That’s exactly where I wanted him. Facing him, I gave him a better view for a split second before slipping my dress over my head. Puppy dogs couldn’t look so sad. “Monogamy. That’s what I’m planning on doing tonight. And tomorrow night. And the night after that. You should give it a try some time.” I tossed my bikini top into my purse and gave him an expectant look.

“For a woman like you, I just might be tempted to,” was his reply.

I’d never heard that line before . . .

“If you ever find yourself so tempted one day,” I said, passing him on my way to the door, “let me know.”

I felt his eyes watching me intently, like a predator deciding just how to attack. The Mr. Silvas of the world didn’t realize they weren’t at the top of the food chain though.

I was.

“Daniel!” he called after me. “And I’ll be letting you know soon!”

I shot a wave at the girls giving me impressive glares. This isn’t the kiddie pool, girls. You’re swimming with the sharks now. “Sienna,” I replied over my shoulder, giving Daniel his first small smile. Women needed to better understand they couldn’t give anything away for free when it came to a man, a smile included. He had to work for it, he had to earn it because . . . he wanted to work for it, he needed to earn it. “And I won’t hold my breath.”

I walked out of the country club knowing I wouldn’t have to look for Mr. Silva anymore. Daniel would come looking for me.

I WAS LOUNGING on the balcony of my hotel room when one of my three cell phones rang. It was the G-designated one. She never just called to shoot the shit, so either something was very wrong or very right.

I answered the call and hoped for the best. “Bonjour, Madame G.”

“Closed the Silva case yet?” was her warm greeting.

I smiled. If something was wrong, G would have gotten straight to it. She wouldn’t have been making—at least, according to G—small talk.

“Almost,” I replied.

“Almost as in sometime this week, or almost as in sometime this month?” G’s voice could have been considered feminine if she didn’t deliver each word as if it was a threat.

“Almost as in tomorrow night if I was confident Mrs. Silva could handle knowing I’d managed to seduce her husband in less than a few days. Out of respect for her, and because this guy is really a tool who deserves every bit of discomfort from the blue balls he’ll get waiting for me, I’m going to wait a few more days to wrap things up.” I sighed when I looked around at everything else I’d be wrapping up. Miami just a few minutes before sunset was like something from a dream. “Although I wouldn’t mind it if you found me another case to work out here.”

“Speaking of new cases . . . guess who I got a call from this morning?”

My heart went into my throat. “Young, unhappy wife of an Eight, possibly a Nine, from Miami?”

“You’re right except for the Miami part. She’s from Seattle. She was just down in Miami for the weekend.”

“And . . .?” It would be a big job, and I wanted it.

“And if she decides to contract the Eves, you may end up with the job,” she replied. “You know as well as I do that if I find another Eve’s physical assets to be a better fit, you won’t get the Errand.”

I rolled my eyes only because G wasn’t in front of me. If I ever tried that in front of her, I’d be the one found dead in a back alley a week later. “Come on, G. You know as well as I do I can transform myself into whatever version of a wet dream Mr. Eight or Nine needs. I want that Errand.”

“Then let’s hope Mr. MoneyBags likes a tall, slim, busty build because stylists and surgeons can morph you to a certain degree, but no one except for the Maker could turn you into a short, athletically-built Asian. Sorry, love.” G didn’t sound irritated, she rarely showed emotion, but I knew I’d be pressing my luck if I pushed again.

All I could do was hope the big Eight or Nine forthcoming was an aficionado to my brand of woman. Plenty of men were, but that didn’t mean every man was. That didn’t mean he would be.

“Anything else?” I asked, knowing there wasn’t. G was all business, all the time. In fact, I didn’t know a single personal thing about her, including her real name.

“Nothing else for now.”

“Good night, G. I’ll text you when it’s done.”

G chuckled a few notes. “And I’d say good luck if I thought you needed it.”

After I hung up, I laid back down on the lounger to try to soak up the last few rays of sun. Not even a full minute later, a knock sounded on the door inside my room. No one knew I was there and I hadn’t ordered room service, so I was tempted to grab the little Lady Smith I kept hidden in the nightstand for emergencies. After a quick look through the peephole, I saw I didn’t need to answer with guns blazing.

I could have slid into a cover-up, but it was South Beach. People would have gone to work in their swimsuits if it was allowed. I swung the door open and tried not to smile when the bellman’s mouth about dropped to the floor. I was only twenty-five, but I was only intimate with men ten, twenty, and sometimes even thirty years older than me. It was nice to be reminded I could turn the head of a guy my own age.

“Can I help you?” I asked after a few seconds.

The bellman shook his head a couple of times and picked his jaw up off the floor. “This was left for you at the front desk.” He held out an envelope.

I gave it a curious look. G wouldn’t leave me mail at the front desk and Mrs. Silva better not be, so who in the world would have left that for me? “Who left it?”

The bellman shrugged. “I don’t know. My manager just asked me to run it up here.”

I could stand there staring all day, or I could rip it open and unveil the mystery. Grabbing my wallet off of the desk, I tipped the bellman, thanked him, and closed the door.

I tore that sucker open quickly. The sooner I figured out who had sent it, the sooner I could figure out what the hell to do about it. Of all the things I imagined could be contained in that envelope—blackmail, photos, a microchip—the last thing I’d expected was a couple of tickets to Nice, France, complete with a note scratched down on the back of a business card.

In case the mood to swim topless strikes you again. I wouldn’t want to miss it.

The business card said Daniel Silva, Owner and Manager of The Pleasure Room, complete with his business and cell phone numbers.

The first thing that hit me was that he’d been ballsy enough to send me his business card. I didn’t doubt a simple “Daniel Silva” typed into a search engine would result in a life history, including a mention of a Mrs. Silva. So why had he done it? Because he didn’t think I’d Google him? Because he wanted me to have his phone number? No, I guessed he wanted to impress me. A business card said what he couldn’t without sounding like a pretentious asshole. He was the owner of one of the nation’s most notorious nightclubs. He had money, status, and power.

If Mr. Silva knew I already knew exactly how much was in his bank account, along with the balance in his offshore accounts, I doubted he’d send me tickets to the south of France.

The second thing that hit me was that, somehow, he’d figured out where I was staying. That was disturbing on a bunch of levels. He’d either had me followed, followed me himself, or had someone looking into me. I didn’t like the idea of being looked into, especially when I was the one who was supposed to be doing the “looking into.”

It wasn’t the first over-the-top gift I’d had thrown at me, but it was the first time the Target had tracked me down and had it delivered to my room. Well, neither would do.

Ten minutes later, I’d changed, packed, and was at the front desk checking out.