She takes a step closer to me. “The problem with caring for others is that it makes it so easy for them to take advantage of you.”
I ignore her insinuation. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get to work. I have a quota to meet, after all.” I smooth down the satin of my bodice and turn for the stairs.
Her hand clamps around mine, her pointed nails digging into the soft flesh of my arm. “I think deep down, you are an intelligent woman, Caterine, even if you do degrade yourself. So let me make this clear. I know who you are, and I know what you can do. More importantly, I know what your sister can do. You do not want to find yourself as my opposition.”
I yank my arm from her grasp and pray she can’t somehow feel the rapid beating of my heart. I refuse to let her see the fear chilling my blood. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my sister.” I turn onmy heel and race down the short flight of stairs leading from the backstage wings to the entrance of the main salon. I pause before the door, taking a moment to still my breathing and drop my mask fully into place before I push out into the waiting crowd.
When I enter the main salon, the crowd swarms me, but I brush them off with smiles and waves. My eyes catch on the guards posted around the room, dressed all in black, standing still as statues. They’ve been here since we all signed our contracts. Lady M claims they’re for our protection. I can’t help feeling they’re more likely to protect her investment than our well-being. I ignore their looming presence and head directly for the bar, my eyes sweeping the room, looking for a tall man with impeccable taste, determined to push all threats from Lady M from my mind. Tonight I’m going to make my quotaandenjoy myself, just to spite her.
Instead of finding the wealthy newcomer, my eyes land on one of the club’s most handsome, and flirtiest, regulars.
“Lady Caterine.” Maro Violaine pushes off the bar, closing the distance between us. His long dark curls are artfully disheveled, in a way that makes me think he spent an hour in the mirror before stepping out of his grand estate.
“Maro.” I reach for the glass of whisky clasped in his hand, taking a long sip, leaving a perfect red imprint of my lips behind on the crystal.
“I hear congratulations are in order.”
I raise one eyebrow, watching his face closely for any hint at his meaning. “Oh?”
He flashes me his signature grin. It’s charming and disarming and allows him to get his way in just about anything. “Your new benefactress. The club has had quite the makeover in the past few weeks.”
“Right.” So much for pushing Lady M to the back of my mind.
Maro takes his glass of whisky back. “You’re not a fan?”
I don’t say anything, not because I don’t want to, but because Maro’s father is one of the most powerful men in Talia, and even if Maro is considered the black sheep of his family, I can’t have him running to Daddy and spilling all of Harold’s secrets. So I shrug and flash him a coy smile of my own. “The club has surely benefited from her patronage. We are lucky to have her.”
Maro chuckles at my obvious lie. “I’m sure you are, Cate. Always a pleasure.” He tosses back his drink, leaving the empty glass on the bar top before disappearing into the crowd.
I never know quite what to make of that man.
Leaning over the long mahogany bar, I flag down one of my favorite bartenders. “Hey, Jimmy!”
Jimmy grins and automatically pours me a whisky. “Great show tonight, Lady Caterine, as always.”
“Thanks, love. Have you seen a new guy anywhere? Tall, handsome, looks very rich and slightly scared?”
Jimmy laughs and cocks his head toward the end of the bar.
And there he is. His back faces the room, missing all the action still happening onstage. Definitely a first-timer. He’s hunched over his drink like he doesn’t want anyone to notice him, which given his height and the breadth of his shoulders is practically impossible.
I slide down the bar until I’m perched right next to him, a sliver of space separating our elbows, resting on the bar top. “Not enjoying the show, my lord?”
The man grunts, his eyes fixed on the golden-brown liquor in his glass.
He doesn’t answer, so I turn my body, letting my breasts graze his biceps. I lower my voice. “Perhaps there’s something I could show you in private that would pique your interest.” Normally I would let the tension linger between us a little longer, flirt for a fewmore minutes before propositioning him, but something tells me this man isn’t one for games.
He shifts then, and his eyes find mine. They widen with recognition, and for a moment we just stare at each other.
I knew he was handsome. I could see that even when I was dancing onstage in front of the crowd. But up close, this man is beyond handsome. His jaw is sharp and clean-cut. His eyes are the brightest blue. His hair tumbles in copper-colored curls that I suddenly long to run my fingers through.
He’s beautiful. It’s the kind of face a girl could fall in love with. Or at least, the kind of face any girl but me could fall in love with.
And yet a single word darts through my mind.
Mine.
A shiver races up my back and somehow seems to embed itself under my skin. There’s a buzz, an itch I’ve never experienced before, a longing that feels rooted deep inside my chest. I want to reach out and touch him. But I push the urge down and ignore it, focusing on the task at hand.
