Page 16 of Damián

“Well, we are ridiculously good-looking.”

“We? You might have the same face, but I don’t see you making out with everyone, Leif,” I tease, turning my back to the bar to scan the crowd for the damn ruby earring.

“That’s because I have standards, Dami. Unlike you and my brother, I like forming a connection before having their tongues in my mouth.”

“Any time used to make a connection is wasted time.” I take a small sip of my cocktail and blend into the crowd.

It’s working time!

Ever since we founded Harknett, I’ve always loved the adrenaline, exercise, and traveling that came with the job, but this? Having to infiltrate parties where I get to drink top-shelf alcohol, surrounded by models and tiny food?

Well, this is so much fun.

Unlike Tae and Logan, who look like they want to murder everyone in sight, I feel in my element. Women flirt with me, flipping their hair, batting false lashes, and checking me out. Men move closer, slow touches here and there, leaning toward me, making it so I can scan their entire bodies without much effort.

It feels so good.

Or at least it did at first. Because now it’s been over two hours and I’ve seen every type of earring known to man, like diamond studs the size of grapes, golden hoops, emerald drops, blue-thingy jewel drops, any kind of drop… but no sign of those damn rubies.

By now, the ice in my third drink has melted, and my patience is doing the same.

Did something happen to the informant? Could it be that they changed their mind?

“Alexios, I’m halfway through the terrace,” I whisper while pretending to admire a hideous modern art statue. “No sign of our golden ruby earring.”

“Same here,” says Tae.

I slow my pace, taking a long sip of my margarita.

Ugghh… It tastes like water now.

“I have eyes on Elijah West,” says Logan. “He is on the balcony.”

I look up. Standing next to the marble balustrade, overlooking his kingdom like a fucked-up feudal lord, is Elijah West.

Beside him, his wife Serena is in the tightest dress I’ve ever seen, all dipped in gold. She looks less like a person and more like a trophy.

Trophy wife, jajajajajaa… I laugh at my own dumb joke, and an older guest with a judgy vibe stares at me as if I’m crazy.

Ahhh, yeah… Vámonos de aquí.

I change paths and start walking around the massive pool when a claw-like hand grabs my arm.

“You!” a drunk woman shrieks. She’s swaying dangerously in six-inch heels, a martini glass sloshing over her wrist and onto my hand. “You’re gorgeous! Why haven’t you danced with me?”

“I’m so sorry, bonita,” I say, putting on a dazzling smile while trying to untangle her grabby arm. “I’m looking for a friend.”

“We can be your friends,” says another drunk woman behind me. And by the matching floral patterns of their dresses and how grabby they both are, I can tell they came together and that they’ll be a nightmare to shake.

Oh great…

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” the first woman giggles, stumbling into my chest. Her hands are everywhere.

Clumsy, sloppy, and way, way too close.

“Whoa, easy there.” I hold her hands and slide them away as gently as I can without breaking a wrist.

The woman behind me takes advantage of the fact that both of my hands are busy restraining her damn friend and slides her hands into my trousers’ pockets.