And I didn’t actually know what Lander was like. We had never spoken. I had stalked him online and in person. But that doesn’t tell you what it’s like to be around someone in the flesh, interacting with him. I had imagined that he would be condescending and crude, not challenging and passionate.

Back then I had never felt the warmth of his smile.

Back then it was all fantasy.

Now I have a plan. And now I have the maturity to know that I can cause more pain with a kiss than I can with a blade.

But still . . . The fantasies of killing him weren’t that long ago.

I glance again at the elevators as people wander in and out. It’s a thin crowd; this isn’t a high-traffic floor. It’s a place for the elite. The people who step out of the elevators are dressed in a way that subtly advertises their power and success. Five-hundred-dollar ties peek out from beneath wool crepe suits. Delicate heels skinned in various reptile patterns click carefully across the marble. These are the people who get to gamble with the economies of nations. Fortunately Lander’s not among them at the moment.

The receptionist at the front desk looks up from her computer and gives me an apologetic smile. She’s an incredibly pretty woman and very well dressed, probably around my age. She could be a model . . . or a mistress.

I pick up a Forbes magazine from the low table, vaguely thinking about office romances and human resources departments. If HGVB does have restrictions in that area, would the rules apply to people who have the Gable last name? Probably not.

An elevator opens again, making me jump, but he’s not there.

Has Lander ever slept with one of the girls in this office?

“Mr. Travis Gable will see you now,” the receptionist says, interrupting my thoughts.

I get to my feet so fast it leaves me a little dizzy, but I don’t let it slow me down as I follow close on the heels of the receptionist, who is leading me down a hall, away from the elevators. She reaches for a door, but I beat her to the punch and swing it open myself, quickly stepping out of the hall and into the privacy of Travis’s office.

Lander’s brother is sitting at his desk, talking on the phone, sounding important, possibly for effect. He waves me in without looking up from the papers spread out before him. The suit he’s wearing today is a little nicer than the one he wore on Friday, and his hair is combed a little more carefully. There’s a faint hint of cologne. Whoever he’s trying to impress is no mere client.