I’m on the fourth floor, and the lounge is on the second. It’s done up like a classic gentleman’s club with various leather arm chairs set around small wooden tables. Emerald silk wallpaper meets white wainscoting, and subdued conversation rises from small groups having their breakfast.

I’m supposed to meet Brenna in an hour. And though I’m not hungry, I manage to order coffee after asking the waitress to decipher the menu. Apparently, I need a flat white, since I’m not in the mood for a frothy cappuccino.

“Why does it say no pictures at the bottom of the menu?” I ask the waitress as she sets down my coffee.

“This is a private club,” she says in a thickly Eastern European accent, “for entertainment professionals. The members want to feel comfortable eating without the threat of someone taking their picture.”

I glance around with wide eyes and spot a woman who I swear is an up-and-coming singer. She’s eating with a man; they’re snuggled up and laughing quietly. I can’t see his face, but there’s something familiar about the way he holds himself. Or I just might be spinning castles now.

“A club? Really?”

“Mostly music, stage, and screen,” the waitress tells me blandly. “And some footballers, I think.”

After that, I can’t concentrate. I drink my creamy coffee and hear snatches of conversation around me: a documentary producer lamenting his inability to find a proper narrator, a record exec mentioning heading to the studio to work on a new album, a television reporter whining to his agent about his contract.

I have to wonder (again) who it is I’m interviewing to work with. An actor? Is Gabriel an agent too? I could see him doing that with ease. Or maybe he works for a movie studio.

I’m so engrossed in shameless eavesdropping and speculating about Gabriel that I don’t notice the stylish woman until she’s at my table, pulling out a free chair.

“Hey,” she says. “I’m Brenna. Or Brian.” She laughs. “Scottie told me the jig was up with my secret identity.”

Brenna James is tall, thin, and severely pretty with honey-red hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She’s dressed in a gorgeous copper-colored suit and sky-high turquoise heels.

“God, that’s a cute dress.” She plops down in the chair opposite me. “Is it wrong to want to hire you based on that dress alone?”

“I wouldn’t complain,” I say, shaking her hand. “But feel free to ask me more questions if you must.”

“I know we’re supposed to meet in thirty minutes, but I saw you sitting here and thought it’d be rude not to come over.” She gives me a wide smile that makes her appear impish. “Forgive me for intruding?”

“It’s no problem at all.” I signal the waitress before asking Brenna, “You said Scottie. Do you mean Gabriel?”

Her mouth falls open as if I’ve slapped her. “Um…yes. Gabriel Scott. Everyone calls him Scottie.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.”

She leans in, her eyes wide and curious. “He, ah, gave you his first name?”

Is it some kind of dire secret? I’m veering back toward them being international spies. And I’m only half-joking. “Well, getting him to give me his name was like pulling teeth, but yes.”

This seems to placate her because she relaxes in her seat and, after ordering a pot of coffee, black, surveys me with a discerning eye.

“Would you like to view my portfolio?” I ask, handing over the thick leather case I brought along with me.

But she waves me off. “No need. I viewed your work before asking you here.”

“Of course.” Heat flushes my cheeks. “Sorry, I’m a bit nervous.”

She touches my hand. “Don’t be. You survived the trip sitting next to Scottie. That’s the biggest trial by fire.”

I eye her warily. “Did you put me in that seat? I thought I’d been bumped, but now I’m not so sure.”

The waitress arrives with her coffee, and Brenna is quick to pour herself a cup.

“Of course I did.” She takes a sip and sighs with appreciation before turning her sharp gaze on me. “As an enticement to working for us. Not so you’d have to deal with him. I’m not cruel.”

“I didn’t realize it would be a cruelty.”

“Well, most people wouldn’t, until he opens his mouth and eviscerates a poor soul with a few words.”

I have to smile at that. “I don’t know if he even has to speak. That glare of his would probably do the trick.”

“But you survived,” she says again, staring at me as if I’m a rare bird.

A weird sort of protectiveness rises up in me. Not that Gabriel needs it, but I can’t stop myself from defending him. “I had fun.”

Her red brow wings up at that. “Fun?”

There’s so much skepticism in her voice, she’s practically choking on it.

“It was a lovely flight,” I assure. “Thank you for putting me in first class. I’ll never forget it.”

She clears her throat. “Yes, well, that’s…good. I’m glad. Ah, anyway, I figured Scottie would have that divider panel up before his fine ass hit the leather.”

I don’t mention the broken panel.

Brenna glances at her phone. “The guys are ready. Shall we head to the interview now?”

Nerves flutter to life in my belly. “Guys? There’s a group interviewing me?”

“More or less.” She gives me a small smile. “You’ll see. Come on. We have a private room set up.”

“Okay.” My legs are suddenly wobbly as I stand. “Is Gabriel going to be there as well?”

A small part of me doesn’t want him to witness this. I don’t know if I’ll be able to concentrate under his laser gaze. But the needier, base part of me wants to see him again. He’s familiar. And oddly, I feel confident when he’s around.

Brenna halts a step. “Yes, Gabriel will be there.” We walk a few paces before she glances at me from under her lashes. “Though, maybe call him Scottie from now on.”

“Why?” I don’t get the nickname or why someone like Gabriel would allow it. Scottie doesn’t fit him at all. Scottie is a dude who yells, “We need more time, Captain!” Not an impeccably dressed man who looks like a male model and speaks like an ornery duke.