Chapter 12
Twelve
Vicky
The man who eventually arrives isn’t security. He’s in black tie, for one. For another, he’s middle-aged, a little portly, and oozes wealth and authority.
I watch him walk across the courtyard and try not to quail. Maybe an early apology will help.
But he speaks before I get a chance to.
“Marco DeLuca, my dear,” he says as he walks up, voice welcoming and warm. A hell of a lot warmer than I am, after waiting here this long. “So sorry to keep you. What an awful mess-up on the list.”
He doesn’t even look at the security guard but simply offers me an arm, and I take it because I don’t know what else to do.
“I had an inkling you’d be coming,” he says conspiratorially as he leads me slowly across the courtyard. Perhaps he’s being mindful of my high heels, but I’m so damn cold I just want to get inside. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
“Thank you,” I say, careful to keep my teeth from chattering. “I’m Vicky Callahan. Here with Alex Reyes.”
“Oh, I know, my dear. I know.” He pats my hand reassuringly. “I work with Alexander. I’m his managing partner. My wife, Maria, has been very keen to meet you.”
That doesn’t sound too bad. “Thank you,” I say again, resisting the urge to tug my coat closer.
“She’s just inside,” Marco says. “Come, let’s get you warm.”
Inside, the Metropolitan Club leans heavy on marble, burgundy and gilt, dripping with age, high-class, and society. It’s not my scene at all. It’s very much Alex’s. But at least it’s warm.
The woman who meets us is a few years younger than Marco, with an interesting face. A few laughter lines show a predilection toward a good nature, but there’s a hard severity in her eyes and the way she holds her mouth, like she’s seen some sadness.
“Oh, you poor thing.” She waves off the uniformed man who comes to take my coat, and I’m immediately grateful to her for that. “Shall we wait here a while until you’ve warmed up?”
There’s a heater just inside the door, and I can feel the hot air restoring my blood flow. I give her a grateful look, and add motherly to my assessment of her.
“I’ll leave you in my wife’s capable hands, Victoria,” Marco says amenably. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps we might have a dance later?”
I’m loath to agree, because if he’s Alex’s boss, that would be even more humiliating. I settle for a safer reply. “Thank you again for rescuing me.”
“Not at all.” He doesn’t seem to mind my evasion, smiles, and heads on inside.
Through the open doorway there’s a grand hall filled with people, the hubbub of talking secondary to music from a small chamber orchestra somewhere out of sight.
Couples sweep across a dance floor with more proficiency than I’ll ever manage.
The marble theme continues, white veined with green like subtlety has no place.
A staircase draws my eye to the rear of the room, two sides rising to a central landing then splitting again, sweeping left and right in perfect symmetry.
People stand on it, talking together as they watch the room beneath.
It looks like the ideal place to watch from, and I’m drawn to it—not least because it’s out of the way. Off the floor.
Maria stands quietly beside me, not trying to fill the silence with babble, letting me take it in. She looks Italian, the name supporting it, as does Marco. It conjures up pictures of large family gatherings and home cooking, but something suggests she doesn’t have children. Obviously, I don’t ask.
Instead, I finally unbutton my coat, the warm air having done its work. A man appears to take it, giving me no chit in return. That’s service—or it will be, if I get the right coat back.
“Feeling better, dear?” Maria asks.
“Thank you, yes.” I’ve been here five minutes and thanked them that many times. I take in a breath, lift my head, square my shoulders, and try to remember that I’m a highly competent private investigator here on a mission.
And hope she doesn’t walk me straight over to wherever Alex is.
She doesn’t. “This is your first social event with the Company, is it not?”
There’s a subtle emphasis on ‘company,’ like it carries meaning. “That’s right. Alex hasn’t invited me to any others.” I wouldn’t know if he’s been, or if so with whom. Also, I need to stop mentioning him.
“Of course not. This is Alex’s first.”
Well, in this regard, she knows more than I do about my ex-fiancé. I shift the conversation away from me. From him. “Do you go to many of these?”
“Every single one,” she says frankly, eyes flitting to the doorway and the room behind. “It can get so staid. It’s nice to meet fresh blood.”
Is that how she sees me? My eyebrows don’t go up, but it’s an effort. I give a light chuckle instead. “How often do they happen?”
