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“Well. You pay for quality, right?” I ask with a smile, and Hans nods.
I glance at Samantha. She’s listening intently, but, as I asked, she’s staying quiet. She smiles when the others joke, reading the situation perfectly. These men expect to be humored, even when their jokes aren’t that funny.
“And who is this beautiful creature?” Larry asks, and Samantha smiles sweetly at him.
“This is my friend, Samantha,” I say, placing my hand at the base of her spine.
“Stunning,” Larry says. If he wasn’t seventy-six-years old and one of our best clients, I’d be less nice about his obvious admiration.
Samantha just nods serenely, still smiling.
Smart girl. Humor him, honey. Play the role. And the fact that she follows instructions so well…well, that’s just one more thing for me to try not to think about too damn much.
I glance across the room and see one of our biggest clients standing alone. I smoothly separate Samantha and I from the group we’re currently talking with and steer her toward the bar. “I need to talk to someone. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Why don’t you go grab a drink or something.”
“I can do that,” she says in a bit of a breathy voice, and my gaze drops to her full breasts, her lush cleavage. When I look back up at her, she’s got the prettiest damn blush to her cheeks, and it hits me again how innocent she seems and how badly I want to corrupt her.
“Go on,” I say, and it comes out harsher than I mean for it to. She walks away, and I can’t help but follow the sway of her hips as she walks.
“Get it together, Knight,” I mutter. I give my head a little shake, straighten my cuffs, and head over toward the client I’m supposed to talk up.
But I won’t be leaving her alone for long.
***
Samantha
When I reach the bar, I notice that most of the women seem to be drinking champagne, so I order a glass as well. The first sip is like magic, and I realize this isn’t the cheap stuff we used to get on New Year’s Eve while I was growing up. I take another sip and just let it sit on my tongue for a while, enjoying the taste of it.
A guy in a dark suit slides up to the bar beside me, and for a second, I think it’s Dante, but immediately realize that this guy isn’t tall or bulky enough.
“Hey. Samantha, right?” he asks in a voice as smooth as honey. I glance up at him. He looks like someone from an underwear ad, kind of model-perfect. Nice looking, but after spending the last hour with Dante, I’m not overly impressed for some reason.
“Hi,” I answer, glancing around to see if Dante is nearby. The way this guy is looking at me, like he’s imagining me naked, is already making my skin crawl.
All right, so clearly I wasn’t meant to be a stripper.
Unfortunately, Dante is nowhere around and now I have to try to figure out how to step away without offending underwear model guy.
“I’m Anton,” he says, holding out his hand. After a moment, I take it, intending to briefly and politely shake it and then get the heck away from him. “If I had you for the night, I sure the hell wouldn’t waste it here,” he says in a low, smooth voice, and his grip on my hand tightens.
“Excuse me?” I try for my haughtiest, most blue-blood attitude. I’m an actress. This is an act. It’s like a mantra I have to keep repeating to myself, from the second Harry led me into that room earlier today.
“No need to put on the high and mighty act with me, sweetness. I was there earlier at the Calla Club when Dante bid on you.”
I quickly glance around, hoping no one overheard, but everyone else at the bar is engrossed in their own conversations. I glance back at the guy, Anton, and he’s giving me this sleazy little smirk.
“One million dollars, huh? You must be so damn good to be able to charge that,” he purrs, and I try to pull my hand out of his without making a scene. He lets me go but maneuvers himself so my body is trapped between him and the bar. “I can only imagine how sexy you look on your knees.”
I try to duck around him, and he smoothly keeps me cornered. “Tell you what. I’m feeling generous and it’s been a little while since I’ve had a good, dirty fuck. One million, plus fifty grand, if you leave here with me, right now.”
“Not interested. Excuse me,” I say, and I quickly manage to get around him this time, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me back. I’m shaking now, a combination of anger and flat-out fear. I’ve heard plenty about men like this who think their money entitles them to whatever they want. He doesn’t care if I say no, and he’s trying to pull me toward the door.
All of a sudden, there’s a solid wall of tuxedo-clad chest by my side, and Dante’s there, knocking Anton’s hand away from me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dante snarls, and the look he’s giving Anton makes it very, very clear that they’re not friends. At all.
“I was just making conversation,” Anton says with a smirk.
