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She was a sight. It took all my self control to keep my hands off her. Even though we were supposed to be a couple, I had to at least pretend like we worked together, and she was my assistant for real. It was a strange little tightrope to walk, but it suited me.
The club though, I hated its ever-loving guts.
“Let’s get a drink,” Millie said in my ear, her breath warm. “It’s packed in here.”
She took my hands absently, and tugged me through the crowd. I couldn’t do much more than follow, our fingers intertwined for a moment, until we reached the bar and she seemed to realize what she’d done. She dropped my hand and said something I couldn’t hear, then leaned forward, elbowing her way through the two-deep group of people waiting for drinks.
I hung back, scanning the nearby face, and snapped a standing table when a group of women decked out in long dresses and plastered in make-up moved off holding their drinks above their heads, oblivious to the liquor spilling down around them. Millie returned with whisky for me and wine for her.
“Where is he?” she yelled over the music, leaning closer. I glanced down her neck, toward her breasts, unable to help myself. “Have you seen him yet?”
“Not yet,” I said back, moving even closer, my lips near her ear. “He’s here somewhere. I’m sure in a private room, making deals.”
“You think he’s working?” She made a face and shook her head. “It’s a party. I doubt it.”
“Trust me, this is what Mirko does. He loves getting people drunk then making them sign a contract.”
She looked absolutely shocked, and I laughed at her naivete. Of course, any contract that had been signed under duress was forfeit, and wouldn’t hold up in court, although the litigation would be a nightmare. But most people that signed with Mirko or made some deal were already on the verge of it to begin with, and he plied them with alcohol and a good time to nudge them in the right direction.
It wasn’t so far off from what most investors did. Small bribes, good drinks, nice meals, that sort of thing could convince someone that wasn’t certain yet.
Wining and dining. Seduction. What I wanted to do with Millie, except I didn’t need to—not really, not since we were already forced together.
She sipped her wine, watching the crowd, and I watched her, wondering what she made of all this. From her perspective, it must’ve looked like any club, filled with people drinking, shouting, dancing, laughing. But from where I stood, all I saw was money: the girl at the bar in the Prada dress was worth millions, the guy laughing next in the blue suit was worth even more. I spotted billionaires, wives of billionaires, men and women that were born with money and would die with even more.
It was the upper crust, the elite of the elite, the people that made the world turn without ever stepping out into public.
Suddenly, Millie reached out and grabbed my arm. “There he is,” she said, leaning closer. “Over at the bar. Do you see him?”
I nodded and watched as Mirko toasted with another man, a big guy with slicked-back black hair and a gut. He wore a cheap suit and laughed at everything Mirko said, leaning in too close, shaking his hand multiple times. He reeked like a salesman, but Mirko didn’t seem to mind. Really, Mirko liked any audience, no matter how much they wanted to sell him on something, so long as they listened to his stories and laughed at the right spot, he was happy.
“Wait a minute,” I said, putting an arm across her shoulders. For one instant, she seemed taken aback that I’d touch her like that, but then Mirko’s gaze moved over in our direction, and I pulled her closer, leaning my lips down to her ear. “I want him to see this.”
Then I kissed her. Nothing passionate or deep, but my lips pressed against hers and lingered there for only a few seconds—the kiss of a boyfriend to his girlfriend, intimate and familiar, but simple. She was soft and tasted like sweet caramel, and when I pulled back, her cheeks were turning red.
“Warn me next time,” she said.
“There’s no fun in that.” I smirked a little, leaning closer, trying to make it look like I was flirting—and I realized that I didn’t have to fake it, because I was. “You might not blush so much if I gave you a heads up.”
That only made her blush more, and she plastered a smile on her face as she pushed me away. I laughed and turned, and spotted Mirko making his way toward us through the crowd, the guy with the slicked-back hair left behind at the bar, watching.
