“I will have Bastian send Teresa the address.”

There was a slight pause, like maybe he was going to say something other than what came out. “Can I give you a lift home? My driver is right down the block…”

“No. I’m going to walk.”

“You live around here?” he asked.

Shit.

I really didn’t need him knowing that.

“To the subway,” I clarified.

“At this time of night? Alone?”

I would have bristled at the concern in his voice if it was literally any other man on the surface of the earth. When Soren said it, though, it made a strange fluttering sensation move across my chest.

“I’m a lot tougher than I look.”

There was another pause—Soren battling with his conscience, no doubt.

“Allow me to walk you to the platform then. For my own peace of mind.”

Dammit.

I literally lived just a few blocks away.

But to keep up with the lie, I guess I was hopping on the closest train to, well, anywhere else.

“Fine,” I agreed, starting to walk.

Soren moved to walk beside me, slowing his much longer-legged pace to stay beside me.

Neither of us said anything as we walked down the block, then down the next set of steps toward the mezzanine, the stark fluorescent lights making me wince as the scent of grease, metal, and, well, urine met my nose.

“I thought you had a driver,” I said as Soren fished a MetroCard out of his wallet.

“I do.”

“Then why have a MetroCard at all?”

“Because traffic in the city can be a nightmare,” he said, swiping his card, moving through the turnstile, then waiting for me in the paid zone. “Sometimes, it makes more sense to take the subway. And other times, I just don’t want to bother Calvin if I’m just heading to an early—or late—meeting.”

I had to admit, I liked him a little more, knowing he wasn’t someone who thought his employees’ whole worlds did—and should—revolve around him.

We silently descended another set of stairs, my heels clicking on the concrete as the station shook when a train arrived.

“Have you ever been here before?” I asked as we walked out toward the platform, the crooning of a busker, making Soren immediately reach for his wallet and toss a ten in the man’s open guitar case.

“I kicked around Brooklyn when I was younger, I guess. Here and there. But I spent more time in The Bronx.”

Interesting.

Nothing about this polished businessman made me think he would have spent time in The Bronx, which statistically had the most violent crime of any of the boroughs—just beating out Brooklyn for the top spot, in fact.

As if reading my mind, Soren leaned down a bit. “I’m a lot tougher than I look too.”