The Temptation (Filthy Rich Americans 5)

The brown cardboard box was in rough shape, and a customs form was pasted on one side. I hadn’t ordered anything recently, and definitely not anything international, but my company’s name was printed on the label with the attention listed as Emery Mendenhall. The return address was a shipping company in Aruba. I grabbed a pair of scissors out of my pencil cup and sliced through the packing tape.

I peeled back the flaps and the tissue paper, and my confusion grew. Fabric? I lifted the swath of green out, stunned at the heavy weight of it, and it tumbled open, revealing it was a dress. I pulled it out of the box and held it up to see it completely. The garment was strapless with layered folds placed over the bustline and fitted down through the waist before opening into a skirt that looked longer in the back than the front and had a thick hem. It draped beautifully as if the curves of the full skirt had been expertly hung.

Was this from Vance, sent via Petra?

It was gorgeous, and I couldn’t resist flattening it against me to see if it would fit, even as I sensed it would.

Of course, this was the moment my older, male boss rapped his knuckles on the metal frame of my cubicle and walked in.

“Pretty dress,” he said.

I shoved it back in the box as quickly as possible, pretending he hadn’t just seen me fawning all over it. “Hey. What’s up?”

“I forwarded you an email chain from last week. You don’t need to do anything, but Stan said you liked to know whenever a client changes or upgrades a safe.”

“Yeah. I poke around on the forums and get familiar with the model if I’m not already.”

We safe technicians had a tight-knit online community, and we all shared information to help each other with faster, damage-free opens. There were several times over the years I’d been stumped and someone else had a tip that helped me push through.

There were really only two kinds of safes. Ones to shield the contents from fire, and ones to prevent burglary. Naturally, fire safes were easier to open, so I didn’t concern myself too much with clients who had them. But the security safes? I had a database in my head of who owned what and tried to keep up to date with attack methods in case someone got locked out.

“It’s a Lagerfield,” he said.

“Whoa. That’s serious.” A strange sensation coasted down my spine, and dread settled in my stomach. I somehow already knew, I but asked it anyway, keeping my voice nonchalant. “Which client?”

“Cape Hill address.” My boss tugged at his earlobe as he tried to recall, then found the answer. “Lambert.”

Fuck.

My voice was tight. “Okay, thanks.”

As soon as he disappeared from my cube, I closed the box and set it aside, making room for my laptop. I needed to see the email. Was there any chance the safe wasn’t being installed until after the party?

No, there wasn’t. The delivery was scheduled for Saturday—

In two freaking days.

I stood up from my chair so quickly, it rolled back and thudded quietly against the wall. I snatched up my purse, told Justin in the next cube over I was stepping out for a bit, and hurried for the elevator.

I thumbed a text message out to Vance, hoping he wasn’t in a meeting.

Me: Please call me ASAP.

Thankfully, my phone rang as soon as I stepped outside the building, and I hurried along the sidewalk, walking with no destination other than to keep moving.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and if I wasn’t freaking out, I would have been touched by the concern in his voice.

“Lambert’s getting a new safe installed this weekend,” I blurted. “We’re totally screwed.”

He took a breath, probably still processing, but his tone was soothing. “Okay. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

I couldn’t tell if he was saying this simply to calm me down, or if he was just more rational than I was. All I could see was this enormous setback. I’d already been dealt one when Jillian vanished, and I wasn’t sure I could overcome another so soon. All I’d worked for had been so close, and it was impossibly cruel to have another opportunity disappear.

“I don’t think,” Vance said, “you can get in his house in the next thirty-six hours.”

“No,” I bit out.

“Then,” he said it with confidence, “we stick to the plan.”

I pulled up short, making the guy walking behind me issue a disgruntled sound as he narrowly avoided a collision. I ignored his dirty look as he walked past.

“You don’t understand. I knew how I was getting in the Browning safe. This one, I’m starting over. I don’t know which attack method is going to work. And do you know how loud drilling can be? How long it can take?” My mind raced, spiraling downward. “How many drills I’m going to burn up before I even get inside?”