EMMA

I'm smiling. I shouldn't be smiling.

Pursing my lips, I gazed down at my phone, my thumb hovering over Jake's unread message.

If someone had timed how fast I reached for my phone, they would probably have suggested I compete in the next Olympics. And as if that weren't bad enough, here I was, grinning like a fool.

Get a grip, Emma.

Jake and I had been texting for almost two weeks. We talked about everything—art, quotes from famous painters, silly inside jokes that no one else would understand. And one thing became clear early on—he was a workaholic.

I hated that. Hated that during those long hours he spent at work, he was probably chasing a lead or maybe even cracking a breakthrough on his case.

I knew he had been especially busy the past few days, thanks to Eric, who had finally admitted to me about the "forgeries scattered around the globe" trick he had pulled—without telling me, of course.

He had been entirely too pleased with himself, and I hadn't had the heart to burst his bubble by saying Jake probably saw right through it.

Eric didn't know Jake the way I was starting to. He hadn't met him, hadn't spoken to him—or texted with him daily. Jake was smart. Too smart for a few sloppy forgeries to throw him off track.

There were other things Eric didn't know about Jake, too. He had no idea how easy he was to talk to, how sharp and insightful his mind was—or how effortlessly charming he could be.

And Eric definitely didn't know how much I enjoyed talking to Jake. Far more than I should.

It was part of the con, I told myself. The game. I always loved the game. This wasn't any different.

Or was it?

A voice at the back of my mind whispered that this time, I was in dangerous territory—more dangerous than I had ever been before.

I wasn't stupid. I knew what was at stake. One wrong move, one slip, and it wouldn't be a text or a call from Jake I would be getting next—it would be him standing at my door with an arrest warrant in one hand and handcuffs in the other.

Shaking off the dark thoughts, I opened Jake's message. A simple reminder about our date tonight.

My stomach tightened—not in fear this time, but anticipation. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I realized I had about an hour. Time to start getting ready.

***

Standing in front of the mirror, I frowned at my reflection. After an hour of cycling through outfits, nothing felt right. Too fancy. Too casual. Too... trying too hard.

Finally, I settled on a gray dress—knee-length with long sleeves, and just fitted enough to hint at my curves without overdoing it. I added a black belt at the waist and slipped on a pair of simple heels. It felt like the perfect mix of classy and effortless. A swipe of red lipstick and a little mascara and eyeliner pulled everything together.

I took a step back, letting my gaze linger on the reflection. It wasn't just my appearance I was satisfied with. The day itself had been smooth, reassuring—just right.

And that nagged at me. Was I feeling good because my plan was working? Or because I was meeting Jake?

Shaking my head to clear the thought, I grabbed my coat and purse. Before stepping out, I scribbled a quick note for Eric.

Just in case things went south, he would need to find me a good lawyer.

***

The crisp winter air brushed against my cheeks as I stepped out of the cab onto Fifth Avenue. I looked up at the restaurant—a cozy, elegant Italian place whose soft lights glowed warmly against the cold New York night.

Inside, the inviting warmth wrapped around me. The soft murmur of conversation, the gentle flicker of candlelight, and the rich aroma of garlic and herbs mingled with the faint strains of jazz in the background made the place feel cozy, almost magical.

I looked around, searching for my date. And when I saw him waving at me from a small table near the window, my heart skipped a beat.

Here goes nothing.

Jake stood as I approached, and my stomach fluttered. His suit looked tailored to perfection. The off-white jacket highlighted his broad shoulders, while the black trousers fell perfectly over polished leather shoes. The open collar of his crisp white shirt, with the top buttons undone, added just the right touch of casual sophistication.

"Hi, Emma," he said, his green eyes sparkling as his lips curved into a warm smile. "You look beautiful."

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my lips. "Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself."

He grinned. "Well, tonight's special. I had to make an effort."

