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Fine. I was here.
“Ezra,” the blonde pouted, stroking my arm. I barely glanced at her as we moved out of the main gala and toward the hall.
Auctions of this type were never held with the main event. They were by invitation only, those names culled down to only specific individuals vetted and approved. You didn’t always have to show up in person, you could send a proxy. The last time an auction took place during a gala here at the Demming, it had been in a private suite on the third floor. Elevators provided the perfect gatekeeping instrument.
Staff had taken discreet positions along the hallway, though they were more there to move the guests along and not let them sneak off into the closed galleries. That was fine. I had no interest in their version of modern art anyway.
“Ezra,” the blonde repeated, digging her nails into my arm not that the pinch affected me much through the layers of suit. I spared her a look.
“What?”
“Are we slipping out for the evening?” The hopeful and hungry note to her smile wasn’t lost on me. I could probably shuttle her into one of these side rooms and feed her my cock and she’d hum happily.
As pleasant a thought as that was, I had more important things on my mind. More important people.
“No,” I told her and continued to where the velvet ropes provided the first “blockade.” Ignoring her grip, I reached into the inner pocket of my jacket and removed the calling card.
“Sir,” the man said as he waited for me to place the card on his silver tray. He glanced down at it. The Royals insignia flashed up at him and he nodded once before he extended the tray to me again. At no point did he touch the card. He waited for me to put the card away before he unhooked the velvet rope. “Thank you. If you’ll follow me.”
Aware of my clinging passenger, I waited for the attendant to close the rope behind us before he guided us over to the elevator bank. After a swipe of his own card, he pressed the call button. Another attendant waited just inside.
“Sir,” he said with a respectful nod. Like the suited gentleman who took our card, this attendant was also armed. The lines of his suit didn’t quite cover his shoulder holster. At least not when he leaned forward.
I took the opposite corner and the blonde followed, tucking right against me. She wouldn’t make for much of a shield, but I could always shove her at the other man and get my weapon out first. The slight weight of her didn’t promise to be much of a distraction. I dipped my gaze as she flattened her palm against my chest and began to rub it in little circles.
She was a touchy feely little thing.
Irritating.
The elevator stopped neatly on the third floor and the doors glided open.
“Have a good evening, sir,” the man said, not bothering to follow us out. Another man in a black-tie suit waited and used one gloved hand to gesture to the hallway. Yes, we were heading for the same private suite as other auctions. Good.
It had been over a year since I last attended one of these functions. The room at the end of the hall was about a third the size of the ballroom downstairs. It was arranged with high-top tables, no seating, and a dais toward the center. Security was also heavy, making no pretense of why they were there or how armed they were.
My companion pouted when I removed her hand from my chest. She settled for clinging to my arm, and I moved her to my right arm, rather than my left. I’d prefer to have my shooting hand free. Not that I expected anything more heated than words to be flying tonight. Though, I supposed cash would also be flowing.
I moved to one of the corner tables with good eye-lines for the dais where the items would be presented. I was here for one ugly-ass painting and then I was leaving. I didn’t care much for art, classical or modern.
“Champagne?” A waiter asked as he approached with fresh glasses of the bubbly.
Tugging my arm from the blonde’s grasp, I nodded and took one glass. She let out a little huff and I ignored her irritation. If she wanted a glass, she could get it herself. The waiter served her. As it was, I scanned the other players in attendance. I recognized more than a few of them. Too many newcomers though.
I wasn’t a fan. What was Rolson’s game? The recent downfall of the Sharpe family had ripples far beyond the social landscape. The more private business side had taken a significant hit. Shifting alliances, corporate intrigue, and power plays turned friends and lovers against each other in a bid for control.
Power was an aphrodisiac that few could decline. I was no exception. Julius King made a call and here I was, like a good dog, ready to do his bidding. I missed the days when he kept himself a mysterious secret, when he was just a phone call or a text message. The man was both a letdown and a curse. Lips pressed against my jaw then up toward my ear as the blonde pressed herself up against my side. “Care to join me after the auction for a little celebration?”
The husky invitation dripped with sex. Beneath the cloying nature of her perfume, there was another hint of musk. Before I could remove her though, movement at the door attracted my attention.
Goddammit Lainey.
She swept through the door like she owned the place. There was no sexy sashay to her hips. She didn’t strut, she didn’t need to show off. The dark dress she wore moved with her like a second skin. It dipped in the back, caressing her lines and leaving all that skin naked to the eye. Her dark hair piled up high showed off the glorious column of her neck.
Unlike most of the women present, her jewelry and cosmetics were gloriously understated. Cool confidence accompanied her every step. Unfortunately, she wasn’t alone. Milo Hardigan escorted her like he had every right to be here, but a custom suit and a beautiful woman couldn’t disguise the man beneath.
Irritation feathered through my veins. I started forward, but the blonde blocked me with her clinging and I spared her a single look. “You’re in the way.”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips parted. Even her nostrils flared as a ruddy flush reddened her cheeks. “How dare you speak to me that way?”
