Page 134 of Cozen

Well, then …

Cozen simpered him with another smile. “I look forward to it.”

Jett was on his third drink, and his fourth trip around the mansion to do the rounds again with Cozen. The man couldn’t help himself, it seemed. He had to show his beautiful thing off to the rest of the worthy people.

To her credit, Cozen was doing well … if keeping a fake smile plastered on for every rich fuck to either gawk at her, whisper about her, and for some, to actually touch her. Her mask never faltered. It never failed.

Sargon might almost be proud of that achievement of hers, if he wasn’t so goddamn irritated about it. This whole night was irritating for him—all because it was the night. The end of line for Cozen when it came to Jett.

Tonight was the night Jett expected her to pay up, so to speak. The man wanted what he wanted from her. He wanted her—all of her that she had to give. And he was not going to accept any kind of excuse if she wasn’t willing and ready to hand it over to him.

Jett was tired of the chase. That much was clear. Cozen would be expected to be the mouse too tired to run, now.

Just the thought … Jesus.

Just the thought of someone touching Cozen, of them seeing her body, or having her like he did was a little too fucking much for him. It was enough to make Sargon want to burn the entire city of New York down just so that another man couldn’t ever look at Cozen the way he did, or enjoy her the way he had been allowed to.

The idea of her being with Jett beyond what Sargon had already witnessed was enough to make his fucking blood boil. He could barely think the word sex without his rage spiraling into a dark place.

Was this what she wanted? Was whatever she was after worth the price of her body?

Sargon didn’t know anything.

Not anymore.

“Wait a second,” Sargon told the server as he passed.

The guy turned with the silver tray in his hand, and Sargon grabbed a flute of champagne. Quickly tossing the alcohol back with one swallow, and ignoring the bubbles that made him hate champagne, he set the flute back on the tray.

“Is that all, sir?” the server asked.

Sargon weighed his options, and then shrugged before grabbing one more flute of alcohol. He could have just went to the wet bar, and had the man working there make him a far stronger drink. He really didn’t need Jett noticing him doing anything but what he was there to do, though.

He settled on shitty champagne.

Tossing the drink back, he swallowed it down, and set the empty flute to the tray once more. The server’s brow lifted as he gave Sargon a look.

“Now, I’m done,” Sargon grumbled.

“All right,” the server replied, never batting a lash, “thank you, sir.”

Quickly, the server turned on his heel, and headed out of the nearest doorway. Likely to go back toward the kitchen for a refill. Sargon emptied the man’s last two drinks on his tray, after all.

It was almost comical, really.

Sargon wondered how much these servers seen or heard in their jobs when it came to the rich fucks they catered to. How much nonsense and private scandals were they afforded a glimpse of during their short stays at parties, or otherwise?

Like flies on the wall.

Amusing.

Sargon should have been working, in a way. His job tonight was solely to keep an eye on the guests, and make sure they didn’t wander beyond the bottom floor of the first wing. Jett didn’t like people hanging around upstairs, or drifting into places they had no business being. The man’s personal and public lives were kept entirely separated by nothing more than a staircase, and a ceiling.

Jett’s business dealings, both legal and illegal, happened in the privacy of his sanctuaries. His office, private library, and bedroom. His space, not anyone else’s. He liked to keep the rest of the world out of that space.

For obvious reasons, Sargon supposed.

Sargon was working, to an extent. He followed Jett around as the man made his rounds over and over with Cozen. He kept an eye on the guests all the while, and it seemed like all of the people knew not to wander off too far from the party.