“Every quarter.” Her gaze returns to me, eyes penetrating. “You don’t know much, do you?”
I choose to take that as a reference to the current situation, and not as a personal insult. “I’ll catch up quickly.”
“Well, perhaps I can fill you in.” Her arm loops through mine, and she walks us to the doorway, the music growing louder, her voice dropping low.
“Here, you have the crème de la crème of the Company. Powerful, wealthy men that would sell their mothers if it reflected well on the balance sheet. Then you have their spouses. That’s where the real fun lies.
Some of them are browbeaten, timid things.
They’re easy to pick out. Others are here just because of the money their husbands bring.
Also very easy—and very shallow. The ones that are fun”—she draws the word out, giving it a kick—“are the dangerous ones. The ones that will do anything to help their husbands. And I mean anything.”
“Which one are you?” I ask, letting my playful tone infer what she wants to hear.
She lays her hand on her chest as if flattered. “Why, me? Oh, I’m totally here for the money, dear.”
Making that absolutely not the case.
But I’m not here to make chit-chat. I have someone to find. “Is there anyone in particular you think I should—” My voice stops abruptly as my eyes find the broad shoulders and straight back of a man I know only too well, even if I can’t see his face.
He’s on the dance floor with a woman in his arms. They’re both moving with more grace than anyone around them, drawing not only my eye but those nearby. Other dancers give them space. Even those on the stairs are watching.
And I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
They look like they’ve been dancing together for years, and perhaps they have. They flow with the music, crossing the marble like they’re skating.
She clings to my ex-fiancé, not through the hand on his shoulder, but with her hips, glued to his.
This is more than dancing; it’s sex, standing up.
No one who saw them could doubt they’re sleeping together.
Not with how close they’re pressed, the way his hand cups her back—her bare back, as is obvious when he turns her.
There’s no way she’s wearing anything under the dress.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, she’s beautiful. Late-twenties, olive skin, a spill of lustrous, dark hair. Her makeup’s immaculate. Her dress is liquid black satin, molded to curves I don’t have, slit high enough to make dancing possible, and to ensure everyone notices when she does.
My face heats with shame and humiliation, for the worst of it all is the sheer sensuality she exudes. She owns it, she lives it. It’s obvious with the way every man watches her. It’s something I could never aspire to. No wonder she’s in Alex’s arms, and I am not.
Now I know why there was no invitation, no name on the list. Why I haven’t seen him for the last week.
A week? Hell, the woman in his arms is the reason he’s been absent from my life since—what, two weeks after he proposed? Seven months ago? That’s when he began to fade from my life. That’s when… whatever this is… must’ve started.
I stare at her, yet so many of the women are watching him, for Alex is in his element. Perfectly controlled, effortlessly competent, infinitely graceful. Immaculate in a tuxedo that’s at its best against his dark hair and warm skin, tailored to show his physique. And there’s a lot to show.
“Rita Lucero,” Maria provides. “An extremely competent Chief of Staff, by all accounts.” She glances sideways at me. “But of course, you must know that already.”
“Yes,” I reply dully, aware that Maria’s goading me. She knew Rita was here, in Alex’s arms, as his date. Just like she knows I couldn’t have picked her out of the crowd if she hadn’t been draped all over him.
The music comes to a stop, the dancers striking poses, a polite round of applause passing through the crowd.
“They have such a successful working relationship,” Maria continues her commentary, while on the dance floor Rita’s eyes find mine over Alex’s shoulder, his back to me again.
I see the moment she recognizes me, even though we’ve never met.
The moment she calculates, very deliberately.
Then her hand comes up, cupping Alex’s cheek, drawing his head down.
She rises to meet him, her other arm sliding around his neck, and in front of everyone, she kisses him.
And he kisses her back.
“…A close working relationship,” Maria amends, with a hint of amusement in her voice.
But I’ve turned away, heading for the door. Unable to watch any longer, or to hear Maria’s pointed comments, enjoying my naivete, my humiliation. My fresh blood. Like she’s a vampire, or a leech.
Screw Lucy’s case. Screw Alex’s twenty grand. It’s not fucking worth it.
I’ll give up the business. Get a job again. Pay him back if it takes me six months. With interest.
So long as I never have to see him.
