Page 102 of XO Karma

Lowering to her ear, I murmur, “Never stop the dirty talk.”

Biting her lip, she retreats, my hand slipping away. She saunters off, my eyes holding her frame until she disappears out of sight. What is it about that woman that has me so enamored?

A knot settles in my gut, but I know her burner is in her clutch, and while it’s true the technology back then wasn’t good enough for geolocation, I may have dismantled the phone and put a small tracker in it myself.

The only way she’d find out is if we truly needed it. And if that happened, I hope she’d forgive the overstep with the fact that she was still alive.

Scanning the room, I spot Isla drinking near the bar and make my way towards her. By the time I get through the crowd, she’s holding out a flute of champagne for me.

“Mr. Blake,” she says, poised with a smile on her face.

I take the glass. “Thank you, Mrs. Westerford.”

“I was…” She pauses, and I can tell she’s fighting a smile. “Sorry to hear about your stomach issues last time. I can assure you, no crab cakes are on the menu tonight.”

My cheeks flame.

Lily is so dead.

Rhetorically.

“Thank you.” I take a sip… then down the champagne. Well, this conversation is going swimmingly. I gesture to one of the sparkling art pieces adorned on the bar. It’s the hand of a skeleton, jeweled, positioned with a faux cigarette between its fingers. “Are these yours as well?”

“Yes.” She beams with pride. “I’ve been preparing them all year.”

“Is this an event you host annually?”

“Jude and I have always been fans of Halloween. All the tricks and treats.” Her gray eyes meet mine in a way that makes me squirm. “I would think you’d enjoy it too.”

My stomach swirls like a tornado with unease. “What makes you think that?”

“You’re haunted.”

I rear back slightly. “What?”

“I sense it on you.” She touches my arm, and I try not to shiver. “There are ghosts you just can’t outrun.” She smiles, looking around. “And this time of year, we can dance with our ghosts and demons instead of trying to lock them away. It’s therapeutic.”

“And on November first?”

She laughs, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “We shove those little shits back in their cages until next year.”

“You know,” I say, trying to veer the conversation to something useful, “these pieces feel to me like a reminder to fight your demons. Don’t let them win.”

She nods, pleased, as if I’ve finally understood. “Exactly.”

“What would a man need to do to get on your buyer list?” I gaze at a piece. “I think I could use a permanent reminder.”

“So the animals aren’t your thing, but these skeletons are?”

“What can I say, I have specific taste.”

“Well, these are multi-million-dollar pieces, and last I heard, your trust fund was locked up tight.”

My eyes fly to hers. “Excuse me?”

“Blake is a generic name. But not for families within the industry.” She tilts her head. “I was curious after I met you last time. Then I asked around and heard stories of the prodigal son who’s yet to return home.”

My mouth opens and closes. Sure, I’ve occasionally been recognized in the years since I’ve parted ways with my family. But I live far enough that it’s rare. It’s certainly never happened when I was sleuthing for information. I knew the Westerfords were in the weapons industry, but maybe I underestimated exactly who they’re already in business with.