MAXWELL’S POV
The interior of the limousine was hermetically sealed against the noise of the city, but the silence between us felt louder than the traffic outside. Andrea sat on the opposite leather bench, staring out the tinted window. Her hand kept drifting up to her throat, her fingers tracing the cold metal of the emerald necklace.
"Stop touching it," I said, breaking the silence. "You look nervous. Harringtons aren't nervous."
Andrea dropped her hand instantly, clasping it with the other in her lap. "I'm not nervous about the necklace. I'm nervous about the pack of wolves waiting for us. I looked up the guest list on my phone while we were waiting for the car. Do you realize the combined net worth in that ballroom is higher than the GDP of most small countries?"
"Money is just noi
