Chapter 12
Darius
My plane arrived in New York City a couple of hours ago.
Another assignment. Another paycheck. Most of my jobs are simple—watch, dig up information, report back.
My clients pay me well to notice what others miss.
This time the subject is an investor. The man who hired me believes someone is selling his company secrets.
The design is simple: a sting that will ensnare both the traitor and the buyer and deliver our findings quietly to the SEC.
This visit affords me the opportunity to check in on Ingrid and see if she needs anything. We’ve talked almost daily since I was called away for business. I understand she’s skeptical of me. Doubts my interest in her. I blame her father for that.
Okay, maybe not completely, but he holds a great deal of the blame.
My reputation as a playboy doesn’t do me any favors. I know she’s googled me, probably more than she’d admit. If she’s searched hard enough, then she’ll see it. The truth. I don’t date. Never have. I drift. Keep things light and open. Nothing serious.
The man she’s read about in the headlines isn’t the man I am now.
Proving it’s going to be a bitch. I was that man.
Slept around. Partied. Didn’t care. But I grew bored, grew up, and threw myself into this business.
My time isn’t wasted on that crap now. I never cared what anyone thought. Never had to explain myself.
Ingrid changed that. I want her trust. Want her to see I won’t stray. To know I’m not like the other men who’ve failed her. All she’s known is betrayal. Wilson. Her Father. They squandered her trust. She deserves far better.
While I was away, I kept my head down. No press. No scandals. Just the job. Nothing she could twist into doubt and misinterpret.
Until tonight, that is. Most people don’t even know about Kismet.
Guilt runs through me the second I step inside Jack Rossi’s place.
Being here feels wrong. He’s maintaining the club’s reputation.
Kept things on the up and up. But the hush hanging in the air—it’s heavy with secrets.
His clients pay a premium for privacy. Which begs the question—why?
Is it shady? Yes.
Jack runs a respectable business; illegal activity is strictly forbidden.
Does that mean it doesn’t happen? No.
Get caught, and you’re done. Banned for life. No questions or second chances. Jack commands respect, ensuring all dealings within remain professional and precise. No money exchanges hands inside these walls. What happens off his property isn’t his problem.
I came early tonight to see Jack and give him a heads-up.
The man I’m tracking is a member. I’ll try to speak with him.
He’ll likely turn me away, shut me down quickly.
If that’s the case, I have an idea I want to run by Jack.
He won’t like it. Might not agree. But he owes me. And I’m ready to cash in.
Jack’s waiting for me at the backdoor. “I already know I’m not gonna like this.”
I shake his hand when he offers it. “Because you know me well. Let’s go into your office. See if we can come to some sort of agreement.”
He leads the way, cursing under his breath the entire time. My explanation, which took around thirty minutes, is met with grunts and glares from him.
“Fucking hell. You know I hate blokes like that.” He grumbles and throws back his scotch. “I trust you, even though I despise everything about this plan of yours. Let’s pray it doesn’t come down to that, and I can repay you another time.”
“I’ll do everything I can to keep it out of the club, but…” I laugh when he lifts his hand, not wanting to hear more.
“The less I know, the better.” A wicked smile touches his lips as he checks the time.
“I need to make the rounds. A new girl started tonight. I’m interested in hearing what a few of my patrons think of her.
I’m guessing she won’t last more than a few nights at the front desk before one of them shows interest.”
It’s my turn to grunt. “You enjoy your job way more than you should. Don’t you tire of introducing nice ladies to a bunch of corrupt arse hats?”
“No.” Without a moment’s thought, he plunges forward.
“In all honesty, I’m considering keeping this one for myself.
She’s dynamite—brains, ambition, that Ivy League edge that screams power.
She’ll rule the world one day; maybe I’ll rule it beside her.
It’s been a long time since a woman grabbed my attention.
That should tell you what I see in her.”
“How do you convince these women to work here?”
The majority of the women Rossi employs are top-tier university grads.
A few undergrads—because the younger ladies draw the men.
He prefers recruiting grad students, concentrating on those in medical or law school.
Smart women who could work anywhere. Instead, they’re here because Rossi’s connections promise a solid future others can only dream of.
We leave his office. He leads me to the main bar. A place where a man can enjoy a drink without getting hit on the second he sits down.
He slaps my back and then takes off. I’ve paid my dues. I may disapprove of some things that happen here, but the anonymity is nice. Here, I’m an invisible man unless I choose otherwise.
So, when a beautiful lady slides in next to me, I’m surprised. Being polite about it, I dismiss her. “I’m not here for anything other than—”
“She’s going to shit a brick when she finds you here,” the young lady interrupts before I can finish.
“Who?” I turn and recognize her right away. “I know you. You go to Princeton. Play fútbol, or as the Americans call it, soccer. You work here?”
“Skyler.” Extending her hand, she introduces herself with a phony name.
I know who she is, recognize her as one of Ingrid’s teammates.
“And you are the delicious guy who disappeared after saving my teammate from the biggest pinhead I’ve known. I’m not sure I caught your name.”
“Darius.” I take Raven’s hand and cover it with both of mine. “Now who’s going to shit a brick? That sounds painful.” I’ve never heard that expression, but I get the impression it’s not good.
Taking the drink, the bartender places in front of her, Raven draws the straw between her red lips and sucks.
If I were interested in the game she’s playing, or even here for other reasons than business, I’d probably find it sexy.
I don’t, though. Only one woman holds my attention these days.
She’s had it since I sat down at a bar and dared to open up to her.
Grinning, she nods her head toward something behind me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “How did you get past her when you walked in?”
I swivel the stool around so I can look where she is while telling her, “I didn’t come through the front door. Jack and I had a meeting. He let me in through the back.”
Through the open doorway, I can see the front desk.
There’s a man standing there. The very one I came here to speak to.
He’s flirting with the hostess, confidence dripping from his expensive suit and slicked-back hair.
His date, a blonde, looks less than impressed.
Not all men bring women with them, but a few do.
It doesn’t stop them from acting like pricks who believe they’re God’s gift to all women.
He winks once at the hostess, turns, then guides the woman into the bar where I’m sitting.
I shift forward to stand, ready to take care of business so I can get out of here. But the second he clears the door, the air changes, and everything fades into the background.
Standing at the reception desk is Ingrid.
The dress she’s wearing is testing my restraint.
My cock turns to stone. She’s welcoming the next son of a bitch, smiling at him like he’s hung the fucking moon.
Anyone else may buy it. I don’t. I know her too well.
She’d rather be anywhere but here—I can make that happen.
I down the last of my whiskey. A warm burn trailing down my throat.
I’m up, jacket smoothed, moving fast, drawing every gaze in the room.
Passing the man I came for, I brush against him, catch his wrist and turn him slightly.
While he’s distracted, I snap a tracker onto his watch.
Clean. Quick. He’ll never know. His movements are mine now.
Business finished, I steady him and head straight for the lobby. Ingrid greets me with a smile so false it hurts to look at—until her eyes rise, meet mine, and falter in shock.
“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” The words are out before I can stop them. “No. No, this is not acceptable. We are leaving.”