When Don Acosta presses the elevator’s call button, I take a step forward. Before I could take another step, Micah grabs me by the wrist, causing me to stagger while stepping back.
“What?”
Though it’s a whisper, the sharpness in my voice is distinguishable.
“What if he sees us then remembers our faces when he goes to the mansion?” she asks, also in a hushed voice.
“Who told you that we’ll let him see our faces?”
A prim smirk emerges from my lips. But that doesn’t change Micah’s fearful expression, so I offer,
“You can stay here if you prefer. But I’ll follow him.”
Her creased eyes widen as she tilts her body back. She assess my offer first for a second before shaking her head, then replying,
“No, I’ll come with you.”
The primness of my smirk turns into a grateful one. With the ut
