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Breathing deeply, she acknowledged the conflicting emotions within her.
It felt like she was on the verge of a huge step, even though she’d been an observer of many Cavendish engagements. She was always so sure of herself when it came to working for the company, but tonight felt like a bridge into the unknown. And that was assuming everything ran smoothly. God knew what she would do if Jackal texted her to say he’d caught Rogue or Lawrence.
“The shit would really hit the fan,” she muttered, turning and heading out of the bedroom. Ryder would probably kill her for not telling him about Jackal.
Heading down the hall, she descended the side stairs to the mezzanine that looked over the ballroom and the center of all the action.
Guests would arrive at the front gate and have to show both their invitation and photo ID. Then their car would head to the Spanish Villa, where they’d have to repeat showing their ID. Once inside the villa, they’d proceed through a tunnel of palm trees through the main hall to the extravagant ballroom below.
Now, her position on the platform giving her a bird's-eye view, she took in the extravagance that so many billionaires paid Cavendish a fortune for.
The ballroom had been transformed into an erotic desert oasis.
More palm trees and low foliage rimmed the walls, with two mounds of sand in opposite corners inviting bare feet to sink into its warmth. Carpeting the rest of the floor was a meandering scatter of Turkish rugs.
The lighting had been dimmed and the ceiling had been covered in a black cloth through which lights twinkled to imitate stars, and in the far corner, a large sphere glowed like a full moon. Open-sided silk tents dotted the ballroom, intimate spaces for guests to explore their desires.
In the center of the room, around a cement fountain of tinkling water, were piles of scarlet and gold cushions. That’s where the main orgy of the night would take place.
The heat of the entire wing had been raised to simulate an arid climate, and already Nita could feel her body perspiring. The scent of cardamom and cloves wafted through the air, contributing to the surreal atmosphere.
After a few minutes, she caught sight of the first guests arriving. Veils flowed gracefully around slender figures, caftans glinted on others. Turbans and elaborate headdresses added an air of mystery and intrigue.
It was easy to tell the Cavendish consultants from the clients.
The consultants’ movements, graceful and seductive, reflected the hedonistic indulgence of the evening. They entered from a back stairway, meeting the guests at the ballroom’s entrance, fully playing their roles.
The nervous chatter and stiff figures of the clients easily made them stand out as the paying guests. But as servers appeared with trays of mulled wine and shots of licorice-spiced liquor, the clients got more into the spirit of the evening. Some called out, “Back here, slave girl,” when their glasses were empty. Other snapped their fingers and found a pile of cushions to recline on.
She checked the time on her phone. The guest of honor wasn’t scheduled to arrive for another half hour. Nita’s only duty was to blend in but monitor the engagement from the mezzanine. She was to let Lindsey know if anyone had gone off script, or contact Ryder if anyone looked dangerous. He’d texted the staff with assurances that nobody could get past his team, but then hadn’t Jackal somehow evaded detection the other day?
If anything was predictable at Cavendish, it was that nothing ever seemed to go completely to plan.
29
“Fuck,” Ryder muttered, checking the time as he stepped off the elevator. When he’d found the hole in his pocket of his black jeans, he’d calmed himself and started sorting through his bags. Then he raided the saddlebags on his motorcycle. Now, searching the apartment was his last hope to find Blaze’s motorcycle, and he fought against the slight feeling of panic. His son would kill him if he’d lost his good luck charm, but under that was a deeper fear.
An irrational fear,he told himself, but his pounding heart contradicted that. Every job he took since keeping the metal talisman in his pocket had gone without a hitch. And to be without it on this job… he didn’t know why, but it seemed very important that the engagement didn’t start without it. It felt even more important that having to tell his son he’d lost it.
He swallowed and strode into the bedroom, scanning the floor then the bed. Then he glanced at the bedside tables. Nothing.
“Second set of cars arriving,” warned Lindsey’s voice from the walkie app on his phone. He ignored it as he irrationally pulled open a drawer, found it empty, and jogged to the other one. No luck, not that he expected it. He was verging on panic.
“Roger that,” came Nita’s voice, and the hair on his neck stood up.
“Fuck,” he muttered, then pulled out his phone. “Roger,” he replied, then tapped his private chat line with Kit. “You got eyes on the arrivals?” he asked as jogged towards the living room. On the way, he searched the kitchen area then the bar counter. Ran his eyes along the floor against the walls. Nothing.
“Eyes like flies on deep-dish pizza pies,” Kit responded, and chuckled.
“What?” he asked,
“Sorry, boss. So far everyone’s face ID checks out with the guest list’s photo IDs,” Kit said, his voice back to its respectful tone.
“Good,” Ryder said, as he stepped down into the living room. Nothing on the coffee table. “I’m running an errand. If anything changes, let me know.”
“You got it,” Kit said.
Ryder faced the couch, sliding a hand down between an arm and the cushion. He felt along the back, but when he got to the middle, he felt something. A book.
