Page 14 of Indigo Deception
I set the pen holder on my lap, spine straight, face carefully neutral. The same mask I've perfected over years of undercover work. But something about Angelo makes maintaining it harder than it should be.
He ends the call and turns to me with a smirk that does something complicated to my insides. "Sarah Bennett, my favorite little auditor. What brings you by my office without an appointment? I thought everything in your world required scheduling."
The nickname, surprisingly, doesn't irritate me. Rather, I find it endearing. I hatethat.
I hate even more that I notice the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders when he leans forward.
"I wanted to thank you," I say, keeping my voice even. "For allowing me to work on the project with Veronica. I know it's a significant opportunity."
I placed the penholder on his desk. It's perfect for his office—black marble with gold veining that matches his decor. Expensive-looking enough to belong here, but not so extravagant it would seem inappropriate as a gift from a consultant.
"A gift?" One eyebrow arches. "Ms. Bennett, are you trying to bribe me?"
"It's a pen holder, Mr. Bellanti. Hardly a yacht or a Swiss bank account."
He laughs, and the sound is warm, genuine. It transforms his face from merely handsome to something that makes my chest tighten uncomfortably.
"Fair enough." He picks it up, examining it. "It matches my office. You have good taste."
"I'm observant. That's my job."
"Is it?" His eyes meet mine, and for a terrifying second, I wonder if he knows. If he's seen through my cover. But then he smiles again, placing the pen holder prominently on his desk. "Well, you're very good at it."
Every cell in my body whispers that I should leave now. Mission accomplished. Get out.
But then he glances at his watch—that Patek Philippe that probably costs more than a year of my salary—and says, "Have you eaten? I'm starving, and I hate dining alone."
I should make up an excuse. I should remember that every minute in his presence increases my risk of exposure.
Instead, I hear myself say, "I could eat."
__
Two hours later, we're still in his office. Takeout containers from the same Italian place litter his coffee table. My jacket is draped over a chair, my hair loosened from its severe bun because he said it looked like I was giving myself a headache.
From where I sit, I can see the penholder positioned perfectly on his desk. The transmitter inside is recording everything, sending it all backto my computer. I'll review it when I get home and send to the SEC team. The thought makes something twist in my stomach.
"You don't agree with the restructuring plan for the Singapore assets?" He's asking about the work I've been doing with Veronica, the perfect opening I've been waiting for.
"The timing seems... convenient," I offer, observing his reaction. "With the Kovacs making moves in Hong Kong."
His eyes narrow slightly, but his expression remains casual. "You've been paying attention to things outside your specific assignment."
"Like I said, I'm observant."
He leans back, swirling the red wine in his glass. "The Kovacs are a temporary annoyance, nothing more."
"They seem determined."
"Most people are determined until they realize who they're up against." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Tell me, Sarah, why financial forensics? You could make twice as much working for one of the investment banks."
The sudden change in conversation catches me off guard.
"I like puzzles," I say, which is accurate enough. "I enjoy finding what others have tried to hide."
"Is that why you're so…. methodical? I've watched you work. Every note in perfect order, every spreadsheet impeccably formatted." His eyes crinkle at the corners. "It's actually quite interesting to observe."
I feel my cheeks warm, unsure if he's complimenting me or mocking me. "Organization leads to clarity."
