He sat in front of his computer, munching on the cookies. He had multiple screens. His chair squeaked, and he stuffed another cookie in his mouth and chewed, crumbs flying everywhere.
“It wasn’t easy getting schematics for the Riv3000, girly.”
I perched on the edge of his desk, and felt a spike of anxiety. “Tell me you got them.”
He shot me a look. “It was an epic hack. Rivera Tech has hella good security.” Rollo blew on his fingers. “But they were no match for the Rollster.”
I released a breath. “You got them.”
“Yep.” He tapped his keyboard and schematics flashed up on the screen.
“Oh, wow.” My pulse spiked and I leaned forward, drinking in the design.
“It’s got a keypad pin and biometric lock,” Rollo said, tone impressed. “Plus the most complicated glass relockers I’ve ever seen.”
My stomach plummeted. Shit. Maybe it was unbreakable. Glass relockers were panes of tempered glass set within the walls of a safe. If a thief tried to drill in and the glass broke, it triggered hardened relocker pins. If you set off the glass relocker, then you were screwed. The only way into the safe was to cut it open.
“It’s going to be popular.” Rollo talked with his mouth full of cookie. “And expensive. Heard some rich dude here in New York got one of the first ones.”
“Really?” I kept my voice bland.
“Yeah. He’s having some fancy party tonight. For a bunch of rich people.” Rollo’s nose wrinkled. He said “rich people” the same way some would say “terrorists.”
“A party?” Hmm.
“This safe’s going to be a challenge to crack, girly, even for you.”
“Can you and Bash make me a prototype?”
Bash was a friend of Rollo’s—a welder and scrap-metal artist. The guy could make just about anything. He also had a kick-ass 3D printer.
Rollo sniffed. “When do I get my cheesecake?”
“When it’s done,” I replied.
“Fine, fine. I’ll call Bash.”
“Rollo, I need it tomorrow.”
Rollo squeaked. “Girly, we’re good, but not miracle workers.”
“I’ll make you two cheesecakes.”
He huffed out a breath. “Fine.”
I reached out and ruffled Rollo’s hair. “Thanks, Rollo. You’re a lifesaver.” Literally.
Now all I needed to do was work out how to get another look at Zane Roth’s home office.
And not his naked body.
Looked like I was going to crash a party.
Party-crasher
Monroe
My high heels clicked on the tiles of the lobby of Zane Roth’s building. The short hem of my dress flirted with my upper thighs. It was several steps up from my tight cleaning uniform.
I saw several well-dressed guests ahead of me. Men in well-cut suits, and women in short, designer dresses.
They were showing invites to a guard situated near the elevator. I sidled closer and fluffed my sleek, platinum-blonde wig. It was a sharp bob that ended at my jaw line. The dress had cost me an eye-watering amount. I’d stuck it on my already overloaded credit card. It was emerald-green, and essentially had no back except for some tiny straps. I’d done dramatic eyes, and was wearing killer black stilettos. Killer because they were already killing my feet.
I should fit right in.
I moved close to the back of one suit-clad man in front of me. Like we were a couple. The guard looked at the man’s invite, nodded at me, before his gaze drifted down my legs.
Excellent.
I stood in the back corner of the elevator. The other guests were chatting, talking about someone’s upcoming socialite wedding.
“Drusilla still can’t decide on the flowers.”
“I heard the budget for the flowers alone was eighty thousand.”
My eyes popped wide. Eighty grand on flowers?
“I heard Roth’s place is fabulous,” a woman drawled. “Bought it for sixty-six million.”
I almost choked. Sixty-six million? Jeez.
The elevator slowed and the doors opened.
Music came through hidden speakers and people were dotted around the spacious living area. White-uniformed servers with trays moved among the crowd with drinks and canapés.
I didn’t drink much. My dad had been a heavy drinker, and I’d learned early on that I needed to stay sharp.
“Drink, miss?” A server with a tray full of flutes of champagne stopped beside me.
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“It’s Dom Pérignon.”
Well, what the hell? It might help settle my jangling nerves. “Thank you.”
I took a flute, then wandered the edges of the party, circling closer to the corridor leading to Roth’s office.
My plan was to blend into the party, slip into his office, take my photos, and get out.
I sipped the champagne. Oh, boy. I stifled a moan. The bubbles tickled my tongue. Mmm, nectar of the gods.
I followed the flow of partygoers upstairs to the terrace. I turned and my heart took a giant leap into my throat.
Zane was out by the railing, the darkness of Central Park behind him. He wore charcoal pants, and a white shirt that was fitted to his toned body. A hank of dark hair fell over his forehead and my gaze drifted along that strong jaw.
He was nodding at someone. Damn him for being so gorgeous. And larger-than-life. He exuded power, and made a woman imagine all kinds of things she shouldn’t be imagining.
I stepped closer, studying him more intently. His handsome face had a look on it, almost bored. He looked removed from the party around him.
I gave a mental snort. Right. Poor rich billionaire bored at his fancy party in his multimillion-dollar penthouse.
I lifted the flute, tipped it, and drank it all. Pleasant heat hit my belly.
“Not enjoying yourself?” a deep voice with a British accent asked.
I spun.
Instantly, I recognized the man. Another billionaire bachelor—Liam Kensington.
He was too handsome for words, but where Zane had dark-brown hair, Liam’s was burnished-blond. Like polished gold. He had a narrower face and blue eyes.
“Oh, no, it’s a great party. I just…it’s been a long day.”
“You’ve had a rough day? I sympathize.”
“Hmm.” I really didn’t need Zane Roth’s best friend noticing me.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” His blue eyes held an appreciative gleam.
“No, I don’t often hang out with billionaires.”
Kensington raised a brow. “Despite the worth of our companies, we still eat, sleep, and breathe.”
“Right.” I made a point of scanning the plush terrace area. I glanced at Zane again. He lifted his head and looked my way. Crap. I quickly spun, giving him my back.
Liam’s lips quirked. “Do you have a problem with rich people?”
“Well, they’re just so…rich.”
He laughed. “You’re quite refreshing, Miss…?”
I smiled back and just raised a brow.
“Ms. Mystery, then.” He cocked his head. “How do you know Zane?”
“Oh, a friend of a friend. I don’t really know him that well.”