WESLEY HUGHES

                                                                                                  ...

Like most of the general population, I loved sleep. Working three jobs meant I was constantly on my feet and hardly had time for it. So, when I was finally able to lie down for a few hours and rest my eyes, it was heaven.

That being said, I could tell Manolo didn't share my sentiment when the asshole barged into my room at six in the morning, pulled my blanket away, and said, "Rise and shine, Wesley. We've got work to do."

I groaned and buried my face into the pillow, mumbling something incoherent but no doubt colorful.

"It's seven. You've had enough beauty sleep," Manolo added, unfazed by my attempt to ignore him.

"You're delusional if you think this is acceptable behavior," I grumbled, my voice muffled.

"Delusional or not, we're on a schedule," he said, yanking the pillow out from under my head. "Now, get up. Coffee's waiting, and so is breakfast."

I cracked an eye open. "Breakfast?"

"Not your standard toast and jam, if that's what you're wondering," he called over his shoulder as he left the room.

Reluctantly, I hauled myself out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen, where the smell of eggs and something savory hit me. Manolo, standing at the stove in a crisp button-up he'd somehow already ironed, glanced at me.

"Look who decided to join the land of the living," he quipped, sliding a plate toward me.

"You made this?" I asked, surprised.

"No, the butler did," he sarcastically replied.

"You would be the type to have a butler," I grumbled as I took a bite of the eggs were actually pretty tasty.

"I did for a while."

"What happened to him?"

"He died," Manolo casually revealed, causing me to choke on my breakfast. He seemed unbothered by this and changed the subject. "Let's talk business now. Davina's hosting a private event tonight, and it's our best shot to get what we need."

"Which is...?" I asked once I calmed down.

"We need to get our hands on the files for her latest project. Whatever she's working on has Tia's clients interested."

"And how exactly are we pulling this off?"

"You're doing the sneaking," he said simply.

I nearly choked on my coffee. "What?"

"You're quieter, and people are less likely to recognize you," he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'll handle the distractions."

"That's not reassuring."

"You'll be fine," he told me. "Now, let's go over the guest list and the people to avoid." He scrolled through his phone and stopped on the photo of a long, curly-haired ginger woman. She was covered from head to toe in jewelry and I got the sneaking suspicion that this was— "Davina Wright."

"She's different than I imagined," I admitted.

"She's irritatingly sharp," Manolo told me. "She thrives on catching people in lies so watch what you say."

"Got it." I nodded. "Who's that beside her?"

The woman was a bit cut off, but I could still make out the majority of her. She had brown hair tied into a neat bun, and black glasses, and unlike Davina, she wasn't smiling.

"That is Juliette Monroe, Davina's personal assistant or, as I like to call it, her shadow. You never see one without the other. She's loyal to Davina and typically she's the one giving orders to clean up Davina's messes."

"So definitely avoid her at all costs," I muttered to myself. "Who's next?"

He scrolled down and clicked on another photo of two men. One had short, cropped hair and I could see a scar sticking out from beneath his suit. The other was slightly slimmer and more relaxed. He wore a large, charming smile that seemed fake the longer I looked at it.

"The big guy with the scars is Anton Riley, head of security. No nonsense, so don't give him a reason to throw you out. The other is Vance Trevors. A businessman and one of Davina's closest friends. He's nosy and enjoys playing with people, so just keep your guard up."

By the time I'd forced myself to absorb all the names and faces, Manolo was already laying out what we'd wear. He pulled out the cobalt blue suit we'd bought for me yesterday and a dark charcoal one for himself. The contrast was sharp, but it worked.

Before I could even finish getting dressed, Manolo was already adjusting his tie in the mirror, the picture of calm confidence.

"Stop fiddling," he said without turning, catching me tugging at my cuffs like a nervous kid.

"I'm not fiddling."

"You're always fiddling." He stepped forward before I could argue, tugging my cuffs into place. Then, he adjusted the lapels of my jacket, brushing invisible lint off the shoulders. His hands lingered for a beat longer than necessary, and when he looked up, his dark eyes were unreadable.

"You clean up better than I thought," he admitted.

"Thanks?" I said, the word coming out as more of a question.

His hands moved to smooth out my tie, the touch light but precise. "It's a compliment, Wesley."

The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine, and I hated how much it rattled me. My heart was pounding now, and I wasn't sure if it was because he was too close or because I didn't hate it.

For a moment, I thought I caught his eyes flicking down to my mouth, but then he stepped back abruptly, clearing his throat.

"Alright," he said. "Let's go before you decide to ruin the look."

I coughed awkwardly, trying to calm the erratic rhythm of my heartbeat as I followed him out the door.

The drive was quiet, the kind of silence that felt loaded. I kept my eyes on the road ahead, willing myself to focus on the mission.

But it was impossible to ignore the faint scent of Manolo's cologne lingering in the small space of the car or the memory of his hands on me, fixing my suit like I was something fragile.

My heart thudded painfully in my chest, but I knew it wasn't because of the mission.

It was because of him and that was a scary feeling in itself.

I stared out the window, desperate to break the silence that hung thick in the car. My thoughts were spiraling, and I needed something—anything—to ground me. Finally, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"So, what exactly are you going to be doing while I'm trying to hunt down these files?"

Manolo glanced at me, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift. "I'll be working the room," he replied. "Socializing, keeping the important players distracted, making sure no one notices you sneaking off where you shouldn't be."

"I feel like I'm one of those cheesy spy movies," I admitted.

Manolo cracked a smile. "You think you'd make a good spy?"

"Hell no," I instantly replied and he laughed.

Manolo's laughter filled the car, low and warm, and it made me feel oddly accomplished like I'd done something worthwhile.

"Well, at least you're honest," he said, still grinning. "I'd have to agree with you on that one. You're too easy to read."

"Excuse me?" I turned to him. "I can be unreadable if I want to."

"Oh, really?" He arched an eyebrow, his tone dripping with skepticism.

"Absolutely," I said, crossing my arms. "Try me."

Manolo's smirk deepened, and he glanced at me briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "Alright, what were you just thinking about?"

"Nothing," I replied flatly.

His laugh came again, a little sharper this time. "See? That's exactly my point. You're a terrible liar. I can tell you were overthinking something. Your tells are all over your face."

"Maybe you just know them because you've been spending more time with me. Since, you know, you are hiding in my house."

I expected some kind of comeback, but Manolo didn't respond immediately. We drove in silence for a few minutes before we stopped at a red light. His gaze flickered back to me and his dark eyes studied me and just as the light flashed green, he smiled.

"Maybe you're right."

All words seemed to die on my lips. Thankfully, there wasn't a need to say anything because we arrived at Davina's house. Manolo fell into the growing lines of cars and suddenly everything started feeling real.

"What happens if I get caught?" I nervously inquired.

I expected some kind of sassy or sarcastic response, like always, but Manolo didn't give me any of that. Instead, he turned to me with a serious look on his face and said one word.

"Don't."