The words hung in the cool night air between them, raw and stark.
I can give you Alexander.
For a heartbeat that felt like a lifetime, nothing happened. Leonard Cruz didn't move. His expression didn't change. Those gray eyes, the color of a winter sky just before a storm, just held hers. There was no surprise. No anger. No curiosity. Nothing. It was like she'd spoken to a statue.
The silence was a vacuum, sucking all the air out of her lungs. Her carefully rehearsed speech, the bullet points from Maria's notebook, everything evaporated from her mind, leaving behind a white-noise scream. He's going to call security. He's going to have me thrown out. This was a mistake, a huge, stupid mistake…
"The Sterling girl."
His voice was low. Calm. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, devoid of any emotion. He knew exactly who she was. The realization was a bucket of ice water dumped over her head.
She forced herself to nod, her neck muscles so tight they ached. The tray of empty champagne flutes in her hands felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. She was a mouse that had just tapped a lion on the shoulder.
"My family," she started, her voice trembling despite her iron will to keep it steady. "They're… they're trying to…"
"I know what they're trying to do," he interrupted, his voice still that same, infuriatingly calm monotone. He finally moved, turning fully to face her, leaning back against the balcony railing. He looked her up and down, taking in the ill-fitting server's uniform, the too-tight bun. His gaze was a physical touch, cold and assessing. "The more interesting question is what you are doing. Hiding in plain sight. Dressed like the help."
The condescension in his tone should have made her shrink. Instead, it lit a fuse. This was it. This was the moment. She was either going to walk away broken, or she was going to prove she wasn't the empty-headed doll everyone saw.
She let the tray of glasses clatter onto a small patio table, the sound making him raise an eyebrow. The pretense was over.
"I'm not hiding," she said, and this time, her voice didn't shake. It was flat. Hard. "I'm working. And I came to make you a business proposition."
A flicker of something, amusement? annoyance? crossed his features. "I don't make deals with children playing dress-up."
"I'm not a child." The words came out sharper than she intended. "I'm the one person in that room they all underestimate. They think I'm stupid. They think I don't listen. But I hear everything. I know things."
He didn't respond. He just watched her. Waiting. It was unnerving. He was letting her dig her own grave.
She took a step closer, lowering her voice. "I know about the woman in Brooklyn. The one from last summer. The payout was two hundred thousand, but it was funneled through a shell company called 'Apex Holdings.' I know about the failed club investment in Miami that he tried to blame on his partner. I have dates. Names. Bank transfer records my father was stupid enough to leave on his home computer."
She was throwing out pieces of Maria's dossier like grenades, watching for any reaction. Anything. His face remained an impassive mask, but his eyes… his eyes had changed. The bored indifference was gone. Now, they were focused. Intent. Predatory.
He was listening.
It gave her the last shot of courage she needed.
"They want to sell me to him," she said, the bitterness coating her words. "To make him your problem forever. I'm their peace offering. But I'm not a peace offering. I'm a declaration of war. My war. And I'm offering you an alliance."
He was silent for another long moment, just looking at her. The sounds of the party were a distant, muffled hum.
"You want me to go to war with your family," he stated.
"I want you to give me the tools to burn it all down myself," she corrected him, her chin lifted. "You provide the platform. The protection. The resources. I provide the intel. The access. I will hand you Alexander on a silver platter, so thoroughly disgraced you can finally cut him loose without a shred of guilt. In return, you get rid of your biggest headache. And I get my revenge."
She was breathless by the end of it, her heart hammering against her ribs. She'd used up her sixty seconds and then some.
Leonard Cruz pushed himself off the railing. He took a single step toward her. He wasn't a tall man, but his presence seemed to fill the entire balcony, making the air feel thin. He stopped just a foot away, close enough for her to smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne and see the flecks of silver in his gray eyes.
"Let me understand you," he said, his voice so quiet she had to lean in to hear it. It was no longer calm. It was dangerously soft. "You, the daughter of my business rival, who is being offered to my nephew in a marriage I despise, want me to arm you against your own family. You want to become a weapon in my arsenal."
Eva held her ground, though every instinct screamed at her to run. "Yes."
"And why would I ever trust you?"
"Because I have everything to lose and nothing left to care about," she whispered, the truth of it clawing at her throat. "And because you know a good asset when you see one."
A slow, dark smile touched his lips. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a shark that had just scented blood in the water.
"Tomorrow. Ten a.m." He reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a simple, black business card. There was no name. No title. Just a single, embossed address downtown. He held it out between two fingers. "Don't be late."
She reached for it, her fingers brushing against his. His skin was warm. The contact sent an unexpected jolt up her arm.
He held onto the card for a second longer than necessary, his eyes locking with hers. "And come as yourself. The server uniform is a pathetic disguise."
He released the card, turned, and walked back into the party without a backward glance, leaving her alone on the balcony.
Eva stood there, frozen, the black card pinched between her fingers. Her whole body was trembling.
She had done it.
She had just made a deal with the devil.
And he had accepted.