I leaned back in my chair, irritation simmering beneath my calm exterior. "And you've become an expert on my romantic preferences when, exactly?"
"Since I’ve known you?" Something unreadable flickered across his face. "That girl downstairs is an anomaly."
I walked back to the window, watching as the first guests began to arrive atThe Gray. Beautiful people in beautiful clothes, arriving in beautiful cars. Fake as shit. Everything about the people here was all about maneuvering to get the most power. Marcus was right. Belle didn’t belong here.
"She was quaking in her shoes," Marcus observed, his tone neutral but his eyes watchful in the reflection of the glass. "Terrified of you once she realized who you were."
The memory of her trembling hands flashed through my mind. The way her voice had gone small when she recognized my name. How different it was from the calculated seduction I usually encountered.
I turned and let out a cold laugh, deliberately dismissive. "And this is significant because...?"
"Because you noticed," Marcus said simply. "You, who prides himself on remaining untouched by emotion. You, who treatsvulnerability as a weakness to be exploited. You stopped. You helped her. You looked at her like she was a puzzle you couldn't quite solve."
"She's a beautiful woman who literally ran into me," I stated flatly, moving back to sit at my desk. The obstacle between us felt necessary suddenly, as if proximity to Marcus might somehow reveal more than I wanted seen. "An unusual occurrence, nothing more."
"Beautiful women exist in abundance in your world," Marcus countered. "You pass them by without a second glance daily."
I tapped my fingers against the polished wood, a habit I only indulged in private. "What exactly are you suggesting, Marcus? That I've developed some schoolboy crush on a waitress because she dropped her lipstick at my feet?"
"I'm not suggesting anything," he replied. "I'm observing. It's what you pay me to do."
His calm reasonableness was infuriating, perhaps because it contrasted so sharply with the strange restlessness I'd been feeling since the encounter downstairs. "She's also so far from able to keep my interest it's not even funny," I said, my voice hardening. "I only need women to fuck. Not to keep."
The words hung in the air between us, crude and deliberate. A reminder of the man I was, of the boundaries I maintained. Women were a physical release, occasionally a strategic alliance, but never, ever a weakness.
"Whatever you say." Marcus grinned. "One last thing."
"What?" The edge in my voice would have made most men flinch. Marcus merely tilted his head slightly.
"The staff rules about fraternization with ownership are clear. I've already reminded her."
Something hot and unexpected flared in my chest. "You spoke to her about me?"
"I give the same warning to all new employees," he replied, his face unreadable. "Though I was perhaps more emphatic than usual."
I sat very still, aware that my reaction to this information was disproportionate. That Marcus had noticed that reaction as well. That we were having an entirely different conversation beneath the one on the surface.
"Good," I finally said, forcing my voice to remain even.
"Indeed." Marcus opened the door. "Will there be anything else?"
"No. See that I'm not disturbed for the next hour."
When he was gone, I swiveled my chair to face the window again, staring out at the city lights beginning to glitter in the early evening darkness. I needed to refocus, to turn my attention to the Rossi situation, to the countless other matters requiring my consideration.
Instead, I found myself replaying those short moments in Belle’s presence. The slight gasp she'd made, almost inaudible. The way her pupils had dilated briefly, green eyes darkening as they met mine. The fresh scent of her, not the heavy, expensive perfumes I was accustomed to, but something light and clean, like spring rain.
"Enough," I muttered to myself, standing abruptly. This was exactly the kind of distraction I couldn't afford, not with Vincent Rossi making moves against my territory, not with the delicate balance of power in the city trying to shift beneath our feet.
I straightened my tie, adjusted my cuffs, reset my face to the mask I wore for the world. Belle was an employee. A momentary curiosity that would fade as quickly as it had appeared. My world was one of control, of calculated risks and strategic advantages. There was no place in it for young women with names like Blue Belle.
No place at fucking all.
Chapter Three
Belle
Two weeks later…
