Dorian sighed. The fundraiser was becoming more of a pain in his ass by the minute.
“Look, if you want Duchanes to back off,” Aiden said, helping himself to a sip of Dorian’s coffee, “you need to bring him into the fold. Treat him like family, maybe even offer him a position here, and perhaps he’ll let his guard down a bit.”
“Did you just put your filthy mouth on my favorite mug?”
Aiden raised his pinky alongside the mug, striking a posh pose. “I wouldn’t be stooping to such pedestrian levels if you’d been a proper host and offered me refreshment upon arrival.”
“How about a beating upon arrival?”
“That’s not my kink, Mr. Redthorne,” he said with a wink. “But no judgments.”
Dorian shook his head. He’d never known his friend to be in a sour mood—not even when Dorian was doing his best to push his buttons. But despite Aiden’s cheery disposition and the gorgeous weather outside, a deep sense of foreboding had crept into the day—one Dorian couldn’t seem to shake.
“Talk to me, Dori,” Aiden said, his voice softening. “Something’s got your knickers in a twist.”
“It’s this deal.” He flipped through the folder again. “Setting aside the problem of Renault Duchanes, why is Armitage dicking us around? They’ve seen our numbers. They know we’ve made every acquisition profitable, and with very little staff reduction. The old mage wants to unload his assets, and we’re the best suited to facilitate that. What are they worried about?”
“Come on, mate. Armitage is old money, conservative as hell—especially for a mage. With Duchanes entering the playing field, I’m sure his sons want to make sure he’s getting the best deal—for his businessandfor their sister, should it come to that.”
It made sense, and Dorian finally nodded, the knot in his chest loosening a bit. “You’re probably right.”
“You’d think after all these centuries, you’d remember it.” Aiden offered another smile, then drained the last of Dorian’s coffee. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any biscuits?”
“Bloody hell.” Dorian rose from the chair to fetch the box of cookies he kept stashed in the file cabinet and passed it over.
“Very kind of you, thanks,” Aiden said. “So… free advice?”
“Remind me again what I’m paying you for, exactly?”
“Play the game, mate. Just until the acquisition goes through and you’ve secured the witch. Then your family will be revitalized, Armitage can retire into the sunset, and you can go back to being that reclusive billionaire vampire jackoff we all know and love.”
“You’re a prince, Aiden. A real fucking prince.”
“My DNA spared me that particular curse.” He pulled a cookie from the box and pointed it at Dorian. “But Dori, you’vegotto make an impression at the fundraiser. Agoodimpression. That’s why you’re hosting it.”
“I don’t like hosting parties.”
“I don’t care what you like. Louse it up, and these guys will walk—straight into the arms of House Duchanes.” He shoved the cookie into his mouth, powdered sugar coating his lips. “Wow, are these lemon biscuits? They’re wonderful. Don’t mind if I have another, do you?”
“We don’t even know if Armitage’s people will show.” Dorian pressed the intercom for his assistant. “Veronica, do we have an update on the final head count for Friday?”
Seconds later, she poked her head into the office. “Two hundred and sixty-one confirmed tickets.”
“And the Armitage people?”
“They’ve all RSVP’d.”
Dorian took a steadying breath. “I don’t suppose we’ve any regrets?”
“Not one.”
“Fuck me.” His foul mood was back with a vengeance, rapidly turning into a headache that drilled through the base of his skull. All those people, parading around Ravenswood, taking selfies in his garden, blathering on about the preschool admissions process, just as they’d done at the auction…
Sneaking into the closet for a night to remember…
“Don’t they have anything better to do?” Dorian snapped.
“What did you expect, Mr. Dark and Mysterious?” Aiden asked. “They all want a look-see behind the curtain.”
