Chapter 2 - THE WATCH
For one strange second, I thought Nikolai was exaggerating.
Then every door in the penthouse locked at once.
The soft clicks traveled around the ballroom beneath the music.
Nikolai’s hand remained inside his jacket.
“Stay behind me.”
“I don’t need you to—”
“Tonight,” he said without looking at me, “you do.”
His tone should have irritated me.
It did.
Unfortunately, the unmistakable fear crawling over my skin was stronger.
Across the room, my friend Tessa had finally noticed that something was wrong. Her delighted grin over my two-hundred-dollar victory disappeared.
She started toward us.
Nikolai lifted two fingers.
A man near the bar intercepted her—not roughly, but firmly—and guided her away from the glass doors.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Keeping your friend alive.”
That silenced me.
Nikolai pulled his phone from the table and read the message again.
MITCHELL KNOWS SHE’S WITH YOU. HE’S MOVING EARLIER THAN EXPECTED.
“You knew Mitchell was watching me.”
It wasn’t a question.
Nikolai’s gray eyes returned to mine.
“I knew Mitchell had people watching this building.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s mine.”
I glanced around the soaring penthouse, the chandeliers, the string quartet, the hundreds of wealthy guests.
“This is your party?”
“My foundation’s.”
Of course it was.
I had spent the evening drinking champagne beneath the roof of the man half Manhattan whispered about like a ghost story.
Then another thought hit me.
“You knew I was coming.”
A pause.
Too long.
My stomach tightened.
“Nikolai.”
“Yes.”
The single word landed harder than it should have.
Before I could demand an explanation, a man in a navy suit approached and murmured, “East elevator. Three men. One is Mitchell Mercer.”
My pulse stumbled.
Mitchell.
My ex-husband had spent seven years deciding what I wore, whom I saw, when I left the house, how long dinner with my own friends should last.
He never shouted in public.
That was part of what made him so good at it.
Everything cruel happened in a reasonable voice.
Nikolai turned to me.
“Did you bring anything here tonight that belonged to your father?”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Think.”
“My father has been dead for five years.”
“I’m aware.”
Something about the answer made my chest go cold.
“How?”
But Nikolai wasn’t watching me anymore.
He was watching my purse.
A tiny silver chain hung from the zipper.
The chain attached to the antique pocket watch inside.
My father’s watch.
I had almost left it at home.
Instead, on the first anniversary of my divorce being finalized, I had slipped it into my purse because my father used to tell me that courage was easier when you carried something worth remembering.
Mitchell had hated that watch.
Not dramatically.
Not enough for me to understand.
He would simply take it from the dresser and return it to the safe.
Whenever I asked why, he said, “Things like that get lost.”
After my father died, Mitchell had asked me twice whether the watch contained “anything unusual.”
I’d thought he meant an engraving.
“Give it to me,” Nikolai said.
My fingers tightened around my bag.
“No.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
Approval?
“Good.”
“What?”
“Never hand something over simply because a man with authority tells you to.”
“You just told me to.”
“I wanted to know what you’d do.”
Despite everything, anger flared through me.
“You enjoy tests?”
“No.”
His gaze dropped briefly to my lips.
“I enjoyed one thing tonight. This isn’t it.”
Heat rushed embarrassingly through my face.
Then the elevator chimed.
The ballroom changed.
No screams.
No panic.
Just a subtle movement as Nikolai’s people shifted into place.
The elevator doors opened.
Mitchell stepped out.
For a moment, seven years of marriage crushed themselves into one breath.
He looked exactly the same.
Expensive charcoal suit. Dark blond hair perfectly controlled. Calm blue eyes that could make strangers believe he was the safest man in any room.
Two men stood behind him.
Mitchell’s gaze found me immediately.
Then it moved to Nikolai.
Then to Nikolai’s hand resting lightly at my back.
His face barely changed.
That was worse than rage.
“Come here,” Mitchell said to me.
My old instincts answered before I did.
Straighten.
Don’t embarrass him.
Keep your voice low.
Explain later.
I hated that those instincts still existed.
Nikolai must have felt me go rigid because his hand vanished from my back.
Not tightened.
Not claimed.
Vanished.
He gave me space.
That tiny gesture did something seven years of apologies had never done.
It reminded me that standing beside a powerful man did not require belonging to him.
I lifted my chin.
“No.”
Mitchell blinked.
