“Kate? Who is this?” Tristan asked, his voice suddenly losing its arrogant edge.

The stranger looked at Tristan, then back at me.

A slow, humorless smile touched his lips.

“She is with me,” the stranger said.

He slipped a warm, heavy hand around my waist and pulled me flush against his side.

Tristan’s face went pale.

He looked at the stranger’s hand, then up at his face, and took a step back.

“Mr. Sterling,” Tristan stammered, his posture collapsing. “I… I didn’t realize.”

Without another word, Tristan turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.

I breathed a sigh of relief and tried to step away from the stranger.

But his grip on my waist tightened, holding me in place.

“Thank you,” I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. “You can let go now.”

“You used my name to scare off a dog,” he said softly, his breath warm against my ear. “Now you owe me a dance.”

We moved onto the floor. He moved with a quiet, lethal grace.

“I’m Kate,” I said.

“Arthur,” he replied.

He didn’t give me his last name, but Tristan’s reaction had told me enough.

The dance ended, and before I could say anything else, he slipped a heavy gold-embossed card into my hand and vanished into the shadows of the terrace.

The address on the card led me to a soaring glass skyscraper in Tribeca the following evening.

Two muscular men in dark suits escorted me up the private elevator.

The doors opened directly into a penthouse that overlooked the glowing grid of Manhattan.

The room was minimalist, decorated in black marble and dark leather.

Arthur Sterling sat behind a massive mahogany desk, reviewing a stack of financial documents.

He didn’t look up when I walked in.

“Sit, Kate,” he said.

I sat in the leather chair opposite him, clutching my purse like a shield.