The door opened inward.
Elodie had prepared a smile. Professional. Polite.
The smile died on her lips.
Standing in the center of the room, phone pressed to her ear, was a woman in a cream-colored Chanel suit. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a severe, perfect chignon. She turned around.
It was Caroline Vanderbilt.
Elodie's blood turned to ice. She stopped breathing. Her feet felt nailed to the floor.
Caroline laughed into the phone. "No, tell the caterer no peanuts. Obviously." She hung up and turned her gaze to Elodie. Her eyes were blue, sharp, and assessing.
The agency representative, a nervous man named Peter, stepped forward from the corner. "Ms. Vanderbilt, this is our top translator, Elodie."
Caroline's eyes widened slightly. A slow, predatory smile spread across her face. She looked Elodie up and down, lingering on the fraying cuff of the Armani jacket, then back up to Elodie's pale face.
"Elodie Sinclair," Caroline said. Her voice was like silk wrapped around a razor blade. "The fallen princess."
Elodie wanted to run. Her fight-or-flight response was screaming flight. But the contract. The penalty clause. The money for her mother.
"Ms. Vanderbilt," Elodie said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I didn't realize..."
"That you'd be working for me?" Caroline chuckled. She walked closer, invading Elodie's personal space. She smelled of expensive perfume-roses and musk. "The agency said you were the best. And since my fiancé has such extensive business dealings in Europe, I need someone... competent."
She emphasized the word competent as if it were an insult.
Elodie looked at Peter. "I... I think there's a conflict of interest. I should go."
Peter looked panicked. "Ms. Sinclair, the contract. You walk now, you owe the agency five thousand dollars in breach fees."
Five thousand dollars. She didn't have five hundred.
Caroline stepped in. "Oh, don't be silly. It's just business, isn't it, Elodie? Unless... you have a problem working with the future Mrs. Kensington?"
It was a trap. A test.
Elodie dug her fingernails into her palms. "No problem at all, Ms. Vanderbilt."
"Good." Caroline clapped her hands. "We have a meeting with the Spanish investors. Grab your things. We're taking the car."
Ten minutes later, Elodie was sitting in the back of a stretch limousine, facing Caroline. The leather seats were soft, but the air was suffocating.
"So," Caroline said, crossing her legs. "Braxton tells me you two have a history. Something about your father's debt?"
Elodie stared out the tinted window. "Mr. Kensington manages the estate's liquidation."
"Right. He's so charitable." Caroline leaned forward. "He mentioned you're single. Still paying for your mother's care? That must be... draining."
"I manage," Elodie said tightly.
"Do you?" Caroline tilted her head. "You look tired, Elodie. Maybe you should find a rich husband. Oh, wait. That didn't work out for your mother, did it?"
Elodie bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. "Where is the meeting?"
Caroline checked her diamond watch. "Oh, didn't I mention? It's at the tower. Braxton wants to sit in on the negotiations."
Elodie's heart stopped.
"Kensington Tower?"
"Of course." Caroline smiled, innocent and cruel. "He's the CEO, darling. Where else would we go?"
The car slowed. Through the window, the massive glass structure of Kensington Tower loomed over them like a monolith.
Elodie felt a wave of nausea. She had told Braxton she was sick in bed. Now she was about to walk into his office, trailing behind his fiancée.
The driver opened the door.
"Come along, Elodie," Caroline said, linking her arm through Elodie's as if they were old friends. Her grip was tight, pinching the skin. "Don't keep him waiting."
