Chapter 3 #4
Fox smiles at me. “You should fetch a high price,” he says, moving closer and speaking low.
“But do only what pleases you. There is no force under my roof. I must remind you that I only facilitate the agreement you make tonight. Any further arrangements with your client are your own business. However, if you do need some advice, I am always at your service.” His brown eyes seem to cloud for a second and then he turns to my friend. “Julian, I have had an offer for you.”
Julian raises an eyebrow. “How much?”
It’s stunning to me that he doesn’t ask who. That would be my first question if I knew people here.
Fox’s brow wrinkles, and then he names a figure. My eyes widen, but Julian just shrugs and says as regally as if he’s at court, “I will talk to him.” Fox nods, and Julian turns to me. “I’ll have to go. Will you be okay on your own?”
Panic fills me for a moment at the thought of being here alone, but it’s not up to Julian to babysit me. “I’ll be fine.” I offer him a smile.
He grimaces. “Please don’t do that. It looks like you’ve got lockjaw. Now remember what I said. Don’t accept the first offer. Hold out for as much as you can. They’ll pay it. Smile and don’t slouch.”
“Goodness, it’s like you’re a parent. How very endearing,” Fox observes.
Julian glares before walking away, his body a long line of grace. There might be prettier men here, but not one of them seems to have his charisma.
Fox watches him go, and I, in turn, watch Fox. His expression is hard to read, and he smooths it away as he turns to me. “You are a fascinating person, Wes.”
“Oh, I don’t think that.”
“It’s a rare man who gets under Julian’s skin.”
“But I’m not trying to do that. I’m his friend.”
“Really? He doesn’t usually do friends, which makes you even more unusual.”
“Well, I find you interesting too.”
Humour twinkles in his eyes. “Many men do.”
“So, this is your job? You throw parties so men can meet men?”
“You make me sound like a matron in a Jane Austen novel.”
“You’re just missing the bonnet and the high-pitched screech.”
He chuckles, and I watch a waiter make a discreet beckoning gesture at Fox.
“Excuse me,” Fox murmurs. “It seems I’m needed.
” He pauses. “Don’t go anywhere with anyone unless there’s an offer on the table,” he says firmly.
“One of my staff will approach you and tell you when that happens.” He tugs at a strand of my hair.
“You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”
I watch him go, feeling suddenly very alone.
I give a start when a man comes up next to me.
He towers above me, and he’s big in that way that happens when bulky muscle turns to fat.
He has a round face with a mouth that seems drawn tight in aggravation.
I’d noticed him earlier circling the room, eyeing up the men like he was at a restaurant and noting the specials.
“Good evening,” he says. His voice is beautiful—rich and deep.
“Oh. Erm, h-hello,” I stutter. I take a breath to calm myself.
“Ian Harris,” he says, offering me a hand. I take it and shake it, immediately resisting the urge to wipe my hand on my trousers. His palm is wet and clammy.
“Nice to meet you.”
“I understand you’re new here.”
“Getting older by the minute, though.”
He chuckles, but the laughter doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which are a cold grey and sunk in folds of flesh.
“Well, you’re the object of much attention, young man.
” He looks me up and down, and there’s something so greedy and slimy in his gaze that I want to step away.
He reaches out and pulls on a strand of my hair.
It’s a sharp gesture that makes me wince. “Surfer hair. I like it. Do you surf?”
Only if you consider riding out awkward conversations to be surfing. I only just stop myself from pulling away from his touch. I’m wishing that I’d shaved my head before coming tonight, when I realise he’s waiting for a reply. “No,” I say quickly.
Looking away, I catch the gaze of my crow-like mystery man. He’s watching us with those fierce blue eyes. Our gazes tangle, and I feel a buzz of heat run up my spine.
Ian Harris stirs next to me, dragging my attention back to him.
He isn’t looking at me, though. Instead, he’s staring at the man at the table.
They look at each other, and then Ian raises his glass in a salute, and my mystery man simply inclines his head.
It’s a regal gesture and a dismissive one. I can feel Ian stiffen next to me.
“Cormac Reilly,” he says, throwing his drink back and beckoning to a waiter to get him another.
“Pardon?”
