41. Neomi
“Where is he going?”
My fingers tighten around the stem of my champagne flute as I watch Gabriel leave our table.
Lars doesn’t look concerned. If anything, there’s amusement in his eyes while his thumb traces an idle line along the bare skin of my thigh.
“You asked for the redhead,” he says calmly. “Let’s see what he does with that.”
I turn back toward the stage as Gabriel crosses the floor.
The music pulses beneath us, thick and heavy, the lighting shifting from gold to a warmer red as the dancer I pointed out begins another dance for the man seated in front of her.
Her hips rolling in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, her hair falling to conceal her face as she leans toward the man
Gabriel stops at the edge of their table and leans down, speaking close to her ear without interrupting the performance. I see the dancer’s expression change. Her eyes flick toward our table—toward me—and then back to him.
The man she’s dancing for straightens, clearly annoyed. He gestures upward, his mouth moving sharply, but Gabriel doesn’t falter. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few bills, folding them before placing them calmly on the table in front of the man.
The man’s posture changes, seeming satisfied with the deal Gabriel offered.
My pulse jumps.
“That was…” I trail off, unable to find the right word.
“Confident?” Lars offers softly.
I glance at him. “You could call it that.”
I’m still watching the dancer finish before settling with the man and disappearing toward the back. Gabriel doesn’t follow her, he simply turns and begins walking back toward us
Lars watches Gabriel’s approach without tension. His hand remains warm on my thigh, fingers flexing when our eyes meet. There’s something in his expression that sends a heat through me that I’m not prepared for.
“Are you jealous?” I ask quietly.
“No, I don’t do the jealous thing, Neomi.”
The answer comes too easily to be a lie.
“Possessive?” I press.
His gaze drops to my mouth before lifting again. “Always.”
Gabriel reaches the table just as the song fades and the next one begins. He sits smoothly, picking up his champagne flute. The ease of it sends another shiver down my spine.
“What did you say to her?” I ask, unable to keep the curiosity from my voice.
“I told her that she had another admirer,” he replies. “And that her current client would be compensated for his inconvenience.”
“And he just…agreed?”
Gabriel’s eyes flick briefly toward the stage. “He understood.”
There’s no arrogance in his tone.
Lars leans back in his chair, studying him. “Are you always this bold?”
“Sometimes.”
“Are you used to getting what you want?” I ask before I can stop myself.
His gaze settles on me, and for a moment, I forget the music entirely. “Not always,” he says quietly. “But I try to be persuasive.”
I blink, my heart still racing. “What did you say to the man she was dancing for?”
He shrugs, lifting his glass. “Everyone has a price. This place isn’t any different.”
“And what price did you offer?”
He meets my eyes, a spark glinting there. “The man was easy, a hundred dollars stopped his protests. For her, I wanted to make sure she knew I was serious, so five grand.”
My jaw drops. “She asked for five grand?”
“No, that’s what I offered,” he says, grin sharpening. “I wanted my number to be effective. I don’t like negotiating.”
It shouldn’t thrill me, but it does. The fact that he made it happen with one whisper and an outrageous figure, leaves me unsettled. Lars stays silent beside me, but I can feel the weight of his attention pressing toward the same question I can’t shake—who is this man?