SELENE’s POV
I almost missed her.
It was the kind of almost that lived in the margin between a glance and a look — the difference between eyes passing over something and eyes landing on it. I had been walking toward the private entrance of Arden Tower after a lunch meeting that had run twenty minutes longer than scheduled, my mind already on the three o’clock call with the Tokyo partners, when something in my peripheral vision snagged.
I kept walking, then I stopped abruptly.
Across the street, half sheltered beneath the awning of a closed boutique, Ava Bennett stood looking at the building.
She had a notebook open in her hand. And she wasn’t looking at the building the way a person looked at architecture or even the way a curious person looked at something that interested them. She w
