Sylvia’s POV
"Ms. Frost? Are you alright?" Noah Smith's concerned voice barely registered through the roaring in my ears.
I tore my gaze away from Caesar and forced myself to focus on my client. "I'm fine," I lied smoothly, decades of political training allowing me to mask the turmoil raging inside. "Just thought I recognized someone. Shall we get your luggage?"
As we walked toward the baggage claim, I felt Noah Smith studying me with unexpected intensity.
"You seem distracted," he observed casually. "Family troubles?"
The perceptiveness of his question startled me. "Nothing that would interfere with business," I assured him with a practiced smile.
His eyes—amber with flecks of gold—held mine for a beat too long. "I certainly hope not. I've heard remarkable things about
