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I stop talking as we get closer to the house. It’s so big, even the wordmansiondoesn’t quite cover it. The security detail are all big burly guys wearing suits and electronic ear pieces. They give us both a once over, their eyes staying on me a bit longer than is actually necessary.
The first one pats Brian down, and then goes for me, but Brian closes a tight grip over the man’s wrist.
His voice is low and calm when he speaks. “Elvin, I swear to every power living and dead that if you touch her, you will not survive to see your daughter’s first Christmas.”
The guard swallows hard. “I have orders…”
“You have metal detectors. You and I both know that’s the real security. This pat down business is just security theater—a display of Windsor’s power and nothing more. You think about whether it’s worth your life to participate in this charade.”
He nods. “Go on in, Mr. Sloan.” Then he nods at me, “Ma’am.”
I can tell he’s disappointed he won’t get to pat me down. I just smile at him as we pass. But I let out a shuddering sigh of relief once we’re to the second stage of security. I don’t know if Brian knows this, but I’m pretty sure a guy like that touching me in any way as intimate as a pat down would have sent me spiraling into flashbacks from my past, which is the last thing I need tonight.
The fact that Windsor manhandles all his party guests like this adds a mark against him and explains why someone might want to hire someone to remove him from the gene pool.
Brian helps me get the platinum collar off and put it in the bin for jewelry next to the metal detectors. Windsor doesn’t just have guards with discreet wands, he has full on metal detectors, like what you walk through at the airport.
I wonder if he gets a thrill out of making all his wealthy friends and acquaintances remove jewelry and cuff links to pass through his security—just a little humiliation ritual to make sure everyone knows who is top dog here. Brian removes a belt and his own cuff links. I didn’t even know hehadcuff links. He’s clearly committed to playing the role of someone who belongs in this environment down to even the most non-essential trappings.
I stare up at the ornate vaulted ceilings. It does look a bit like a fancy airport in the entry hall. Once we get through security and put all our metal-containing finery back on, we have to pass through a second set of large walnut doors to get inside the main house and party.
White-gloved men in white tuxedos stand at this second set of doors. They nod at us and open them. I already hate this pompous Windsor guy. The display of opulence is disgusting.
“I thought wealth whispered,” I say to Brian as we pass into the ballroom.
“Not at home, just in front of the peasants.”
Well,thatmessage has been delivered clearly. Brian leads me to an area away from the clusters of guests where we have some privacy.
“Why would he have two big parties so close together?” I’m sure it must annoy Brian that I have so many questions in a place where we should be keeping a low profile, but I’m just so curious. This is a pretty fancy party. Why does this guyalsoneed to throw a masquerade ball on Halloween in six weeks? How often does he entertain?
Brian leans in close to my ear, one of his hands pressing lightly against my lower back when he does so. It takes a lot of concentration to hear his words over the loud rushing in my ears at the way my body reacts to these small touches. You’d think that after a while I would just somehow get used to Brian’s intense energy, but I never do. When all his focus and attention is on me like this, it does things to me.
“The masquerade ball is a charity event he holds every year. Tickets are through the roof but there are are a lot of aspirational wealth social climbers that aren’t part of his inner circle. Everyone here tonight is.”
“Except for us and the others like us,” I whisper back.
“I have my suspicions about that.”
As if on cue, an older man in a sharp suit that broadcasts wealth approaches us. Even if I hadn’t seen his photo on the murder wall, I’d know this is our target. He carries himself with too much confidence and just a dash of refined swagger. He knows he’s the king here, and he knows everybody else knows it too.
He claps Brian on the back. “Sloan! I wasn’t sure you’d accept my invitation.”
“It seemed like a good excuse to impress my lady friend,” Brian says.
Windsor turns to me, his gaze lingering longer than it should, and I can tell just by the look he gives me, that he thinks I’ve been hired for the night to be on Brian’s arm. I refuse to let it offend me. If this guy knows Brian well at all, the idea that he might actually have a love interest is far too extreme a leap for most. Brian isn’t exactly a big marshmallow.
Brian clears his throat, and Drake’s lecherous gaze shifts, then he’s all business again, dismissing me and going back to Brian. I hope Brian lets me kill this one.
“I’ve got to give a speech here in just a moment, but as soon as I’m done, I’d like to speak to you in my study about some business.” He gives Brian a meaningful look as though they are speaking in some sort of secret code and of course asthe lady of the nighton Brian’s arm, it’s above my pay grade. If only this motherfucker knew.
“Of course,” Brian says, with a tight smile.
Windsor excuses himself and winds through the crowd to get to the stage. As he starts his boring self-important soliloquy, I’m rescued from having to pay attention by the trays of champagne andhors d’ oeuvreswinding my way. I take a glass of champagne off a tray and one of the stuffed mushrooms off the other. Brian shakes his head at me when I offer him one.
When the trays pass by and we’re alone again, he says, “I don’t eat avant garde tiny food.”
“Why not?”
