Replica

with Mosely who could even remotely be described as easygoing. And yet that was how she would describe Dante after their limited acquaintance.

That’s the persona he’s put on for this job, she scolded herself while taking another sip of tea. To think he was showing her his real self while he worked undercover was the worst kind of naivete.

The thought made the sweet tea taste just a little sour, and she put it aside. Perhaps it was now time for her to stop skulking in the schoolroom and get on with things. The tracker wasn’t going to plant itself, and she doubted Mosely would have much patience with any delays.

Dante returned to the refreshments table to continue clearing, but she must have been wearing her emotions on her face, because he stopped in his tracks and gave her a look full of sympathy and concern.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked, and the kindness in his voice was almost more than she could take.

“You don’t happen to have a cure for Dirk Mosely sitting around somewhere, do you?” she asked. She was being too open with him, too unguarded, but Mosely had weakened her defenses, and the quip escaped before she thought better of it.

His smile looked almost sad. “If I had that, I’d be making a killing selling it on the black market.”

“How can you stand working for him?”

The warmth and openness faded from Dante’s face. “I work for your father, not Dirk Mosely. And I’d better get back to it if you don’t want anything else.” He turned his back to her. As if he hadn’t already hammered home the fact that their conversation was over. Apparently hinting that he worked for Mosely was all right, but coming right out and saying so wasn’t.

Nadia stood up, wincing as her abused stomach muscles protested the movement. It was lucky Dante had turned his back to her again, because if she’d seen another look of sympathy on his face, she might have screamed. Or cried. He didn’t get to be all warm and nice and sympathetic, not when he worked for the enemy.

It took more effort than she’d have liked to admit to keep her pace steady and unhurried as she headed for the door, trying not to long for things she couldn’t have. Thanks to the hint of scandal that had attached itself to her, she was cut off from Chloe’s warmth and sympathy—though in truth, their friendship had never been half as deep as Nadia’s friendship with Nate. Thanks to Mosely’s blackmail, she could no longer rely on Nate either, and if he ever learned the truth, she would lose his friendship forever. And thanks to Mosely’s scheming, her father had been forced to accept a spy into their household. The fact that she was intrigued by said spy didn’t make him any less of a spy.

All her current woes could be squarely laid at Mosely’s feet. Somehow, someday, she was going to turn the tables on him. She didn’t yet have the first idea how, but if it took her whole life, she was going to find a way to destroy him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Despite all the effort she’d put into avoiding Nate—and potentially learning too much that she’d have to share with Mosely—Nadia ended up going to see him instead of the other way around.

After her encounter with Mosely, she realized she couldn’t stand to go to her Teen Charity League meeting anyway. Though they had no interest in helping those less fortunate than themselves, the Trio always attended the meetings, reveling in the chance to prance and preen and lord their lofty status over lower-ranking Executives. Dealing with Jewel was bad enough, but fending off verbal jabs from the entire Trio—in front of their adoring fans, no less—held no appeal. And Chloe would be there. Nadia wasn’t up to pretending she wasn’t still angry and hurt by her friend’s desertion, no matter how well she understood it.

Besides, if she didn’t get the tracker planted on Nate as soon as possible, Mosely might get impatient with her. More impatient than he already was.

Getting in touch with Nate turned out to be harder than she’d expected. He wasn’t at home, he wasn’t at work, and he’d either turned off or was refusing to answer his personal phone. According to his majordomo, Nate was dodging his father, who wanted him to make some commercial. Eventually, Nate got word that she was trying to reach him and asked her to meet him at his apartment—after the workday was over so his father was less likely to ambush him with a camera crew.

The first thing she noticed when she saw him was that Nate looked exhausted. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was a droop to his shoulders she’d never seen before. He was dressed as if for the office, but he’d dispensed with the coat and tie—if he’d ever worn them—and rolled his sleeves up to just below his elbows. Mosely had suggested she plant the tracker in Nate’s wallet, but she wondered whether he took it with him when going to the Basement. If she planted the tracker in his wallet and he didn’t take it with him, Mosely was probably going to hold her responsible for it.

Her eyes caught the glint of the gold chain Nate wore under his shirt, the one holding the locket she’d supposedly given him. He might not take his wallet to the Basement, but he wore that locket everywhere, and it could be easily concealed under his clothes.

Nate smiled at her in greeting, but the smile didn’t light up his eyes as it usually would. No doubt some of it was worry about Bishop. However, if Mosely was telling the truth about Nate’s venture into the Basement last night, Nate might very well be every bit as sleep-deprived as he looked. Nonetheless, he managed a shadow of his usual jaunty grin as he invited her in.

If she were being a proper Executive, Nadia would have been careful to make sure that she and Nate stayed within sight of the servants, preserving her reputation, but Nate had long ago broken her of that particular cautious habit. She might hesitate to go off alone with him in public, but in the privacy of his home—or hers—she was willing to make exceptions. No servant who couldn’t be trusted to keep his or her mouth shut would hold on to a job in the Chairman Heir’s household.

Accordingly, Nate led her to the private sitting room right outside his bedroom. It was a cozy, comfortable room, with overstuffed chairs, bookshelves that might be considered full with only half the number of books on them, and a large gas fireplace that Nate flipped on automatically, even though it wasn’t cold. Nadia would have grumbled about the waste, except she knew how much Nate liked having a fire going.

“Want a drink?” he asked, ignoring the comfortable chairs and pacing in front of the fire.

Nadia didn’t think her stomach would welcome any company, and she almost refused. Then she realized a drink could give her the opportunity she needed to plant Mosely’s tracker. She needed to get Nate to take off the locket, and she suspected the only time he did that was when he showered.

“A hot cocoa would be nice,” she said, though she knew that wasn’t the kind of drink Nate had in mind. Nate might decide he needed to shower if she spilled wine or beer on him, but he might just change his clothes. The chocolate would make a more significant mess, which was just what she needed. If Nate hadn’t been so busy staring moodily into the fire, he probably would have seen the guilt playing across her face and wondered about it. But he didn’t, and she did a decent job of keeping her voice light and guileless.

“Maybe with some Bailey’s in it?” Nate said, but didn’t wait for her approval before ducking his head out the door and signaling to a servant. “Two cocoas with Bailey’s.”

Nadia shook her head at him behind his back. It never occurred to him that she might want something other than what he suggested. Sometimes, it amazed her that he could be such a good guy and yet be so oblivious to everyone and everything around him. Just more proof that Nate’s Replica was exactly like the original Nate—to the point that she had a hard time remembering that he wasn’t.

“It’s like he never died,” she murmured to herself, but Nate heard her and shifted uncomfortably.

“The original Nate, you mean. I never quite know whether to use first person or third when I talk about stuff that happened to him. I mean, it happened to him, but I remember it happening to me.” His brow furrowed, his expression becoming uncharacteristically serious. “But someone really did die. There’s a body and everything. I feel like I should … I don’t know, be more torn up about it or something.”

Nadia nodded. “I should be grieving for him,” she said, “but it’s hard to feel like he’s dead when you’re