The suggestion hung in the air, heavy and electric. Angelina stood frozen, her mind racing, processing the data. Harrison Juarez. Brittain's shadow. The man Brittain competed with for every deal, every headline, every accolade.
"You?" she asked. A laugh bubbled up in her throat, sharp and incredulous. She stepped back, putting distance between them. "You want to sleep with me? To get back at Brittain?"
Harrison shrugged. He walked over to the armchair and sat down, spreading his legs comfortably, claiming the space. "He took the port authority deal from me last week. I'm feeling petty."
"You're disgusting," she said.
"I'm effective," he countered. "Think about it, Angelina. You sleep with Kyle the escort, you get a momentary release and a potential blackmail risk. You sleep with me... and you destroy Brittain's ego forever. He can dismiss a hired hand. He can't dismiss me."
He was right. The logic was flawless. It was Machiavellian. It was exactly how she thought.
She walked to the window, looking out at the dark expanse of Central Park. Brittain had been cheating on her since the honeymoon. He treated her like a fixture, a lamp to be turned on when guests arrived. He thought she was stupid. He thought she was safe.
Sleeping with Harrison Juarez was a nuclear option. It was dangerous. It was reckless.
It was perfect.
She turned back to him. The hesitation was gone. "I have conditions."
Harrison raised an eyebrow, amused. "Do you?"
"This is a transaction," she said, her voice steady. "No feelings. No clinging. When we walk out of here, it never happened until I decide to use it."
"Agreed," Harrison said. He stood up. "I make it a rule not to fall for married women anyway."
"And one more thing," Angelina said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a sleek, black titanium card. Brittain's Centurion card. "I hate this room. It smells like stale lavender and desperation."
She tossed the card at him. Harrison caught it against his chest with one hand.
"Book the Penthouse," she commanded. "If I'm going to ruin my marriage, I'm going to do it on his dime. I want the most expensive suite in the city."
Harrison looked down at the card. Brittain Kane. Then he looked back at her. A slow, genuine grin spread across his face. It changed his entire demeanor, making him look younger, more dangerous.
"You are full of surprises, Mrs. Kane," he said.
He pulled out his phone and dialed the front desk. "This is Harrison Juarez. I need the Presidential Suite. Immediately. Charge it to the card I'll present at the desk... Yes, put a rush on it."
He hung up and extended a hand toward the door. "Shall we?"
Angelina looked at his hand. Large, calloused, steady. Taking it meant crossing a line she could never uncross.
She didn't take his hand. She walked past him, her head high, the heels of her shoes clicking rhythmically on the hardwood floor.
"Keep up, Juarez," she said.
Harrison let out a low laugh and followed her.
The elevator ride was silent. The air in the small metal box felt thin. They stood side by side, not touching, but the heat between them was palpable. Angelina watched their reflection in the polished brass doors. They looked like a power couple. They looked like predators.
The elevator surged upward, the gravity pressing down on her, making her knees weak. Or maybe that wasn't gravity.
The doors chimed and slid open. The penthouse foyer stretched out before them, marble floors gleaming under the crystal chandelier.
Harrison stepped out first. He turned to face her, loosening his tie with one hand. The amusement was gone from his face, replaced by a dark, focused intensity.
"Last chance to run, Angelina," he said softly.
Angelina stepped out of the elevator. "Shut the door, Harrison."
