EMILY
I’d never been so aware of my own heartbeat.
It thudded relentlessly beneath my ribs, as I sat in the passenger seat of the sleek black car, watching the restaurant from across the street. People moved in and out, laughing, flirting, drinking. All blissfully unaware that tonight, I wasn’t just another girl in heels.
I was a spy.
Or something dangerously close to it.
Nicholas sat beside me, calm as ever, like this was just another day at the office. His fingers drummed lazily on the steering wheel, but I knew him well enough to see the alertness in his eyes. Nothing about Nicholas was ever casual. Not really.
“Tyron Banks,” he reminded me, in that smooth voice. “Middle-aged. Greasy smile. Drinks more than he should. He’s hesitant about the company, but I want him interested. To