“Vicky, wait.” Maria’s voice follows me, cutting through the quieter entrance hall. She’s only a few paces behind me.
I turn, ready to take my rage out on her, stopping myself only just in time. Not because she doesn’t deserve it or because she’s Alex’s boss’s wife, but because that’s not me. I’m not that kind of person. I don’t belong here, with these people.
And I’m leaving.
Her hand grasps my elbow. “Wait.”
It’s not the hold she has on me that makes me hesitate, but the change in her tone. The look in her eyes.
I press my lips together and I wait, as bidden. She has thirty seconds until my coat arrives—and they better be fucking bringing it, or I’ll be going home without it.
Maria releases me, seeing something in my expression. She takes a breath, lets it out, and gives me a nod. Almost of support. “You didn’t know, did you?”
That doesn’t need a response.
“So what are you going to do?” she presses.
“I’m going to go back home, and put it down to a total waste of an evening that could’ve been spent watching Star Trek Next Gen.” And totally fuck my life over in the process.
Maria blinks at my oddly specific answer, if not my tone. “One option. Here’s another: fight.”
I stare at her.
“Why?” I ask at last, in complete resignation. Or even, “How?” I can’t compete with the sheer sensuality that is Alex’s choice. When I’m not his choice.
Maria leans in. “Do you know what kind of men these are, my dear?”
“Assholes.”
Her lips curl into a smile. “Precisely. And what do men like that want, more than anything?”
The anger’s draining out of me, leaving me hollow. “I don’t see the point of this conver—”
“A challenge,” she says firmly. “Do you know what you have that no one else here has, especially that woman?”
There’s no need to ask who she means. And to my shame, I can’t think of an answer to her question. “My pride?”
Maria laughs. Genuine, free, and full of surprise, despite the insult I’ve just levelled that includes her. “I was going to say Alex’s desire. But your answer’s better—and perhaps explains why.”
I blink. “You must not have seen what I saw,” I say flatly. “He kissed that woman in front of everyone.”
“My dear, you must not have seen what I saw. She kissed him.”
She might be right, but I’m not in the mood to consider it. “Who cares? You said Alex desired me. I can assure you that he does not.”
And what does it matter anyway? I no longer define myself based on what he wants.
“My husband tells me Alex has kept you at a distance—”
“I’m so glad everyone knows.”
“—from the Company,” Maria continues pointedly. “Marco is quite enamored with the idea of you, and I must admit, I’ve been dying to meet you.”
“Why?”
“A woman Alex won’t let anyone see? He keeps you hidden away, protected, like a crown of jewels. And now I’ve met you, I understand why.”
That's a very uncomfortable description. Yet I can't argue its veracity. The hidden away bit, anyway. “You make it sound like ownership, not desire.” A shiver runs through me as I say it, and I hate that it does.
“Are they mutually exclusive?” She gestures at me. “You’re engaged, aren’t you? You captured his heart in what, two months?”
She’s awfully well informed, except for one very salient point. “He doesn’t love me,” I say bitterly. “He never did.”
“Not his heart, then. His admiration. His lust, if you want to be crude. What difference does it make?”
A man arrives with my coat, and Maria waves him away. For some reason, I let her. Perhaps because I’m still trying to figure out why admiration and lust can equal love, and be just as acceptable. I’m certain they can’t.
Maria continues where she left off. “The point is, you’ve done something to the man. He’s utterly besotted with you.”
Now she’s just talking nonsense. “Are we discussing the same Alex?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “How many other fingers has he put a ring on?”
I’m suddenly very conscious of my left hand, and surreptitiously lower it to my side. “I’ve never asked him.”
Maria gives a delighted chuckle. “Well, my dear, unless you want the number to grow, get back out there and show him who you are.”
I glance past her to the room full of people and those on the dance floor. Then I take a breath, lift my shoulders, straighten my spine.
Maria’s right, but not in the way she thinks.
I will show Alex who I am. Not for his benefit, but for mine.
I’m going to walk straight back into that room, and I’m going to find Lukas Van Wyk. I’m going to do what I came here to do, and then I’m going to leave.
Alexander goddamn Reyes doesn’t define who I am.
I’m not here for him. I’m here for Lucy.
And I’m here for me.