.

“Arden Groups is hosting its annual winter gala in six weeks.” My gaze flicked briefly across the event sketches pinned beside her desk. “I want you to plan it.”

Surprise flashed across her face before disappearing beneath suspicion.

“There are thousands of event planners in New York.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“Yes.”

Her expression sharpened. “Why?”

Because I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Because every instinct told me getting closer to Sienna Vale was a catastrophic idea.

Because despite that, I came anyway.

Instead, I said, “Your work is efficient.”

A lie by omission.

Sienna crossed her arms. “You hated me two nights ago.”

“I disliked your coordination skills.”

“That’s not better.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

A dangerous spark entered her eyes.

There it was again—that defiance that pushed against my patience instead of retreating from it.

Most people adjusted themselves around power.

Sienna challenged it instinctively.

“You could’ve emailed,” she said.

“I prefer face-to-face discussions.”

“Why?”

Because emails didn’t let me study the expression on her face.

Because emails didn’t smell faintly like vanilla and coffee.

Because emails didn’t look at me with equal parts annoyance and curiosity.

I ignored the thoughts immediately.

Irrelevant.

“You ask many questions,” I said instead.

“And you avoid answering them.”

Smart.

I stepped closer to her desk.

Not enough to touch.

Enough to shift the air between us.

Sienna noticed too.

Her breathing changed slightly—not fear, but awareness.

My attention dropped briefly to the movement before returning to her face.

Dangerous.

“You planned the Chen wedding flawlessly,” I said. “I want the same standard.”

Her brows lifted. “Was that a compliment?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

The word slipped out casually, but it landed harder than it should have.

Because she was right.

I rarely complimented anyone.

But I’d noticed everything about that wedding.

The precision.

The atmosphere.

The effortless luxury.

And her.

Especially her.

“You’re staring again,” she said quietly.

My gaze locked onto hers deliberately. “You continue noticing.”

A faint flush colored her cheeks.

Satisfaction curled unexpectedly beneath my ribs.

Annoying.

Sienna cleared her throat first, breaking the moment before it became something neither of us should acknowledge.

“What exactly does this gala involve?”

Business.

Better.

I outlined the basics while she listened carefully, occasionally jotting notes onto the tablet resting beside her laptop. Focus transformed her completely.

Sharper.

More composed.

Beautiful in a way that felt unfair.

When she concentrated, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear absentmindedly.

I noticed that too.

I noticed everything.

“The guest list?” she asked.

“Five hundred attendees.”

Her expression remained calm until I added—

“Several foreign investors. Political figures. Media executives.”

She blinked once. “So basically a nightmare.”

“An expensive nightmare.”

“Hm.” She leaned back slightly. “And if I say no?”

“You won’t.”

Confidence irritated her instantly.

“I might.”

“You enjoy challenges too much.”

Silence.

Not denial.

Interesting.

Sienna studied me carefully, like she was trying to solve something.

Most likely why I was here.

I wasn’t entirely certain myself.

This arrangement was unnecessary. I could hire any planner in the country.

Yet the moment I walked into her office, the restless irritation that followed me since the wedding had eased slightly.

That realization alone was enough to put me in a worse mood.

Finally, she set her tablet down.

“One condition.”

I waited.

“You don’t insult me every five minutes.”

Unreasonable request.

“I make no promises.”

Her eyes flashed. “Then I make no guarantees your guests survive the seating chart.”

The threat was absurdly attractive.

A quiet sound escaped me before I could stop it.

Not quite laughter.

But close enough that Sienna stared at me in visible shock.

Apparently, she hadn’t expected me to be capable of human reactions.

Neither had I.

Slowly, I reached into my jacket pocket and placed a black card on her desk.

“My direct number,” I said.

Her gaze dropped briefly toward the card before lifting again.

“I already regret this.”

No, Piccola.

The dangerous part was that I didn’t.

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