I chuckled. "It clearly paid off." Shrugging off my coat, I slid into the seat across from him. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

"No worries," he said easily. "I didn't mind."

The waiter appeared, dropping off menus and taking our drink orders. Jake's ease set the tone for the evening, and soon we were sipping wine and sharing laughter as the conversation flowed effortlessly.

Jake had this magnetic presence. He listened as if every word I said was golden, like he had been waiting all day just to hear them. That kind of attentiveness, paired with his sharp wit and an effortlessly contagious laugh, was utterly disarming—making it harder and harder to keep my focus on the plan.

When our food arrived, the rich aroma of creamy pasta made my stomach growl. I took a bite, the velvety sauce melting on my tongue.

"This is amazing," I said, glancing at Jake. "Have you been here before?"

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, it's one of my favorite spots."

"Is it just the food, or is there a story behind it?"

"Well," he said, leaning in slightly, "a few years ago, the owner, Tony, got tangled up in an embezzlement case. He was innocent, but one of his employees had been stealing from multiple accounts and setting Tony up to take the fall."

I tilted my head, intrigued. "And you were assigned to the case?"

Jake nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It was a mess, but eventually, we found the evidence to clear his name. Afterward, Tony invited me here for dinner to thank me. It turned out to be one of the best meals I'd ever had."

I grinned. "So, every time you come here, it's like a reminder of a win—and, of course, the food's pretty damn good too."

"Exactly," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "It's a good combination."

I was glad Jake mentioned his job—it gave me the perfect opening to steer the conversation where I wanted.

"So, you already know why I became an artist. Now it's my turn. What made you want to join the FBI?" I asked, leaning forward and clasping my hands under my chin to give him my best I'm all ears look.

He took a sip of wine, his expression turning thoughtful. "It's kind of a long story."

"I've got time."

Jake set his glass down, his grin boyish. "When I was a kid, my dad was my hero. He was a firefighter. Every Halloween, I dressed up like him—I thought he was the coolest guy in the world."

"That's sweet," I said, smiling. "Did he ever take you to the fire station?"

"Oh, all the time. I loved it. Those trips were the highlight of my childhood. I always knew I wanted to help people, make a difference—just like he did."

He paused, lifting a finger with a sly smile. "But that's not the whole story."

"Oh?" I tilted my head, intrigued.

"My mom was an art teacher," he continued. "She taught me to see art for more than just its beauty. It was about the stories, the history, the emotions captured in every piece. As I got older, I found myself torn between two worlds—wanting to help people like my dad and wanting to work with art like my mom."

"And joining the FBI let you do both," I said, piecing it together.

"Exactly." His grin widened, and he leaned back slightly, his posture relaxed. "It let me combine my passion for art with my desire to make a difference. White-collar crimes became a natural fit. Now, I get to investigate art thefts and bring the bad guys to justice."

"Wow," I said, genuinely impressed. "It's not often you meet someone who's passionate about their work."

Jake smiled, a touch of humility in his expression. "I believe in what we do. It's not always easy, but it's worth it."

The way he spoke—with such conviction and sincerity—stirred something deep inside me. I plastered on a smile, careful not to let my thoughts show.

"So," I said, nudging the conversation further in the direction I wanted, "do you get to chase and catch any smart criminals while you're at it?"

His eyes sparkled, a mischievous glint flashing. "Let's just say there's nothing quite as satisfying as taking down someone who thinks they're untouchable."

The words sent a chill down my spine. I managed a laugh, though my fingers tightened around my wine glass.

Jake twirled a forkful of pasta, taking a bite before continuing. "Actually, I've been working on a big case lately. It's been driving me crazy."

I almost choked. "Oh? What kind of case?" I asked, forcing my voice to sound casual.

"An art theft," he said, his tone turning serious. "I can't share much, but the thieves are smart and seem to think they're invincible."

The sudden intensity in his gaze made my blood run cold. I took a slow sip of wine, hoping to steady my nerves.

