Free Single Lady Spy 01 - The End of Me by Tara Brown

elevator stopped on the top floor.
    As I stepped off, he said, "Have a nice night, ma'am," and pressed a button. I glanced back at the shit-eating grin on his face and raised an eyebrow.
    Had he had a mocking tone?
    Was he laughing at the fact the guy opening the door was getting a mom hooker? He was probably used to seeing three girls in miniskirts with red lips and syphilis entering the presidential suite.
    I looked at the single, white door in the hall. The suite must have been nearly the entire floor. I pushed down my fears and walked to the door. The fact I'd already done this routine was making it less scary, like I had wasted the real fear on the practice run when I met Coop. I didn’t feel as scared as I should have been.
    My hands didn’t shake. My stomach burned but never cramped.
    I placed my fist up to knock, but the door opened.
    "You're late." The man from the photos with James scowled at me. He looked so much better in person.
    I winced, while trying to smile, "Sorry. The taxi was late."
    “I gave you valet money for a reason.”
    I stammered, “Uhm…I was too tired to drive.”
    He watched me for a second, before letting me in. His short, dark hair was thick and styled nicely. He looked my age but his face was actually tanned, so his skin was aged, but only slightly more. His hazel eyes had a greenish tint to them, but were mostly brown. I could imagine them getting quite dark if he were angry. He was tall, much taller than me in all my five-foot-four glory. He had to be at least six foot three.
    He smiled and made slight dimples in his cheeks, "Please, come in. My name is Gustavo Servario." His smile was hypnotic and calming. This... this was the man threatening my life and children?? I was having a terrible time believing it possible or seeing him as threatening. My nerves were barely registering or just refused to participate on account of the handsome man.
    I could feel awkward nervousness making attempts to take over. He was sophisticated and smooth and handsome, beyond what I had expected. I had only ever seen surveillance of him. Up close, he made me breathe irregularly. I regretted my choice of yoga pants, a three-quarter sleeve sweater and sneakers.
    I entered the suite, nearly jumping when he placed his hand on the small of my back. He chuckled, "You'll need to get used to that feel, my dear."
    My stomach dropped, the charming dimply smile couldn’t even rescue me from the panic of my nerves showing up all at once.
    I would need to get used to that touch? He was planning on touching me? What did that mean?
    He guided me into the living room and put a hand out, "Sit."
    I gripped my clutch and sat in one of the fancy cream and yellow chairs. The room was lovely.
    He picked up two champagne flutes and brought one to me. Were we celebrating my husband’s fake death or his taking over of my life and forcing me to hide my children?
    I took the delicate stemware in my suddenly-shaking hand and forced my nerves down.
    "What do you know of your husband’s dealings with me?" he asked as he sat.
    I frowned, "Nothing." I noticed everything about him. I couldn’t help it. He was big—over two hundred pounds, but at the same time, graceful. His greenish-grey slacks fit him perfectly. He filled them out as if they were made to be his. His cream-colored dress shirt was open, like he had just taken his tie off and was about to relax for the evening. He was thick and fit for our age. The closer men got to forty, the less likely they were able to tie their own shoes. But not him, he was strong. It made the feelings of fear and panic worse. There would be no escaping him. He could snap my neck in a heartbeat. The flute looked ridiculous in his huge hands.
    Every observation I made of him, linked itself to a dirty thought. I’d been reading too many naughty books. But I had to give it to him, he had aged nicely, more than nicely. I couldn’t shake the bratty boy he had been, when I was watching him at