“Don’t worry, I’ll babysit her,” she offered, placing her long manicured black nails on Radcliff’s bicep possessively.
The lethal calm of Radcliff’s licorice eyes met mine. He smoothed his tie, forcing Melissa to retract her hand. Silence washed over us, Radcliff probably considering her offer. The intensity of his stare was impossible to hold on to, and I drifted my eyes to the ground.
Radcliff took his leave without speaking a word and headed to the top floor. I lifted my face heavenward, scrutinizing the enormous glass window upstairs. It gave a 180-degree view of the club.
“That’s Radcliff’s office. Don’t get any ideas. It’s strictly forbidden,” Melissa commented.
“That’s why we can’t see anything through it.” I was fascinated to discover what could be behind those windows.
Melissa snickered. “Are you surprised?”
I shook my head, keeping my gaze on it. The private one-way window offered the ability to be invisible while seeing everything that was happening down here.
Radcliff was undeniably the king of the underworld.
“So… You’re staying at Ravencliff Manor.” Melissa took a seat in the bar area and asked, “What are you doing there?”
“I’m here to make perfume.”
Her eyes opened wildly before she exploded with laughter. I tensed, slightly offended about her finding me that amusing.
When she realized I wasn’t joking, she focused her attention on the barman. She leaned in, drawing a seductive smile while showing him a perfect view of the valley between her breasts. “Something strong. That would make me good, Paulo.” She then gave me an interrogative eyebrow. “You?”
“Nothing for me. I don’t drink.” By the way her eyebrows furrowed, I knew I was the definition of boring to her. I sat next to her, asking the first question that came to mind. “Radcliff and you are a thing?”
“Once upon a time.” She bit the cherry of her martini with a devious smile. “We were each other’s first, and that’s something you never forget. Am I right?”
She dared me.
She wanted to know.
To have the upper hand.
“Right,” I had to reply, hiding my discomfort. I wasn’t one to share my past, especially the intimate one with a stranger.
“Ladies.” I was saved by the bell when the rasp of a man’s voice echoed next to us.
We turned our heads in synchronization toward the stranger.
Black pepper and cinnamon.
The spiciness of his scent couldn’t be ignored—unique but still unpleasant to me. The realization of who the stranger was twisted my stomach.
Adonis’s father. Christian Carmin.
In his early fifties, he was probably one of the most influential people in France. His face was on every billboard. He had the kind of Mediterranean tan you only got on a yacht during this season. A tailored suit that screamed of every shade of money and power and the same piercing blue eyes as his son.
“I’ve never had the pleasure to see you here. But you seem familiar,” Christian addressed me with the confidence of a man who is used to getting what he wants. With his pristine white grin, everyone knew he was a charming talker.
We’d actually met once. I went rigid at the memory of it, as if a corrosive liquid gnawed at my insides. He didn’t even recognize me.
“She’s Radcliff’s protégée,” Melissa said, sweeping her hand with disinterest. “Lily something.”
Christian quipped back, “I wasn’t asking you, Melissa.”
I swiveled my eyes to Radcliff’s office. A part of me could feel his presence behind the glass. My stare remained stuck on it with the belief he would hear my silent inner scream, like someone who held on to a rope with the fear of falling. But the tingling in my eyes made me come back to Melissa and Christian.
His gaze was firmly set on me, ignoring Melissa’s gunning eyes. With sparkling interest, Christian continued. “You have the face of a model. Maybe it is where I know you from? Which agency are you from?”
