The limo eased to a stop in front of a modern high-rise that scraped the sky with black glass and steel. Zane's penthouse. Top floor.
Of course it was. The building stood like a monument to control, to order, and an unlimited supply of money. Taryn sat still as the driver opened the door.
Uncertainty nibbled at the edge of her awareness, she didn't know this guy, but usually her radar was decent. What the hell, why not? She argued with herself, taking her time.
Zane didn't pressure her. He simply stepped out, adjusted his coat, and waited on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, his gaze lifted toward the night. Looking impossibly sexy. She groaned inwardly.
Should she have stayed, and had to deal with that creepy guy who had been coming in more frequently? He might be less dangerous than this man.
Then again, he wasn't being an asshole. No urgency, telling her to come on already. No coaxing. He wasn't trying to seduce her anymore.
That was what scared her, was he going to give up that easily? The truth was, she didn't know if she wanted to walk away or run straight into his bedroom.
In the club, she played a part. On stage, she had the script memorized: flirt, smile, tease, exit. Step by step simplicity, and it worked for her.
This wasn't a stage, and she didn't believe for a second that Zane was buying a role. He didn't want her to play a part. He was watching her like he wanted to learn the real lines, not the ones she'd rehearsed.
The problem was she didn't have the real lines anymore. She kept to herself, but if she was honest she had no idea who she really was.
Taryn stepped out of the limo slowly, heels clicking against the polished stone of the drive. The doorman gave Zane a respectful nod, opened the doors with silent efficiency. Inside, the lobby gleamed, screaming wealth with the marble floors, brushed steel elevator doors on the elevators, crystal chandeliers dangling from the ceiling like hope had replaced the carrot on the end of the stick. It was beautiful in the way expensive things always were.
They stepped into the private elevator, just the two of them. No elevator music, just silence, thickening between them, other than the quiet hum of electricity as the elevator rose.
She inhaled the faint scent of whatever cologne Zane wore. No doube something expensive, yet understated. Not to mention addictive.
As the elevator continues its smooth ascent, Taryn finally broke the silence.
"I still don't know why I'm here."
"You didn't have to come," Zane said. Oh, this man! Her heart pounded in her chest, and she hoped he couldn't hear it.
"That's not an answer." She replied, her tone clipped.
He didn't look at her. "You're here because you didn't want to go back to pretending tonight."
She crossed her arms. "Pretending what?"
He turned toward her then, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "That you're okay with the way the world works and where you fit into it."
Taryn swallowed hard. She could feel the floor rising beneath them, floor by floor, like the slow climb before a drop. And maybe that's what this was. A ride toward the inevitable fall.
"You say things like that," she muttered, "and I can't tell if you're insightful or just manipulative."
"Why not both?" he asked softly.
The doors slid open. Zane stepped out first, and for a second, she considered not following. Just standing there until the elevator doors closed and carried her back to the safety of street level. Back to the familiar mask. Back to her life.
But instead, she stepped off. Of course she did. Because he was right, and if nothing more, she could have some fun. Right? Nothing wrong with that.
The penthouse was a masterpiece of glass and dark wood. It was just as one would expect a rich, single man's place to be. A wall of windows looked out over the city, the skyline glittering like a field of stars. There were no personal photos, no clutter. Just clean lines and shadows. The only light came from the city below, painting the floor in silver and blue.
He walked ahead, loosened his tie, and disappeared into the kitchen. She heard the soft clink of glass and the faint sound of something being poured.
Taryn wandered to the windows, arms crossed tightly across her chest. She could see everything from here. The highway like a glowing artery. The park. Even, maybe, the edge of her neighborhood, where the lights weren't as bright and the streets weren't as clean.
She felt a strange dissonance, standing here. Like the woman she was in the club had climbed into someone else's life and didn't know what to do with it. It didn't feel wrong, not exactly.
Zane returned with two glasses of amber liquor. He offered one, and she took it, more for the ritual than the drink. He didn't raise his glass or toast. Just sipped. They stood in silence for a while.
Then he said, "You're wondering what I want from you."
She didn't answer.
"Here's the truth," Zane said. "I don't know."
Taryn turned to face him, surprised by the honesty.
He continued. "I'm good at building things. Controlling things. But people? Real people? That's harder. You make it harder."
She sipped her drink to avoid answering.
"I could lie," he said. "Say I want a night. Or nothing. Or everything. But that wouldn't make it clearer for either of us."
"So what happens now?" she asked quietly.
Zane stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but enough for her to feel his warmth.
"You sleep in the guest room, if you want," he said. "Or we talk. Or we don't. I won't push."
"And tomorrow?" she asked.
"That depends on you."
Taryn stared at him. He didn't move. Didn't lean in. He simply existed, still and open and terrifying. Because if he meant it, that gave her power.
She didn't know what to do with it.
"I've had men lie to me in every tone you can imagine," she said, voice low. "Some gentle. Some cruel. Some didn't even realize they were lying."
"I'm not lying."
"I want to believe that," she admitted.
"Then believe it."
Her hand tightened around the glass. She stared back out at the city, breath fogging the glass. She took a drink. It was rich and smooth, burning in a pleasant way as it went down. "Good stuff," she remarked.
If she stayed, it would mean something. Maybe not sex. Maybe not romance. But something she couldn't take back. A crack in her armor. A risk she'd never allowed herself to take.
If she left now, she could pretend this night never happened.
But she didn't want to pretend. She was tired of pretending. Everything about her life was pretend. If this was just playing house she might as well enjoy pretending for once.
Taryn turned to face him again. "I'll stay."
Zane nodded once. No triumph. No smug smile. Just a quiet, respectful acknowledgment.
"I'll show you the room."