Page 25 of The Devil of Downtown

“And Ivy,” she adds in her mother-knows-best voice. “Don’t lose it. Dane doesn’t misplace things. Ever.”

“Yes, ma’am. Look, I should go. I’ll call you later.”

I end the call, run a brush through my hair, and make sure I am semi-presentable before I take the elevator to reception.

When I arrive, the concierge is waiting with a sleek black envelope and a spare keycard, exactly like Dane promised. My pulse hammers as I take it up to Dane’s suite, the envelope clutched like it’s a priceless antique.

A quiet hush greets me as I slide the card and push open the door. His suite is two floors above mine and twice the size, with a lounge area and an adjacent bedroom separated by a door. Even with his permission, being alone in his hotel room still feels wrong. The area smells faintly of leather, and a darker, spiced note that must be his cologne. I inhale before I can stop myself, then roll my eyes at myself.

The safe sits discreetly in the corner cabinet. I crouch, punching in 1-8-0-7, and the green light flashes.

I lock the document in the safe with a satisfying click and let out a breath as I rise back to my feet. My hand reaches for the door handle, but I pause, curiosity getting the better of me. I should leave. IknowI should leave. But my feet don’t move. Instead, my gaze skims the room, greedy in a way I shouldn’t be.

I’m about to leave the room when my eyes snag on the dresser through the open door of the bedroom. A heavy watch gleams on a tray, its brushed steel face catching the light. Beside it sits a slim case of cufflinks, probably worth more than my entirewardrobe. I creep through and linger there a moment too long, then—because apparently I have no survival instinct—slide open the top drawer.

My cheeks flare hot. Condoms. An entire box, discreet but impossible to miss. My throat tightens, and I snap the drawer closed as though it burned me.

Jesus. I shoulddefinitelyleave now.

But then the heavy glass of his cologne bottle catches the light. I trail my finger along the edge, popping the cap without thinking. One inhale, and my stomach dips. It’s him—musky, expensive, threaded with something darker that lingers, a scent that shouldn’t feel intimate but does. I close my eyes for a beat too long, then snap them open, horrified with myself, because what kind of idiot gets lightheaded over a man’s aftershave?

The sharp beep of the key card slot jolts me back to reality.

Shit. Shit, shit, and double shit.

“Fuck.” Dane’s curse is low, frustrated. A second scrape, another mutter, “Come on,” and then the door clicks open.

Panic takes over. How can I explain being in the bedroom? I drop flat, wriggling under the bed, my hair catching on the carpet fibers as I shove myself into the narrow gap. My chest heaves in the stale air as the door thuds shut behind him.

His footsteps are unhurried but heavy, each one pulsing through the floor. A jacket lands on the chair, cufflinks clink against wood, fabric rustles as he yanks his tie loose. When he pulls his shirt over his head, I get a flash of tanned skin and muscle that makes my throat go dry. Broad shoulders, abs cut hard by discipline, every line of him a testament to strength and control.

His phone buzzes, and he reaches for it, tossing it on the dresser.

“Julian.”

“How are things?” His brother’s voice crackles through the speaker.

“We have Bexley,” Dane says matter-of-fact, like it’s already handled.

He sinks into the armchair, long legs stretching out, the shadows shifting as Dane exhales, leaning back, forearm resting casually on his thigh.

I can’t see much. Only the edge of his bare back. A tattoo curves along one shoulder blade, dark ink etched against tan skin, but the angle makes it impossible to read.

“No surprises there,” Julian says, like Dane is discussing his grocery list, not the fall of a media empire.

“The last hurdle is the parliamentary select committee meeting at Westminster tomorrow morning. I spoke to Maria in our press office, and she’s flying over for it.”

“She’ll eat them for breakfast,” Julian chuckles.

Yeah, and I’d bet any money she’d never hide under Dane Black’s hotel suite bed without invitation.

There’s a pause where Julian draws in a deep breath; his tone shifts to caution. “About what we discussed at the Serpent last night. My contact wants to meet us. He says he’s discovered some inconsistencies in the witness statements. One of them may talk.”

This time there’s a much longer pause. The silence stretches out, but Julian doesn’t press; he waits like he knows not to push.

Finally, Dane speaks, his voice flint hard. “Just make sure he keeps quiet. I don’t want her name dragged through the press again.”

It takes me a second to catch up before I realize what they’re talking about.Her.His fiancée. The one from the crash. The words land heavy, sour in my stomach. Irrational jealousy sparks even though it makes no sense—she’s gone. And yet theshadow she casts seems enormous, dwarfing me here under the bed like I’m trespassing on something sacred.