Page 39 of Ruthless Arrangement

The night air is chilled, a welcome relief after the close quarters inside. Chicago sprawls in front of me, a vast expanse of lights against the darkness. I pull out the phone Nico gave me, the one I’m certain is monitored, and hesitate. Should I call my mother on this device? But what choice do I have? My personal phone is sitting in Nico’s office.

To hell with it. I dial the number, my fingers trembling. After four rings, she picks up.

“Mom?”

“Lea?” Her voice sounds tense, guarded. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I say, keeping my voice low. “I just…I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Honey, I’ve been busy with end-of-term papers,” she says, the explanation coming a little too rushed. “You know how it is this time of year.”

“Right,” I say, leaning against the stone balustrade. “I’m at a charity gala at the Art Institute. With Nico Varela.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. Then silence, so prolonged, I check my phone to make sure the call hasn’t dropped.

“Mom?”

“Lea,” she finally says, her voice now taut with alarm, “what are you doing with that man?”

The intensity of her reaction startles me. “It’s for a story I’m working on. He’s granted me access to?—”

“Listen to me,” she interrupts, her voice dropping to an urgent, hushed tone. “His kind sees only assets and liabilities. Nothing more. Stay far away from him.”

There’s something in her tone that suggests more than general concern.

“Mom, how do you?—”

“I have to go,” she cuts me off. “There’s someone at my office door.”

“At nine o’clock at night?” I ask, suspicion flaring. “What kind of academic meeting happens this late?”

“It’s a colleague from overseas,” she says, the explanation sounding rehearsed. “The time difference makes scheduling difficult. Please, be careful. More careful than you think necessary.”

The line goes dead before I can respond, leaving me staring at the phone in frustration and confusion.What the hell was that about? And what does my mother know about Nico that would prompt such a specific warning?

I turn back toward the glittering cityscape, my mind racing. My mother has always been secretive about her past in Korea before moving to England where she met my father, but this level of secrecy is new. Between her cryptic warning and the overheard comment about a security conference I knew nothing about, my journalistic instincts scream that there’s a story here. One that might somehow intersect with Nico’s world.

“Your mother works unusual hours for an academic.”

My chest tightens as I spin around to find Nico standing in the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame. How long has he been there? How much did he hear? The way he watches me, that measured stillness, those dark eyes missing nothing, makes my skin prickle with awareness.

“Jesus,” I breathe, pressing a hand to my chest. “You could make some noise when you approach people.”

“Nah, that’s no fun.” His lips curve into that not-quite-smile I’m recognizing. He steps onto the balcony, his tread almost silent despite his Italian shoes. The dim lighting catches the sharp angles of his face, casting shadows that make him look even more dangerous than usual.

“Like I said, your mother works unusual hours for an academic,” he comments, voice laced with quiet interest.

My grip tightens on the phone as if I could somehow erase the conversation he clearly overheard. But there’s something in his tone that isn’t outright suspicion, just curiosity. Like he’s filing away another piece of information about me.

“End of term,” I say, aiming for casual. “Papers to grade, research deadlines. You know how it is.”

“Do I?” He moves closer, and suddenly the spacious balcony feels impossibly small.

“She works too hard,” I continue, desperate to sound normal. “Always has.”

He stops beside me at the balustrade. We stand close side by side, looking out at the glittering Chicago skyline. We could be any couple taking a break from the noise and crush of the gala.

Except we’re not a couple. And Nico Varela is not just any man.

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