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I spin around to find Declan—also still in a suit—leaning against the door frame.
“Dinner's ready; come down now.”
“Yes, Master,” I say, but he's already disappeared down the hallway.
I move slower than him in heels, so I never quite catch up. When I reach the formal dining room, fine bone china and crystal has been laid out. The silverware is actual silver. Servants are serving some type of soup in shallow elegant bowls.
Seven sits at the head of the table. Declan is seated to his right. There’s another place setting across from Declan. One of the servants pulls out that chair for me, and I sit.
“You look beautiful, Kitten,” Seven says.
“Thank you.”
“I'm sorry, what?”
“Thank you, Sir,” I attempt, hoping he'll take that because we aren't alone in this room.
“No,” he says flatly, even as his hazel eyes flash with emotion. “That will not work for me. Try again, Kitten.”
“Thank you, Master,” I murmur as I feel the flush crawl over my skin.
“Good girl.”
We've just finished dinner in the formal dining room when the doorbell rings. Seven and Declan remain seated. I hear the front door open, some murmured words, and then a moment later a dangerous-looking man with dark hair and coal black eyes steps into the room. He, too, wears a suit, but even dressed nice, he looks rough and hardened, which makes the suit seem ill-fitted, even though it's as well-tailored as Seven’s and Declan's.
I tense as his gaze sweeps appreciatively over me. There’s something slimy and oily about the way he looks at me. He lingers on my cleavage before moving up, but not to my face. To my collar.
He knows. Then he looks me straight in the eyes and smiles.
His attention shifts to Seven.
“I thought I'd never get a meeting. I heard you were gone for a few weeks.”
Seven's gaze cuts to me for the barest second, then back to his visitor. He seems unruffled by the man standing in the dining room.
“International business. It couldn't be helped. You could always have met with Declan. I've been back for a while, but I've been busy.”
I realize thisinternational businesswas when he was in the cell with me, playing his game while Declan handled all his outside affairs.
“I didn't want Declan. I wanted you,” he says.
Declan pretends to be offended by this, but I know he doesn't care.
The stranger's attention shifts back to me again. “I see you have a new pet. I know you'll want to share her. Same price as always?” He comes around the table, and stands behind me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as his fingertips brush against my throat. I want to beg. I'm not even opposed to calling him master right now, even with an audience because this man knows anyway, and I'll do anything to keep his hands off me, but I'm too afraid to beg. It could make Seven look weak. And I know he'd never forgive that.
“Do. Not. Touch. Her.” Seven says. His voice is cold and boiling all at once, both dead and the most alive he's ever been.
Declan stands, his hand going to his waist, and I realize suddenly he has a gun.
The stranger immediately pulls his hand back, and I let out a relieved sigh.
“You usually share.”
“Not this one,” Seven says.
“What's so special about her?” he asks, still pushing.
