“Then what do you want?”
“Information about your husband.”
“You want me to be your spy?”
“Informant.But we can go with the word ‘spy’ if that makes you happy.”
“And why would I help you?”
“Because I can give you answers about your father.”
“You said that already, and somehow, I don’t believe you.”
A man walks past, nodding a greeting to Mr. Beaumont. I dip my head.
“How about I sweeten the deal with a sign of goodwill,” he continues, watching the man enter the men’s bathroom. He waits until we’re alone and safe from prying ears before fishing a creased, unopened letter from his inside pocket. “Lauren sends her regards.”
My eyes widen with surprise as he holds it out of reach.
“Provide me with sensitive information about your husband, and I will investigate your father’s disappearanceandlet you have Lauren’s letter.”
“How do I know it’s a letter from her? What if you’re bluffing?”
He angles it. “Recognize the handwriting?”
I feel an ache spread through my chest.Lauren wrote me.Suddenly, I want to be alone so I can read her words in private. I need to know that she’s okay. “How is it a sign of goodwill if you won’t let me read it now?”
“Let’s call it more of an incentive to give me what I want. I’ll see you around soon, Mrs. Delacroix.” He tucks the letter into his inside pocket before sliding away like a shadow.
I’m too shaken up to rejoin the party, but Darian will grow suspicious if I don’t return soon, so I shake out my trembling hands and smooth down my dress.
The first thing I notice when I enter the ballroom is that my husband and Sinclair are not where I left them. I search the crowd until my eyes land on my husband by the tables.
A slender woman with chestnut hair, perfectly curled and arranged into an even more perfect hairdo, hangs off his arm like he’s a prized possession she won at a carnival. He looks mildly inconvenienced by her presence but makes no move to peel her off, and when she pushes her generous tits against his arm, he checks his watch.
“Uh-oh, that’s the governor’s wife.” Sinclair’s voice slithers into my ear from behind like a serpent’s tongue. “She’s had a thing for our Delacroix forever.”
“I see what you’re doing, Sinclair. You’re trying to make me jealous.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he snickers, flicking my eye mask, towering beside me. “I don’t have to try. You look like a wet dick slapped you in the face.”
“Are you always so crass?” I ask, now glowering at my husband and the governor’s wife.
Why is he allowing her to rub her tits against his Armani tux?
Darian spots us, his eyes hardening, though he still lets the parasite cling to him like a leech.
“It’s a gift,” Sinclair replies, waiting for effect. “Word on the street is that she has better suction than a Dyson.” He slinks away, giving the devil on my shoulder enough material to taunt my angel for the next century.
Does he like her?She’s pretty, with her big breasts threatening to spill out of her dress and legs that go on for miles, judging by the high slit in her skirt.
Because my dignity has left the party with what little common sense I have left, I spin on my heel and all but run for the fire exit. Fuck him and Mrs. Dyson. I refuse to stick around and watch him flirt with someone else.
Before I have a chance to exit the ballroom, Sinclair blocks my path and takes my hand like a gentleman from Tudor times. He presses a kiss to my knuckles. “In a rush somewhere?”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I snatch my hand back with a huff.
“Immensely. You should really do something about that dick imprint on your cheek.”
