Maybe I will, she thought, a curious jolt of anticipation in her chest.

CALLIOPE

“SO. THIS IS the thousandth floor.”

“I know.” Elise echoed Calliope’s tone of momentary surprise. “I expected more diamonds.”

Calliope and her mom had just been ushered into the living room from the private elevator bank, complete with a real, human elevator attendant—that had to be just for parties, Calliope reasoned; surely he didn’t do that job all the time. She shook her head in wry amusement. “It’s a cocktail party, Mom, not a gala. This isn’t the right occasion for diamonds.”

“You never know,” her mom said, reaching into her purse to trade her enormous diamond bracelet for a more discreet gold one. She always traveled with varying levels of jewelry, ever since the time in Paris that they showed up to a party shockingly overdressed.

No, it hadn’t been the lack of carats that prompted Calliope’s comment. She’d just expected the Tower’s penthouse apartment to feel more, well … more.

Beneath the festive wreaths and glowing lights festooned around the room, the massive poinsettias and the enormous Christmas tree that took up one whole corner of the living room, the thousandth floor looked to Calliope like any other of the countless expensive apartments she’d seen. It was just another room full of stuffy antiques and crystal candlesticks and wallpaper in muted colors, the same couture heels stepping on the same carpets the world over. And what was with all the mirrors? Calliope loved looking at herself as much as the next girl, but the one time she didn’t care about her reflection was this high up. She wanted to look out—at the world, the light, the stars.

What a damn shame, to have the best views in the world, only to cover your walls with mirrors and brocade curtains.

“I’m going scouting. Wish me luck,” Elise said briskly, her attention already roving restlessly over the various guests.

“You don’t need it, but good luck.”

Calliope watched as her mom advanced across the room with a near savage intensity, her eyes narrowing as she assessed various potential marks, talking to some of them for a few moments before tossing them aside and moving on. She was looking for the perfect target: rich enough to be worth the effort, but not so rich that it would be impossible to get close to him or her. And of course, foolish enough to fall for the stories she would inevitably tell.

At times like this, Calliope loved watching her mother at work. There was a deliberateness to all her movements—to her laughter, the way she tossed her tawny tousled hair—that drew eyes to her like a magnet.

As her mom dissolved into conversation with a group of partygoers, Calliope drifted toward the edge of the room. In her experience, detaching yourself was the best way to read the intricacies of every party, all the little currents of attraction and alliances and drama. And you never knew who might appear once you pulled yourself away from the action, made yourself a little more approachable.

Almost immediately she caught sight of Avery Fuller moving through the crowds. It was as if Avery had her own personal spotlight trained on her: illuminating her flawless features, making her ivory cheekbones even more pronounced, her eyes an even brighter blue. Calliope would have resented Avery for being so impossibly beautiful, if she weren’t so deeply confident in her own charms—which were different, certainly, but no less effective.

She started toward Avery, thinking she might as well thank her for the invitation, only to stop in her tracks as Avery made eye contact with someone across the room. A look of such love suffused her face that Calliope knew she’d blundered into a sacred, private moment. She quickly turned her head the same direction as Avery, piqued with curiosity about who could possibly inspire that level of devotion. But the crowd was too thick and swirling for her to see.

A sharp cough sounded across the room, and even beneath all the cacophony—the exclamations of greeting; the clipped business discussions and liquid, languid flirtations; the shaking of cocktails and strumming of the string quartet in the corner—the sound vibrated through Calliope’s consciousness with an electric shock. She responded to that cough more instinctively than she did to her name, real or assumed. That cough meant that her mom needed Calliope for backup. Now.

At least this guy was good-looking, Calliope thought, when she found her mom in conversation with an older gentleman. He had chiseled features and close-cut gray hair, which made him handsome in a distinguished sort of way, even if his plain dark suit was rather staid. Elise was laughing at some joke he’d told, looking exotic and exciting in her bright green dress and vivid smile. Calliope imagined that she could already see her mother sharpening her claws, readying herself to move in for the kill.

“Hello,” Calliope said politely as she approached. It was the safest greeting, since she never really knew what role she’d been cast in for this con until Elise prompted her.

“Darling, I’d love for you to meet Nadav Mizrahi,” Elise exclaimed, and turned to the man she was speaking with. “Nadav, this is my daughter.”

“Calliope Brown. Pleasure to meet you,” she said, stepping forward to shake Nadav’s hand. She was grateful to be playing a daughter again this time. That was always the most fun.

Sometimes Elise cast her as a cousin or friend instead—or worse, in some completely unrelated role, like a new assistant in the mark’s office, or a maid. Elise insisted that she assigned roles based on her read of the situation, but Calliope suspected that she sometimes picked them simply because being the mom made her feel old. Not that Elise was old at all. Hell, she’d only been nineteen, barely older than Calliope was now, when she got pregnant with Calliope. Now there was a sobering thought.

“I have a daughter about your age. Her name is Livya,” Nadav volunteered, with a warm smile. Well, that explained it.

“Mr. Mizrahi works in cybernetics. He’s only recently moved to New York from Tel Aviv,” Elise added.

That was why Elise had homed in on him with such deadly skill. She could smell new blood a mile away. Newcomers were more trusting of strangers, since to them, everyone was a stranger. They were far less likely to notice any missteps.

A hovertray floated past, laden with crystal flutes of something pink and fizzy. Calliope plucked three of them deftly off the top. “Mr. Mizrahi,” she said, handing him a drink. “I’m not very familiar with cybernetics. Can you explain the basics?”

“Well, cybernetics is technically defined as the study of subsystems in both man and machine, but I work in a division that attempts to replicate simple patterns …”

Calliope smiled even as she tuned out his monologue. Give a mark the chance to show off, to spout a little bit of specialized knowledge, and he or she automatically felt affection toward you. After all, there was no topic of conversation that people enjoyed talking about more than themselves.

“And how have you enjoyed New York?” Calliope asked at a break in the conversation, taking a sip of her drink. There were sticky sugar crystals on the rim and bright red pomegranate seeds clustered at the bottom.

And so she and her mom went back and forth, settling into their familiar, practiced rhythm. They flirted and teased and peppered Nadav with questions, and no one but Calliope could sense the cold ruthlessness behind it all. She watched how her mother’s pale green eyes—not their original color, of course—barely flicked away from Mizrahi’s, even when his gaze was directed somewhere else.

It’s all about the eye contact, Calliope remembered her mom saying, her first lesson in the art of seduction. Look directly into their eyes until they can’t look away.

And then, unexpectedly, Calliope heard a familiar voice behind her.

She made a little gesture to her mom and turned slowly, dragging out the moment before he recognized her. It had only been five months, yet he looked older, and somehow sharper. His shadowed beard from the previous summer was gone, his eyes glassy in a way they hadn’t been before. She’d never seen him in a suit.

The only boy who’d ever gotten the better of her; and here he was, halfway around the world.

She saw the moment he registered her presence. He looked as stunned as she felt. “Calliope?”