Page 10 of Wicked Fortune

She pulls a face. “No. Forget I said anything.”

“Um, yeah. That’s not happening. Spill it.”

“Dammit. I shouldn’t say anything. It’s sort of a secret.”

“Sort of?”

“I guess it’s an open secret. But only to people who, you know, travel in certain circles.” She bites her lower lip and gives me an apologetic shoulder raise.

I fight a laugh. “Marrying Ash has definitely pushed you up in the world.”

She flips me the bird. “Actually, I know about it from Nikki.”

I narrow my eyes. “Okay. I’ll bite. What do you know?”

She draws a breath, then lets it out. “I know about the parties at Masque.”

FOUR

I see Matthew Holt the moment I step over the threshold and into the overwhelming opulence that is Masque. He’s on the second-floor landing, all the way on the other side of the huge entry hall. He’s leaning casually against a marble pillar, just a few feet away from where one half of the majestic double staircase meets the landing.

And while it’s probably my imagination, I think he’s looking at me, too.

The thought sends a wash of heat rushing through me, and I’m only interrupted from my little moment of prurient pleasure by the low whistle emanating from the man on my arm.

Apparently, he’s noticed Holt, too.

“Girlfriend, you weren’t lying. That man is so hot he’s going to melt that marble column if he stands any closer. And the suit? Ari, my love, I’ll dump you as fast as a hot potato for either the man or the suit.”

“Can’t say I blame you.” I shoot a sideways glance at Clive, who despite being as queer as they come, is totally rocking the role of my date for the evening. He’s also attracting considerable attention from others who are mingling in the hall before going up those stairs to what I assume is the heart of Masque.

Men and women keep giving him the once-over, and even though I—sadly—won’t be touching that, I stand up a little taller and hook my arm firmly through Clive’s. At least this chiseled, buffed, and blond god in a Brioni suit and a mask is all mine for the evening. Or that’s the script we’re performing, anyway.

Not that I’d balk at going off-book. Considering my current—and frustrating—dry spell, if I thought there was any chance of getting Clive to shift his attention toward the double-X side of the equation, I’d suggest we check out the delights of Masque together.

At the moment, the man on my arm is looking at Holt with the same expression I’m probably wearing. Not to mention every other female and gay man in the building.

“What?” Clive asks, his eyes narrowing.

I realize I’m grinning. “You’re close to drooling. Sorry, sweetie. But I’m pretty sure you’re not his type.”

He lets out a long, put-upon sigh. “It’s a cold, cruel world. Luckily there are plenty of consolation prizes almost everywhere I look.”

I follow his gaze to see two guys in a far corner standing so close there’s no room for religion, as my grandmother used to say.

Of course, my grandmother would be freaking the fuck out if she saw this place.

“What?” Clive asks as I stifle a giggle.

“Just thinking what a good friend you are for being my date on such short notice. That, and how awesome this place is. It’s like a buffet of beauty and raging libidos. How did I not know this place existed?”

“I think that has something to do with it being a secret club.”

“Yeah, well, Bree’s actually been here. She broke the Girl Code by not telling me.”

“And then she broke the club’s code by doing the opposite.”

“Technically, we followed the club rules. Besides,” I add with a shrug, “I need to lock in that PA job. Holt’s a known player. I figure if he sees me here—maybe more than sees—then he’ll be more likely to want me close by in the office.”