“Yes, hello,” I said, purposely giving the man a limp-wristed handshake. I could almost see him stiffen in aversion. “I have a noon meeting with Mr. Kalamack.”

“I’m Mr. Kalamack’s publicity adviser, Jonathan,” the man said. Apart from taking great care in his pronunciation, he had no accent. “If you would accompany me? Mr. Kalamack will meet with you in his back office.” He blinked, his eyes watering. I imagined it was from my perfume. Maybe I had overdone it, but I wasn’t going to risk triggering Ivy’s instincts.

Jonathan opened the door for me, motioning me to go before him. I stepped through, surprised to find the building brighter inside than out. I had expected a private residence, and this wasn’t it. The entryway looked like the headquarters of any Fortune-twenty business, with the familiar glass and marble motif. White pillars held up the distant ceiling. An impressive mahogany desk stretched before the twin staircases that rose to the second and third floors. Light streamed in. Either it was piped in from the roof or Trent was spending a fortune on natural-light bulbs. A soft, mottled green carpet muffled any echo. There was a buzz of muted conversations and a steady but sedate flow of people going about their business.

“This way, Ms. Percy,” my escort said softly.

I dragged my eyes from the man-sized pots of citrus trees and followed Jonathan’s measured pace past the front desk and through a series of hallways. The farther we went, the lower the ceilings, the darker the lighting, and the more comforting the colors and textures became. Almost unnoticed, the soothing sound of running water drifted into existence. We hadn’t met anyone since leaving the front entryway, and I felt a touch uneasy.

Clearly we had left the public face behind and entered the more private areas. What, I wondered, was going on? Adrenaline shook me as Jonathan paused and put a fingertip to his ear.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, stepping a few feet away. His wrist, I noticed as he raised his hand to his ear, had a microphone on his watchband. Alarmed, I strained to catch his words as he had turned to prevent me from reading his lips.

“Yes, Sa’han,” he whispered, his tone respectful.

I waited, holding my breath so I could hear.

“With me,” he said. “I was informed you had an interest, so I have taken the liberty of escorting her to your back porch.” Jonathan shifted uncomfortably. He gave me a long, sideways look of disbelief. “Her?”

I wasn’t sure to take that as a compliment or insult, and I pretended to be busy rearranging the back of my stockings and pulling another strand of hair from my topknot to dangle beside my earring. I wondered if someone had investigated the trunk. My pulse quickened as I realized how quickly this could come tumbling down about me.

His eyes widened. “Sa’han,” he said urgently, “accept my apologies. The gatehouse said—” His words cut off and I could see him stiffen under what must be a rebuke. “Yes, Sa’han,” he said, tilting his head in an unconscious show of deference. “Your front office.”