We talk in hushed voices for an hour. Every so often, someone glances our way. I shift, uneasy, but Elena just smirks. "Nervous?"
"Shouldn't I be?" I retort. She laughs, a brittle edge to the sound.
At closing time, we head for the elevator. Just as the doors slide open, a coworker from accounting steps out—eyes widening at the sight of us together. My stomach plunges.
"Lucas? Mrs. Vasquez?" she blurts, clearly blindsided. Elena recovers instantly, plastering on a bright smile.
"Ah, good evening," Elena says smoothly. "I was meeting potential donors for the charity gala. Lucas here kindly offered to introduce me to some contacts."
The coworker blinks, nodding slowly. "Right. Of course." She still looks suspicious, eyes darting between us as she steps aside.
Elena enters the elevator with a confident shrug, but my heart thunders. The doors close, sealing us in. "That was too close," I hiss, the adrenaline making my voice shake. Elena shrugs again, but there's tension in her jaw.
"Nothing we can't handle," she murmurs, though her gaze flicks to the floor indicator like she can't wait for escape. My thoughts swirl with WTF as I realize just how razor-thin our cover story is.