DAVE
The moment I slid into the driver’s seat, my phone buzzed with a notification. Sighing, I reached into my jacket pocket, pulled it out, and opened the message.
Elara’s name flashed on the screen.
Her words, as always, reminded me that this was strictly a business arrangement. No more, no less. She never missed an opportunity to emphasize it, and while I understood her reasons, it didn’t make it any less annoying.
“Change of plans,” I called to Pedro, my driver, without looking up from the phone. My eyes scanned the address Elara had sent. “Take me to…” I paused, squinting at the message. “Wembley Avenue.”
Wembley Avenue? I frowned. It wasn’t a place I was familiar with, at least not for anything formal. Definitely not a location I associated with law firms or anything remotely p
