It’s hot as all get out!
While the forced air pumped through the vents, the great and powerful boss thought it was a good idea to have a roaring blaze in the hearth. Did no one tell him it was summer? Who cared if it created a rustic ambiance! All these bodies packed in tight made it suffocating in here.
I plucked at the high collar of my uniform, wishing it was winter outside so I could roll around in the snow. I wound my way through the crowd, praying they would take the rock-hard pieces of toast with crap spread on it so my empty tray and I could go back to the safety of the kitchen where the cool air would temporarily relieve the heat rash I felt forming across my skin.
Looking at the dozen artfully placed bites, I felt a twinge of guilt. If Franky made it—which he had—they were bound to taste good. Maybe no one would notice if I started scooting them off the edge. Drop one or two in a planter. The leaves would hide them until later when I could scoop them out. It would be a shame to waste them, but at this point, I was going to pass out from the heat.
Too focused on my personal discomfort, I didn’t notice my feet were taking me in a direct line to where I swore I wasn’t going. By the time my fried brain caught up to the action, there was no way to veer to the side and avoid the collision. Not without drawing attention to myself.
I was trapped between a group of portly men in suits, a bunch of women who reeked of expensive perfume, andhim.
The devil I’d successfully avoided unprofessional contact with this past week.
As if he sensed my eyes on him, Dominico turned. That black gaze caught mine and held it. I tightened my unfeeling smile and inched forward. He broke away from the conversation he was having with a slimmer, but no less scary-looking, man.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, taking a few of the small bites from my tray.
“My pleasure, sir.”
Something flashed through those inky pools. His lips thinned at my formal tone. “I was wondering when you’d finally come this way. It almost seemed as if you were avoiding me.”
“Wouldn’t blame her,” the scary friend quipped. He stepped forward and helped himself to the bread slices. He slid the whole thing in his mouth. “Damn shame too. These are delicious.”
I bobbed my head. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to distribute the rest of these—”
“No need.” The scary man swiped the rest of the toasts. His fingers wore ink, but I didn’t miss the pale silver lines or the swollen bend to his knuckles. Unlike the polished, poised guests, this man was set apart in a dangerous way.
Exactly like Dominico.
But I didn’t feel the same current of electricity as he looked at me. No, there was one clear buzz zinging through my veins, and it came from the source to my left.
“You’re flushed, Rae,” Dominico murmured. “Are you feeling alright?”
I hated that the bastard noticed. Hated that he pointed it out.
No, you hate that he sounds like he cares.
I didn’t need his attention. Powerful men like him never truly cared. That was one lesson I thankfully learned at a young age. Men were all the same. Wanted the same thing. And when they’d had their fill, they moved on. Rich men were only slightly worse, because they had the resources to pretend they were better than the poor ones.
“I’m fine. Can I refresh your drinks, gentlemen?” I offered, shifting in the tight shoes. This pair was still liable to give me blisters even after wearing them for two weeks now.
“Rae,” Dominico cautioned.
“Drop it,” I snapped. “Drinks? Yes? No? Okay then. I’m going to get a fresh tray of crap.”
I escaped to the sound of masculine chuckles and the low voice of the scary friend, which I could only guess was ribbing the princeling. Since it was in Italian, I only had the sound to go off.
The whole way to the kitchen, I scolded myself. I was just tired and cranky. And hot. That was no excuse to make myself miserable and do a bad job. Despite thelunacy of this place, I was good at my work. It paid well enough, and I needed the shelter and stability it provided. So there was no good reason to do a bad job.
Even my uncle noticed my work ethic. He’d taken me aside one day earlier in the week and told me how proud he was of me.
It was surprisingly…nice.
“I just need to cool off,” I muttered.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw that the coast was clear. I seized the opportunity and slipped into the sunroom. The change in temperature was magnificent. Dropping the tray on the side table with the ugly vase, I undid the top button of my collar. There was no noise from the secret panel. Not that I would have paused to listen if there was.
No, I made a beeline to the French doors, slipped the lock, and pushed one open.
