Chapter 13: First Strike
491words
"Remember the plan," Jack murmured, his lips brushing my ear. "We observe tonight. Nothing more."
I nodded, but my body hummed with adrenaline. Michael looked exactly as I remembered from the television—handsome in that polished, soulless way. Mia Brown sparkled beside him in a red dress that screamed mistress rather than assistant.
"Breathe," Jack reminded me, his thumb tracing circles on my wrist.
Charles Blackwood, ever the social connector, was already leading Michael in our direction.
"Thompson! There's someone you must meet," Blackwood called. "Michael Davis—the financial wizard I mentioned."
Jack's smile was a masterpiece of cordiality as he extended his hand. "Davis. Your reputation precedes you."
Michael's handshake was firm, his smile practiced. "All good things, I hope."
"Mostly," Jack replied with calculated ambiguity. Then, turning to me: "My wife, Zoe."
The moment Michael's eyes met mine, I felt a perverse thrill. There was no recognition—only the appreciative glance of a man assessing a beautiful woman.
"Enchanted," Michael said, bringing my hand to his lips.
The touch of his skin against mine sent revulsion crawling up my spine, but I maintained my smile. "Mr. Davis. I've heard so much about you."
"All good things, I hope," he repeated, his gaze lingering inappropriately.
"Mostly," I echoed Jack's response, my voice honey-sweet with hidden venom.
Mia Brown inserted herself into the conversation, her territorial stance beside Michael unmistakable. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Mia Brown, Michael's executive partner."
"Executive partner," I repeated, letting the euphemism hang in the air. "How… progressive."
Something flashed in Mia's eyes—recognition of a worthy adversary.
As we exchanged pleasantries, I cataloged every detail: Michael's wedding ring, conspicuously absent; the proprietary way Mia touched his arm; the slight slur in his speech suggesting this wasn't his first drink.
When they finally moved on, Jack squeezed my hand. "You were perfect."
"He didn't recognize me at all," I whispered, equal parts relieved and offended.
"Because he never really saw you," Jack replied, his insight cutting to the heart of my former marriage.
Later that night, as we prepared to leave, Michael approached me at the bar.
"Mrs. Thompson," he said, standing too close. "I was hoping to discuss a potential business opportunity with your husband."
"I'm sure he'd be delighted," I replied coolly.
"Perhaps over dinner? My yacht is docked nearby. Say, this weekend?"
The word "yacht" sent a cold shiver through me, but I maintained my composure. "I'll check our calendar."
As Michael walked away, Jack appeared at my side. "What did he want?"
"Us. On his yacht." My voice trembled slightly. "He has no idea he's inviting his victim back to the scene of the crime."
Jack's expression darkened. "We don't have to—"
"Yes," I interrupted, steel in my voice. "We absolutely do."
