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I blink. “You guys have a file on me?”
Camden shoots me a look. Of course they have a file on me after June. I doubt anything on there is flattering.
“Very good.” The receptionist doesn’t raise an eyebrow as he scans through whatever he’s reading, so there’s that. “We seem to have all relevant information, except for the digital NDA.” He slides a tablet across the red marble, never losing his affability.
The familiarHdominates the top of the screen, followed by long lines of legal text, particularly hard to read since the background’s black and the words, white. I wonder if they did that on purpose.
I read, trying to focus on the jargon, but I don’t think I understand half of it.
Halfway through the second page, I turn to Camden. “What does it say, exactly?”
“Keep your mouth shut about anything going on here, or else.”
I dread to think of the kind of “or else” the Heritage would think appropriate. “What, would they demand my firstborn?”
His lips curve up. “That and far, far more.”
With a wince, I don’t hesitate to scroll to the bottom and sign my name. I’m never going to babble about what people do behind closed doors. It’s not who I am. “I’m surprised it’s the first NDA you guys have waved my way.”
Having said it, I wonder that he didn’t make me sign one back in June, or when we started the Friday thing.
“Why would I need one?” Camden nods and the receptionist and leads me toward the elevators. “I trust you.”
Those words do something to my insides. “You trusted me in June?” That doesn’t make sense. I wouldn’t have trusted me in his shoes. Then again, I don’t trust anyone.
“I had full trust in your sense of self-preservation.”
He figured the video was enough to keep me muzzled, and he was right.
The elevator opens to a completely different atmosphere to the one we just left on the ground floor.
The walls are painted dark gray, and the dim lighting casts golden shadows along a large corridor.
We pass several unmarked doors, until we reach red double doors at the end. I think I gasp audibly when they slide open at our approach.
The dark walls and I haven’t changed much, but everything else—the furniture, the art, the naked, painted bodies holding up trays of refreshments—is bloodred. In my dress, I fit right in.
There are maybe two dozen guests here, and the main thing they have in common is their sparkle. They’re ridiculously hot, or famous, or likely, both.
We pass a world-renowned designer, chatting in a red velvet booth with the members of Transcendence, the hottest rock band around at the moment. They’re laughing over cocktails, clearly having a great time. Right past them, the next group is having an awesome time too—one pantsless guy straddles another man, fucking his ass hard, while a girl bounces on top of his cock. No one blinks or spares them a glance. I recognize the girl on top, I think. She was a child actress when I was growing up, though she’s disappeared the last few years.
Camden takes us to a table beyond that booth, with only one occupant: a blond man with hair past his shoulders and the most striking green eyes. Even in the faint light, I see them clearly.
He’s glorious. His gray suit does nothing to conceal his powerful build, and he wears it with effortless confidence, owning the space around him in a way I’ve only seen one person manage before: Camden.
They look nothing alike and yet he makes me think of what Camden could become in a few years. Colder. More lethal.
“Hey, pup.”
“Dimitri,” Camden greets. “This is Morgan. Morgan, Dimitri—the family friend who lent us his ride on Wednesday.”
I feel myself flushing. “It was a great ride.”
His look shouldn’t effortlessly titillate me so much. “I’m sure.” He lifts his hand up to me and I don’t hesitate to take it.
Camden pulls out the chair to Dimitri’s right. I sit. Rather than settling next to me, Camden then circles the round table and takes his place at Dimitri’s left, in front of me.
A waiter in red paint comes to take our order. Dimitri ask for a bottle and three glasses, so I don’t bother to ask what’s available.
