Page 167 of Gilt

“I received some good news today. I’ve officially been cleared in your father’s murder case.”

“We’ve known that for a while, though.”

I can’t quite hide my surprise. I had no clue that Jameson had shared the DNA issue with the rest of his family.

“Don’t look so shocked,” she says. “We keep each other’s secrets, remember? Although, no wonder he was so upset. It would have been pretty fucking twisted if you were his half-sister.”

Score one for Monroe.

“Of course, maybe that gets you off,” she continues, smothering a roll with butter before proceeding to pick at it.

“You’re more of the expert on fetish,” I assure her as I take a sip from my straw.

I don’t miss the slight flinch she tries to hide.

Score two for Emma.

“I thought we could celebrate,” I begin.

“That you aren’t screwing your brother? Sure, why not?” She rolls her eyes and abandons the uneaten roll on her plate.

“That I’m free and clear. Unless there’s a reason we should be concerned about familial involvement.” I don’t hide the implication of my words. I’m calling Monroe’s bluff. I’m not Nathaniel West’s daughter, but she is.

“Don’t be a pervert,” she says flatly. “So you want to have a party.”

I nod, trying not to look too self-satisfied that I’ve gotten her on the same page. “Here.”

“Here?” Monroe repeats. “You mean upstairs? Is that a little tasteless?”

“I had no idea you were so concerned with other people’s opinions. Maybe we should burn the place down and rebuild.” Monroe doesn’t seem to care that her father was murdered in this building. She’s stayed here, conducted business here. Hell, she even threw another party here.

“My mother is concerned with saving face,” she reminds me.

“This is about showing our strength,” I counter, hoping that this fledgling family connection is strong enough to get this done. “To whoever is watching. We own this town, and they aren’t going to scare us away.”

“You aren’t a West yet. We might protect you, but let’s wait for the prenup before you go claiming to own my family’s empire,” she suggests drolly.

I slide my hand around my glass and lift it so that my engagement ring sparkles in the afternoon sunlight. “Oh honey, I already own it.”

When I step off the escalators to the lobby, I’m met with half of the hotel’s security team. So much for keeping a low profile. Maddox shrugs through the crowd of suits. We both know that when Jameson wants to make a scene, he’s going to.

“Miss Southerly, I’ve been asked to escort you upstairs.” It’s hard to take the man speaking to me seriously, given that he’s wearing sunglasses inside the building, but I do my best.

Following him toward the bank of elevators that lead to the business offices, I spot Jameson waiting for me. His tie is still knotted tightly at his throat, and his suit is pressed. I’m used to seeing him later in the day when he’s ditched the veneer of respectability. The man standing in front of me is far too respectable, and it’s having an undeniable effect on me.

He takes me by the hand, thanking the guard.

“I thought you were staying home,” he whispers. “I have to admit that I was rather enjoying visualizing you naked in bed, waiting for me.”

“Are you disappointed to see me?” I ask, brushing a chaste kiss over his lips.

“Never,” he promises, rubbing the stubble peppering his jaw. Without thinking, I reach up and run a finger along it.

“You need to shave,” I murmur.

“I shaved this morning.” His mouth closes over mine before I can continue to critique his appearance. Despite the tension coiling through my limbs, I melt against him. When we finally break apart, I gasp for breath. “Just think of it as friction, Duchess.”

“I like it,” I simper.