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“Samson Creel,” the man replies, holding out a hand to shake. “I hear you’re the people to talk to about moving things… discreetly.”
Gage shakes his hand, and I roll my eyes at the way he drew out the word “discreetly.” Like some sort of bad Bond villain.
I kind of glaze over while they talk, nodding every so often to make it look like I’m paying attention. My hands feel empty, itching for something to fiddle with. I should have brought a coin or a deck of cards or something to keep in my pocket for these long but necessary business conversations.
Luckily, Gage handles it the way he always does. To the point, pushing for the best deal.
“I think that can be arranged,” Samson Creel says, nodding. “I’ll have someone stop by your club next week with the particulars.”
“We’ll keep an eye out for them,” Gage says.
He seems like he’s in a better mood when Creel moves away to talk to someone else. A minute later, we’re waved over to a little group of people, all holding champagne glasses and laughing at something the woman in the middle of the group is saying.
She’s hot, so I get why everyone’s clustered around her. Older, probably in her forties, but wearing it damn well. Her gown is a sunset orange color, and she had a mask on at one point, but now it’s dangling from her wrist as she lifts her hand to sip at her champagne.
She eyes us as we approach, lingering on each of us in turn, but mostly glossing over River. River seems fine with that.
“Oh, I know you,” she says, and her voice is husky and musical. “I’ve been to your club.”
“Have you?” I ask, stepping up for this one. What can I say? Beautiful women are my specialty. “I find that hard to believe.”
She frowns, eyebrows drawn together. “Are you implying that I’m a liar?” she asks.
I hold back the urge to snort. Everyone in this room is a fucking liar in one way or another, but I’m not about to tell her that. “Of course not,” I say smoothly. “I just mean that I’m pretty sure we would have noticed if someone as gorgeous as you had graced our club with her presence.”
That does the trick, and she laughs, covering her mouth with one hand. “Ah, so you’re a flirt,” she replies. “I’ll have to be careful around you.”
I just toss her a wink and let Gage take over, asking her questions about how she liked the club and what she came for. Now that she’s warmed up from me flirting with her, she answers everything easily, and I can smell the deal brewing already.
Knox elbows me in the side and jerks his head to the left. “Look who’s here,” he mutters under his breath.
I glance over in that direction and let out a soft whistle when I see who he means. “Damn, they really did get everybody who’s anybody at this thing. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy that we’re allowed to rub elbows with them at all.”
“Who’s that?” River wants to know, following my gaze to the well-dressed man with a glass of scotch in his hand, talking seriously with another well-dressed man who holds a similar glass of amber liquid.
“Alec Beckham,” I tell her. “Billionaire.”
“That’s it?” she asks. “He’s just a billionaire? I thought you were going to say he’s famous. Or infamous.”
I shrug. “He may as well be. There aren’t a lot of strictly legal ways to get that rich. And even the legal ones aren’t good for anyone but other billionaires.”
She tips her head, conceding that point. “Can we go to the bar now? We schmoozed, didn’t we?”
Gage is still chatting with the group, with Priest at his side. He knows what he’s doing, and despite the fact that we make it a point to stick close together at these things, we don’t literally have to be joined at the hip.
“Maybe just a quick trip,” I tell her. Knox grins, and we break away from the group to make our way to the open bar.
There’s a bit of a line already, so we stand to the side to wait. People pass us, moving to greet friends or to avoid enemies, and we just kind of take it all in. The hum of conversation blends in with the music from the orchestra, and it’s not so bad if you ignore all the people.
Another group passes us, and I can see one of the women with them checking us out. They pass quickly enough, and the woman turns to one of her companions.
“I thought they were checking invitations at the door,” she says, with enough volume that it’s hard to tell if she’s just loud or wants to be overheard.
“They were,” her friend says.
“I’m shocked that some people don’t realize how tacky it is to bring a hooker to something like this. Honestly. Do whatever you want on your own time, but this is a classy affair.”
I furrow my brows, and it only takes a second to realize that she’s talking about River.