He nods towards the table and comes closer. I have to stop myself from moving away. His breath smells of alcohol and garlic. “That arrogant bastard is Cormac Reilly,” he says in a low voice.
“Oh,” I say in studied disinterest. Cormac Reilly . It’s a nice name, and it suits the mystery man. He’s once more absorbed in his cards, but I suddenly have the conviction that his attention is still on us.
“Prick.”
I blink. “Sorry?”
Ian pats my arm, and his hand lingers in a rough caress that makes my skin crawl. “Not you, angel. Cormac.”
“Oh, you know him, then?” I say, stepping back slightly.
His eyes flare as his hand falls away, but his voice is still level when he speaks again. “I work with him. I own a property management company.”
“Oh, nice.”
I look over at Cormac again, but he’s talking to a server. When I look back at Ian, his mouth twists. “You seem interested in him. Maybe leave it at interest, though, young man. I could tell you some tales about him.”
His voice is full of spite, which makes me feel uncomfortable. “Oh no,” I start to say.
“Forty grand.”
“Sorry?”
He drains his glass. “I’ll pay you forty grand.”
“For what?”
He stares at me. “Your name on my dance card. What do you think it’s for, stupid?”
“Forty grand. Jesus .” I can’t help my words, and he gives me a cold smile.
“You’re fresh ground. Untouched.”
“I really wouldn’t go that far.”
His eyebrow rises. “In this place, you’re untouched, and that’s the important thing. Well, what do you say? Forty grand and your arse is mine for the evening.”
That amount is under what Julian decreed I should demand, but it’s more money than I’ve ever seen in my life.
It will pay my tuition fees for the year with some left over to make a start on clearing the debts.
My life can return to some form of normal, if I have forty grand.
But I still hesitate. There’s something about Ian that makes me uneasy, but is that because of my situation, or is it him?
I shift my weight from foot to foot, wondering how I should respond. Before I can decide, a man approaches. He’s wearing a grey suit and carrying a small silver tray on which is an envelope.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he says in a low, well-modulated tone. “Mr Archer, I’m an assistant to Fox Walker. I have an offer on the table for you.”
It takes me an embarrassing moment to work out what he’s saying. “Really?” I say, hoping my acute gratitude to him for having broken up my awkward situation with Ian isn’t obvious.
He nods, but Ian stares at him angrily. “I just offered him forty grand.”
The man’s face remains as bland and pleasant as before, but something tells me he doesn’t like Ian.
“I’m so sorry, sir, but you know Mr Walker’s rules.
The offers must go through him.” He gives Ian a polite smile.
“Mr Walker said to remind you that the only place he enjoys renegades is in old cowboy films.”
My mouth twitches, but Ian huffs angrily and slams his empty glass down on a nearby table. “Never mind,” he snaps. He looks at me. “I’m sure I’ll see you very soon, Wes.”
Not if I see you first. I nod and smile politely. “Nice to meet you.”
We watch him go, and I turn to Fox’s assistant. He immediately offers me a kind smile and try as I might, I can’t see any judgement. “Mr Walker says the customer has exceeded Mr Bancroft’s suggested price for spending the evening with you.”
I blink. “Mr Bancroft?”
His mouth twitches. “You might know him as Julian.”
“Oh yes. The Lord of Snark.” I shake my head. “Someone’s really going to pay more than Julian’s set amount?” I whisper.
He nods. “Yes, the gentleman has offered seventy thousand pounds.”
The room seems to dip and sway, and I wonder if I’m going to faint. “Bloody hell,” I breathe.
The man kindly ignores my outburst and proffers his tray.
I take the envelope which has my name on it.
When I tear it open I find a small room card.
“If you’re amenable to the offer, Mr Walker will take care of the transaction and put the money into your account.
The customer will see you upstairs, in Room Fifteen. ”
I hesitate and instinctively look over at the card table, but my mystery man, Cormac Reilly, isn’t there. His chair is empty, and his glass has been whisked away. He’s gone.
Swallowing my irrational disappointment, I drag my attention back to where it should always have been—securing my incredibly shaky future.
“Shall I tell Mr Walker that the deal is done?” Fox’s assistant asks.
I take a deep breath. This is it—the point of no return. “Yes, the deal is done.”