The limousine pulled up to a discreet entrance on a quiet street in Knightsbridge. No flashing signs, no velvet ropes, no paparazzi. Just a single brass plaque beside an unmarked door: Core by Clare Smyth.
Jane's heart hammered against her ribs.
"This is it," Kyle said.
"This is... subtle."
"That's how you know it's expensive."
The driver opened the door. Kyle stepped out first, then offered Jane his hand.
"Well, my lady, would you do me the honor?"
Jane giggled as she took it, her fingers trembling slightly, and emerged onto the cobblestone pavement.
The door opened before they could knock.
A host in a tailored black suit greeted them with a warm but professional smile. "Mr. Kyle. Welcome. Your table is ready."
Jane blinked. "They know his name even without introducing himself?"