Once.
Then he smiled.
“You’ve had champagne.”
“I’ve had a divorce.”
Several people nearby pretended not to listen.
Mitchell’s jaw tightened.
“Tessa brought you somewhere you don’t understand.”
“I understand enough.”
“No. You don’t.”
He looked at Nikolai.
“You’re enjoying this.”
Nikolai’s expression remained almost bored.
“You came uninvited into my home with two armed men. I’m enjoying your confidence.”
Mitchell’s companions shifted.
So did half the room.
Mitchell noticed.
He wasn’t stupid.
“Send everyone away,” he said. “This is private.”
“You entered my home,” Nikolai replied. “Nothing here is private unless I decide it is.”
Mitchell looked back at me.
“Did Reed tell you why you were invited tonight?”
My heart sank.
Nikolai said nothing.
Mitchell saw the answer on my face.
“There it is.”
“Don’t,” I warned.
“He arranged for your friend to receive those invitations.”
I turned.
Nikolai didn’t deny it.
The hurt surprised me.
It shouldn’t have.
I’d known the man for approximately four minutes, one reckless kiss, and a threat involving a concealed gun.
Still, betrayal was betrayal.
“You used Tessa to get me here?”
“I needed to speak with you.”
“So you manipulated me.”
“I created an opportunity.”
Mitchell laughed softly.
“He always did have elegant names for ugly things.”
That made me look at him.
“You know each other.”
Mitchell’s smile faded.
Nikolai’s eyes became unreadable.
Another secret.
Of course.
I suddenly wanted to be anywhere else.
“I’m leaving.”
Mitchell immediately stepped forward.
Nikolai did not.
That difference mattered.
“Not with him,” Mitchell said.
“I wasn’t asking permission.”
“You have something that belongs to me.”
I nearly laughed.
“There it is. Seven years, and somehow everything still belongs to you.”
“This isn’t about us.”
“Everything was always about us when you wanted something.”
His restraint cracked.
Just enough.
“Check your purse.”
My fingers went still.
Mitchell’s eyes dropped toward the silver chain.
Nikolai saw it too.
His entire body seemed to sharpen.
Mitchell took another step.
“Your father left you an antique watch.”
A hush had formed around us now.
Not the whole ballroom.
Just enough people to make Mitchell aware that his perfect public mask was slipping.
I reached into my purse.
The silver watch lay against my palm, heavier than I remembered.
Its case was scratched near the hinge.
The hands had stopped years ago at 8:17.
Nikolai stared at it.
For the first time since I’d kissed him, genuine shock crossed his face.
“You have it,” he whispered.
I looked between the two men.
“What is this?”
Mitchell held out his hand.
His voice softened into the tone he used whenever he wanted me to believe surrender was my idea.
“Give me the watch.”
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
“You don’t understand what your father put inside it.”
I stopped breathing.
Nikolai stepped closer, but he spoke to Mitchell.
“You told me it had been destroyed.”
Mitchell’s face changed.
That was when I understood.
They hadn’t merely known each other.
They had been looking for the same thing.
For years.
I backed away from both of them.
“What did my father hide?”
Neither man answered.
I pressed the release on the watch.
The front cover snapped open.
Nothing unusual.
Just worn Roman numerals and frozen hands.
Then Nikolai said, very quietly, “Turn it over.”
I did.
Near the hinge was a narrow groove I had always assumed was damage.
Nikolai removed a slim metal collar stay from his shirt and held it out.
“Press there.”
Mitchell lunged.
Nikolai’s men moved faster.
Two bodies blocked him before he got within six feet of me.
“Don’t!” Mitchell shouted.
I pressed the groove.
A second back panel sprang open.
Something fluttered onto the marble floor.
An old photograph.
And a tiny brass key.
I bent and picked up the picture.
Three men stood on a Manhattan pier twenty years earlier.
My father.
A younger man I recognized instantly as Nikolai Reed’s father.
And between them—
Mitchell’s father.
My hands began to shake.
On the back, in my father’s handwriting, were eight words.
I read them once.
Then again.
Mitchell went completely pale.
Nikolai swore under his breath.
The message said:
IF MITCHELL ASKS FOR THIS, HE ALREADY KNOWS.
And beneath it was one final line.
ROOM 814. ST. ALDEN.
May you like
Mitchell stopped pretending to be calm.
“Give me that key.”
