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Come on, Leanne, you're better than that.
I bite back the acid burning the inside of my mouth and make my way over to them.
"Clarissa! Babe, I am stunned!" Leanne squeals when she sees me, and gets to her feet, pulling my hand to the empty seat next to hers. "The gold flecks in the paint shimmer even more than I thought they would. And you did such a good job with the light show." She twirls her finger in the air toward the ceiling.
But I'm not looking at her.
He's looking at me again, with that unreadable look on his face. Neutral, but with something flickering in his eyes.
"Matthias! Isn't Clarissa's club amazing?" Leanne continues squealing.
His lip lifts, not into a smirk as I'd expected, but just in a look of amusement. I can't tell if it's about me, or about Leanne's excitement. Itisinfectious.
"Tell her!" Leanne yells at him, slapping a hand against his thigh in a way that's too intimate for just friends.
"It's okay," I say, not wanting to admit that I'm actually wondering what he really thinks about my club. He's in the top twenty richest men in New York City and the director of a Fortune 100 company. He's been in the most luxurious, most exclusive, hardest to get into places in the world, and if I know a thing about Matthias, there isn't a vice he hasn't partaken in. My stomach suddenly sinks and I hope he's not comparing Malt to the best places he's been.
Stop it, who the fuck cares with this twat waffle thinks? I didn't build this place for him! He's just lucky to be here.
"Rissie," he finally says. "You've done an amazing job with this place."
The words pierce through the background noise of the band and chatter around us.
Did he actually sound sincere?
No.
I haven't eaten all day, and on top of sharing a few drinks with some of the patrons, maybe my head just isn't working right.
Or maybe it's because Matthias has never, not once, not even in my dreams,evercomplimented me.
And now is hardly the time to start.
I crook my finger at Clementine and point her to Matthias. She shuffles over, cigar box at the ready.
I reach in and pull one out, handing it to him. "You won't find this anywhere else. Can you guess what it is?"
He looks at the cigar I put in his hands and then his face completely brightens. "La Tormenta by Fermin? Where andhowdid you get this? He only makes a thousand of these a year!"
"For himself and as gifts, I know." A little flicker of pride tickles in the center of my chest. It's only fun showing off when your audience knows what you're bragging about. "I may have convinced him to sell me a very small amount. Just as a gift for my VIP guests."
He opens his mouth and then closes it. "I'm speechless."
The heat in my stomach comes flaring back. "Well, that's my cue to go. Matthias's speechlessness is a sign of only dark things to come." I rise to my feet, feeling a need to flee. "Let Clementine know if you need anything, okay, Leanne? Don't forget, I grew up with him"—I point to Matthias—"and I know what he's capable of. Hold on to your purse." Leanne guffaws at my joke, lightly slapping her hand on the table.
Before I leave, Matthias twirls the cigar in his hands, and gives me an appreciative nod, before turning his attention back to Leanne. It's unnerving. And I don't have time to be unnerved.
Luckily, I'm soon saved by the sound of the club door opening. I recognize him and make my way over to the hostess stand, a smile plastered on my face.
"Patrick? You're here," I say, with all the warmth I can muster.
"Ah, Clarissa, hello." He returns my smile and reaches for me. I let him give me a soft kiss on the cheek before I subtly extract myself.
"I have a full house," I tell him. Both as a reason for not wanting to be seen canoodling while trying to be professional, as well as something to distract him. He's prone to fixating on why I say and/or do anything that he doesn't like.
But this time, he doesn't seem to be miffed. Maybe my explanation is enough to placate him.
"Full house, what's that... every night now?" He beams, proudly.
