Chapter Nine – The Cover
Annabell spent the rest of the day in a daze.
She tried to concentrate on the details of her assignment, but her mind kept drifting to Michael's voice—When this is over, we will finish what we started.
Every time she replayed those words, her stomach tightened.
By early evening, she'd memorized the cover story Michael's security advisor had prepared. She was now "Elena Parks," a freelance auditor specializing in corporate liability assessments. A name, a résumé, a disposable phone—everything ready.
She stared at herself in the mirror of the guest suite, barely recognizing the reflection. Her simple blouse and pencil skirt were replaced by a sleek black dress and a cropped blazer, chosen to look competent and just polished enough to catch Tony's interest.
When the car arrived, she gathered her courage and went downstairs. Michael stood near the entrance, waiting. His expression was unreadable as she approached.
He looked her over, slowly, as though cataloging every detail. She tried not to squirm under the weight of his gaze.
"You'll do," he said quietly.
Her voice was unsteady. "I'm nervous."
His mouth curved in a way that wasn't quite a smile. "Good. You'll be careful."
For a moment, she thought that was all he'd say. But then he stepped closer, and the air seemed to thicken around them.
"Annabell."
She swallowed. "Yes?"
His eyes locked on hers. "You remember your instructions?"
She nodded. "Ask about the investments. Listen for anything he volunteers about Yinix contracts. Look for inconsistencies."
"Good."
His gaze flicked to her lips. Her breath caught, wondering if he would kiss her right there. But instead, he reached out and traced his thumb along her cheekbone.
"If he touches you," he said, voice low, "you tell me."
Her throat tightened. "I will."
"I don't care if this is an assignment." His tone sharpened into something dangerous. "You're still mine."
Heat curled low in her belly. She tried to answer, but her voice stuck in her throat.
The driver opened the door, and the spell broke. Michael stepped back, his expression hardening again.
"Go," he said, softer now. "I'll be waiting for your call."
She climbed into the back seat, her pulse hammering. As the car pulled away, she looked back to see him standing in the drive, hands in his pockets, watching her leave.
It was nearly dark by the time she arrived at the private club Tony frequented. The hostess ushered her upstairs to a small lounge with polished wood paneling and flickering candles.
He was already waiting—Tony Barlow, in a perfectly tailored navy suit, with the air of a man who believed the world owed him deference. His assessing gaze swept over her as she approached the table.
"Miss Parks," he said, standing to shake her hand. "Pleasure."
Annabell smiled carefully. "Mr. Barlow. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice."
"Of course," he said smoothly. "I'm always interested in…discreet opportunities."
As they sat, she forced herself to breathe evenly. She thought of Michael's hands on her face, the fierce glint in his eyes when he'd said You're still mine.
It steadied her.
Tony leaned back, watching her with thinly veiled curiosity. "So tell me," he purred, "what exactly does your consulting entail?"
Annabell crossed her legs, lifted her chin, and gave him the practiced smile she'd rehearsed all afternoon.
"It entails uncovering the truth," she said calmly.
And she would. For Michael.
For herself.
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