Freya stood in front of her wardrobe, staring at the row of dresses like they held all the answers to her uncertainty.
Her phone buzzed again.
ARNOLD:
8PM. I'll be waiting. Wear something dangerous. (Winks)
She rolled her eyes. "Dangerous? I'll wear heels sharp enough to stab you," she muttered.
Still, an hour later, she was in one of her more elegant red dresses and a black heels.
Marcel arrived right on time.
Freya opened her apartment door to find the always-composed driver standing tall, his gloved hands folded neatly in front of him.
"Miss Davis," he greeted with a slight nod. "Mr. Connor is expecting you."
Freya forced a small smile. "Is he?"
Marcel didn't respond. Just stepped aside and opened the back door of the car.
The ride was silent, except for the hum of the engine and the low sound of jazz playing through the speakers.
Freya kept her gaze fixed out the window, heart thudding quietly.
