A warm smile pulls at my lips. “Cheers.”
It feels good to have someone actually see me. We sip our drinks, and his hand finds my hip as he moves a little closer. The song changes to one with a wild beat and the crowd loses it.
The man leans down. “I’m Conrad.” He offers a hand, flashing a $50,000 watch.
“Nice to meet you.”
We shake and then we’re dancing again, his hand on my waist, our bodies pressed close. The tequila goes down smooth and sweet and smoky, and combined with the two I had earlier, hits my bloodstream with the dopamine boost I so desperately need. He tries to make small talk but it’s impossible with the noise, so we just smile at each other and keep dancing and it’s wonderful.
My mind and body feel light and unencumbered. The sensation of his hand curled around my waist beneath my ribs intrigues me and I step in closer until we’re practically sweating on each other. Then his other hand is on my back, holding me tight as we sway. He’s so tall that my face onlycomes to his chest, but I don’t care that my lipstick might wipe off on his bespoke shirt. This feels good.
Really good.
The song ends and something lower tempo takes its place. We pull apart and he nods at me.
“I like how you move. Want to do it again?”
“Yes!”
Suddenly feeling shy, I look away from him and take stock of what’s happening. He’s attractive and I’m actually attracted to him…not because he’s a wealthy contender in some harebrained marriage plan, but because something about him draws me in.
The lighting changes and the dance floor brightens. Conrad cocks his head slightly and looks at me curiously. “What did you say your name is?”
I don’t have my guard up, so I don’t even think to offer a fake name. The alcohol is slowing my synapses and I’m still slightly giddy from the fun of our dance.
“I didn’t,” I tell him. “It’s Piper.”
“Barclay,” he breathes. “I thought you looked familiar, but I wasn’t sure.”
“That’s me.” The moment I say it, I regret it.
“Do you want to get out of here? Go somewhere more private?” he whispers in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.
Only it’s not a shiver of lust. It’s one of repulsion. He’s just another Bentley.
I run to the bathroom and lock myself in a stall, digging my phone out of my clutch to text an SOS to Cleo to come get me so we can leave. A few seconds later, I hear the door creak open—but it’s not Cleo. Instead, I catch the clamor ofa group of female voices pitched high to be heard over each other.
“Can you believe she tried to pick up Conrad Waterstone? My God.”
“Seriously. She’s a criminal, for crying out loud! The whole Barclay family is dirty.”
“Who the hell does she think she is?”
My face is on fire. They’re gossiping about me.
Holding my head high, faking a nonchalance I definitely don’t feel, I fling the stall door open and march out of the bathroom without giving any of them a glance.
I’m starting to think this isn’t going to be easy. Any of it.
It’s not going to be easy at all.
But if men are going to try to use me no matter what, then the deal with Nate has one major advantage—it’s a deal I can negotiate on my own terms.
7
NATE
“This foie gras is terribly dry.”
