AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My pendant has fallen between my breasts and out of sight. I pull it out and take a deep breath.
“Wish you were here, Clara,” I whisper to the empty bathroom. I’m calling on her more and more these days. I wish like hell that she’d call back.
But I know she won’t. I’ll never hear her voice again.
Sighing, I slip back out again. I haven’t even managed to get three feet from the restroom before I’m accosted by a tall man in a dark gray suit.
He’s a little older—late thirties, if I had to guess—but he has a boyish charm. Five o’clock shadow, carelessly styled long hair, the gleam of a probably very expensive watch on his wrist. “Evening, gorgeous.”
“Oh. Um, hi?”
“I’m Eric.”
“I’m not interested,” I say politely. “I’m just here to have a little fun with my friends.”
“Well, I’d love to be your friend. Then you could have fun with me.”
He’s got the looks, but the lines he’s feeding me are a little too rehearsed for me to be overly flattered. Thankfully, I’m saved by my ringing phone. I don’t even look to see who’s calling before I answer with an apologetic wave of my hand.
“Hello?”
“Paige.” His voice is a rumble that I feel in my toes.
Shit. Why did I answer?
“Hi, Misha. What’s up?”
“Where are you?” he asks.
“We’re still out. Satan’s Palace, I think. Is something wrong?”
“I just…” He hesitates with a long, winding exhale. “I wanted to make sure that everything was okay.”
I snort in disbelief. “Please. You were calling to keep tabs on me. Why do men always think they can have it both ways?”
Suddenly, I feel a hand on my elbow. Eric is at my ear—the same ear I have a phone pressed to.
“Come on, baby,” Eric croons. “Hang up on the loser and come dance with me.”
I try to wave him away, but it’s too late.
“Who the fuck was that?” Misha growls.
“No one. I gotta go.”
I hang up before he can protest. Eric is immediately in front of me again. I back away, both hands up. “Listen, I appreciate the offer, but I don’t really want to dance.”
“How about a drink then?” he asks, moving forward and invading my space again. He’s wearing far too much cologne. It’s making my head swim.
“No, thank you.”
“Okay, so you don’t drink or dance,” he says. “Tell me, gorgeous—do you fuck?”
My eyes go wide, but before I can come up with an appropriate response to that question, Eric is knocked off-center. One second, he’s in front of me; the next he’s on the floor, groaning and bleeding from a busted lip.
I turn in shock to see my husband standing over him with murder in his eyes.
“Misha!”