"It must be hard, not being able to talk about your work," I said, forcing a lightness I didn't feel.

"It comes with the territory," he said, leaning back. "But criminals like that? They're driven by ego and greed, and sooner or later, they slip up. And when they do..." He smirked faintly. "I'll be there to knock the smirk off their faces."

A chill ran down my spine. My gaze flickered between Jake and the door a few times, and I wondered if it was too late for me to make a run for it.

Jake's voice broke through my thoughts. "Enough about me. Were you born and raised in New York City?"

The abrupt shift gave me a moment to collect myself. I cleared my throat. "Born, yes. Raised, no."

He frowned slightly. "That sounds like a story."

I twirled my fork in my pasta, stalling for a moment before I locked eyes with him. Time for a story I had told more times than I could count.

"My parents died in a car accident when I was a kid. My brother and I were raised by our aunt and uncle."

The lie slid off my tongue effortlessly, honed to perfection over years of necessity. But it didn't make the words hurt any less.

To protect Eric and me, my parents ensured there was no paper trail linking us to them—or any of their aliases. The truth would always stay buried behind the same, carefully rehearsed lie.

Jake's expression softened, his green eyes filled with empathy. "I'm sorry to hear that. That must've been incredibly hard."

"Thank you," I said, offering a small, practiced smile. "Our aunt and uncle were great, though. They owned an event management company and traveled constantly for work, so Eric and I were always on the move. It was exciting, but after a while, it was hard to feel like we had a real home."

Jake nodded thoughtfully, his smile tinged with understanding. "And that's why you want to settle down in New York?"

"That, and because New York's like a drug," I said with a faint grin. "Once you try it, you're hooked for life."

He laughed. "I couldn't agree more. I grew up in Ithaca, but when I was a kid, my dad brought me here for a Yankees game. I fell in love with the city that day and promised myself I'd live here someday."

"Look at us," I said, raising my glass. "Working hard to make our dreams come true."

Jake clinked his glass against mine. "Cheers to that."

Yes, cheers to that, Jake. If only you weren't the obstacle standing between me and my dreams.

The change of topic allowed me to smooth my ruffled feathers and get back on track. The conversation carried on, and our smiles were becoming wider and our laughter more frequent. We swapped jokes and traded stories about our favorite spots and the hidden gems scattered around New York.

Jake talked about his close-knit family, about holidays filled with laughter and love. Listening to him, I felt a pang of envy. What must it have been like to grow up in a family so normal, so... whole?

As we shared the last bites of tiramisu, I felt his gaze lingering on me. When I finally met his eyes, his expression softened.

"I'm really glad you agreed to this," he said quietly. "I've been looking forward to it all week."

I placed my fork down, holding his gaze. "I'm glad I did, too."

"It's been a long time since I've enjoyed myself this much with someone," he continued. "And I can't believe how easy it is to talk to you—how much we have in common."

"I had a great time tonight too, Jake," I said, a smile tugging at my lips. "And, well, I believe there's a saying—great minds and all that?"

Jake chuckled, nodding. "Absolutely."

The waiter arrived with the check, and though I reached for my wallet, Jake waved me off and insisted on paying.

Outside, the cold air nipped at my skin, but I barely noticed when he reached for my hand.

Electricity shot through me at the touch of his palm against mine. My breath caught as I looked up at him. His green eyes held mine, and I could tell he felt it too.

"Can I see you again?" he asked.

"I'd like that," I said, surprised at the excitement in my voice.

We said our goodbyes, and as I walked away, hope bloomed in my chest. This could work. Jake was starting to trust me. With time, he might let his guard down, say something useful about the case—or reveal a vulnerability I could exploit.

Yes, my plan was falling into place. Jake was just another mark.

Or so I told myself.

When I got home and caught sight of myself in the mirror, I saw something that made my stomach drop.

I'm smiling. I shouldn't be smiling.