Burned Deep (Burned 1)

“The only reason no one knows about us,” he told me, “is because I don’t want it somehow getting back to my former investors.”

I drew up short. “Are you suggesting there might be a—what do you call it?” I searched my brain and said, “A mole on-property?”

“It wasn’t beavers that destroyed my security wiring,” he reminded me.

I continued down the pathway with him, saying, “You do background checks on employees. For God’s sake, I’ve experienced the in-depth paperwork. How would someone slip by, when—”

“Don’t forget who we’re dealing with, Ari.”

I sighed. “Right.” Secret society. Wealthy, affluent, influential, powerful. “So anyone could be the bad guy.”

“Yes.” He gave me a solemn look. “Just … not me.”

“Dane.”

We entered an elevator and I turned to him. “I never thought that. Not once.”

“I know you don’t understand what this is all about.”

“I understand that you’ve poured everything into the Lux. Of course you’re going to want to see this through—and keep the wolves at bay. I told you I’m supportive. I mean it.”

I spared a glance at the video camera in the corner and frowned. I wanted to kiss him. But every angle was recorded and monitored now that the security systems were fully functioning.

With a hint of frustration, I simply told him, “I get what you’re doing.”

“Thank you.”

We stepped out on the fourth floor. I collected my notes from my office and we headed to the conference room in Dane’s suite. It, too, was monitored, so I took a seat and shifted gears to business.

* * *

Saturday evening, we had dinner alone on the terrace of 10,000 Lux. More decadence that made my insides thrum. And Dane couldn’t seem to take his eyes off me. I wore a new dress. A one-shouldered number in sapphire. I’d pinned my hair in a loose updo, with a few long, curly strands left free.

Over our arugula, strawberry, and feta cheese salads, he said, “PR wants to bring more media crews out in the next month to build up a bit of hype. What are your thoughts by way of hosting?”

“The property sells itself, but I can pull together a reception for them, showcase our food and desserts. Have a jazz ensemble offer background music while they take photos. It’d be good if you were casually mingling to answer questions and give some clever sound bites.”

He grinned. “I never doubted for a second you were the

woman for this job.”

“I love it, honestly.” I glanced toward the gardens and fountains and told him, “Seriously, this can’t be beat. And I think it deserves to be shown off.” Gazing back at him, I asked, “How many for that evening, do you think?”

“Around a hundred reporters. As many as we can get, exclusively, this side of the Mississippi.”

I shrugged. “Why not go global? Make it a sneak peek for the international crème de la crème before you orchestrate the full-scale media blitz?”

Dane pushed aside his empty plate and said, “Maybe you should manage PR, too.”

“Not a chance,” I was quick to say. “I’ve got more than enough to do. And Traci is awesome, anyway.”

Miyanaga appeared to clear our salads and deliver our entrees. Rib eye with crab béarnaise sauce.

“You didn’t get to finish yours last time,” Dane coyly said.

“That’s because you were tempting me with a spectacular office.”

“And I’m so glad you took the bait.”