At exactly two o'clock, the dark gray Ford pulled up to the curb outside the shop.
Kittie stood on the sidewalk. She wore a simple navy-blue dress, the best thing she owned. The autumn wind bit through the thin fabric, making her shiver violently.
The passenger window rolled down. Connor sat in the driver's seat, wearing dark sunglasses. He gave her a single nod.
Kittie opened the door and slid into the car. The interior was spotless. There was no trash, no personal items, just the smell of leather and a faint hint of cedarwood.
"Is this car new?" Kittie asked, rubbing her cold arms. "It looks retro."
Connor kept his eyes on the road.
"Used lot," he lied effortlessly. "Boston parking is a nightmare. No point in ruining a good car. Plus, I am still paying off my student loans."
Kittie's shoulders dropped. The tight knot of anxiety in her chest loosened. Student loans. He was just a normal guy drowning in debt, just like her.
"I get it," she said softly, a wave of genuine affection washing over her.
Connor turned the steering wheel, taking a sharp left. Kittie frowned, looking out the window.
"This is not the way to the main entrance of City Hall," she pointed out.
"We are using the underground VIP parking," Connor said.
He drove down a concrete ramp, bypassing the public lot, and pulled into a secluded, brightly lit section.
"VIP?" Kittie asked, her heart rate picking up. "How?"
"A college buddy is a lawyer," Connor explained smoothly. "I paid him to grease the wheels. We skip the line. No chance of running into anyone we know."
Kittie looked at him, her chest aching with sympathy. He was already in debt, and he was spending extra cash just to protect her from her mother's spies.
They got out of the car. Connor walked around the hood and stopped in front of her. He reached out and wrapped his large, warm hand around hers.
Kittie gasped softly. The heat of his skin sent a shockwave up her arm.
"Getting into character," Connor murmured, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
He led her to a private elevator. When the doors opened, a man in a sharp suit was waiting for them. He bowed his head slightly.
"Right this way, sir," the man said, his voice dripping with extreme deference.
Connor reached into his pocket and handed the man a thick white envelope.
Kittie's eyes widened. She squeezed Connor's hand, leaning in close.
"Connor," she hissed, her stomach twisting not with gratitude, but with a sudden, sharp spike of dread. "You do not have to tip him that much. Save your money."
Connor looked down at her. His blue eyes softened.
"Efficiency costs money, Kittie," he said quietly.
The man opened a heavy oak door. They stepped into a room that looked nothing like a government office. It had plush carpets, leather chairs, and a massive mahogany desk covered in white roses.
Kittie stopped breathing. The sheer luxury of the room made her head spin. She looked at Connor, her pulse hammering in her throat. None of this added up. The story about the 'used Ford' and 'student loans' suddenly felt like a flimsy, paper-thin excuse stretched over a terrifyingly opulent reality. Who was this man, really?
The door behind the desk opened. A tall man in a tailored suit walked in, holding a leather binder.
"Connor," the man said, grinning.
"Kittie," Connor said, his hand tightening around hers. "This is Clarence Dover. Our witness."
Kittie forced a smile, completely unaware she was shaking hands with one of the most powerful corporate fixers in the state.
