he velvet ropes, the humidity making her dress stick uncomfortably to her lower back. Zoe had met her at

ok at them. He was staring over Is

voice over the thumping bass leaking from

gh his iPad with agonizing

ped, stepping forward.

tient sighs. One of them, a blonde with sharp features, leaned in.

the digital invite, but the signal in the Meatpacking District was choked b

king slightly. "It's my company's futu

at her. His eyes were flat,

lling her back, but Isadora planted her fe

atmosphe

line died down. The paparazzi, who had been lazily smoking cigarettes, s

ntly like a predator. It stopped right in front of t

hauffeur stepped out, moving briskly to the

k dress shoe hi

ever seen before em

an who handled the assets of the city's most powerful and discreet players. He wore a dark suit that fit him so perfectly it looked like it ha

mpletely unreadable. It wasn't anger; it was an indiffe

who had just dismissed Isadora, practically bent in

man said, his voice tr

n't acknowledge him. He walked

but the crowd surged forward, trying to get a

cobblestone. Her arms flailed, grasping at empty air. She squeezed her eyes shut,

act nev

a gentle grip; it was a stabilizer. It hauled her up with an eff

e was staring directly into

a startling shade of blue-grey, like the ocean before a storm. He wasn't smiling

arwood and something cr

," he said. His voice was d

her knees weak again. He released her a

" Isadora stamme

oorman. He didn't raise his voice. H

e. "Of course, Mr. R

t Zoe. He tilted his head toward the open

g against her ribs. She could feel the eyes of the girls wh

but his presence was a shield. The noise of t

e was tall, towering over her even in her heels. He looke

cond floor," Mr. Riddle said. "

alked toward a private elevator guarded by tw

nails digging in. "Did Kingston

ff the sight of his broad back. She rubbed her arm

o," Isador

, "is a good omen. Come on.

But the coldness of the proxy's eyes lingered in