Camille expected Dante to cancel.
He always changed his mind when emotions got too close, when control slipped from his fingers and something raw threatened to surface. But when she stepped into the hallway an hour later, she found him already waiting at the elevator, dressed in a black suit that fit him like a second skin.
He didn't look at her immediately.
He didn't have to.
The way his shoulders stiffened told her he had felt her presence the second she appeared.
When he finally turned, his gaze moved over her slowly. Not hungrily. Not possessively.
But with something far more dangerous—acknowledgment.
Tonight, she wasn't an obligation or a contract.
She was someone he wanted to see.
"You're ready," he said quietly.
"Yes."
Silence stretched, warm and charged.
Then he pressed the elevator button.
