My father cut me off on a Tuesday. By Wednesday, every card was declined. By Friday, I was standing outside an unmarked black door on Elizabeth Street, applying for a job I never would have touched three days ago. Velvet isn't a club. It's a cathedral for secrets — and I'm the new hostess. Then I see him. Gray eyes. Dark suit. Watching me from the shadows like he's been waiting. He leaves me a thousand dollars and a note that says "Welcome home." His name is Alexander Cross. He owns Velvet. He's my father's biggest enemy. And he's the first person who's ever asked me what I want. The problem is, I don't know the answer. But I'm about to find out.