“No, Revelin’s not my client,” she said, crooking her elbow with mine. She guided me inside with a quick step. “And don’t try to tell me you didn’t know this was David Dylan’s project. Sneaky bitch.”
I bit my lip and considered feigning innocence, but she’d likely see through it. Tonight was the soft opening of David’s hotel, an invite-only trial run. I’d been to the site once before with David, when it’d been under construction, and the exterior alone had had me envisioning sultry black sand beaches. That concept was even more prevalent now as I scanned the interior. Onyx-colored marble floors veined with pearly silver spanned the lobby, flanked by large aquariums with unnaturally blue water. Even the fish matched the interior.
Someone dressed in head-to-toe black directed us toward a doorway. I gasped as I realized the aquariums connected, and we passed under the glass bottom into a sensual lounge. Darker than the lobby and with low-hanging glass chandeliers, the space glowed ethereal. Red velvet seating lined the room, inviting and attractive against shadowy walls.
Gretchen managed to conjure up two drinks, handing me one. “I see sexy Liv came out to play tonight,” she said, raising her eyebrows at my black, strapless, skintight jumpsuit that proudly displayed my slight but full cleavage.
I smiled. With heavy eyeliner, straight hair, and glossy pink lips, I said, “I’m channeling seventies glam.”
We clinked glasses. “Where’s Bill?” she asked as she took a sip.
“He went north with some friends for the weekend.”
“He fucking loves fishing, doesn’t he?”
I laughed. “What he loves is getting out of the city . . . and yes, fishing, too.”
“You’d think he’d grown up in the country or something.” She checked her phone. “Wait here. I have to get Greg at the door.”
I drifted over to the aquarium that separated the lounge from the lobby, drawn in by the comforting blue glow. I tasted my drink, Belvedere and cranberry, I guessed, while gazing at the aimless fish.
Bill actuallyhadgrown up on a small farm an hour outside the city where his very Catholic parents still lived. He worked hard now because they’d instilled that in him as a child. His weekends had been spent with his parents, tending to things around the farm. During the week, they’d had him booked solid with all sorts of lessons, tutoring, extracurricular classes, and a part-time job.
He’d had one long-term relationship before we’d met. He didn’t talk about her often, but I knew he hadn’t been the one to end it. In the beginning of our relationship, he’d given me the impression that he’d intended to marry her. Like any girl learning about her boyfriend’s ex would have, I wondered how things would’ve been different if she hadn’t broken it off.
I brought my glass up to my lips but jumped when I felt a presence behind me. I cursed as alcohol splashed on my chest, one drop sliding between my cleavage.
“Olivia,” David greeted, drawing up next to me.
“How do you that?” I mumbled, accepting a napkin from him and mopping my skin.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice frayed with irritation.
I balled up the napkin and tucked some of my hair behind my ear. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
I sighed and snuck a glance up at him. “Gretchen invited us.”
His expression remained unreadable as his gaze followed the fish. He blinked down, his eyes lingering over my outfit. They swooped up to my face, and he took a measured sip from his glass. “Well, you never fail to impress, Olivia. Never.”
I didn’t know how to take the wryness in his voice. He remained impassive with one hand deep in his pocket and the other curled tightly around his glass.
“Um,” I said, trying not to sound intimidated. “The hotel turned out wonderfully. You must be so pleased.”
He snorted and nodded to my half-empty glass. “What are you having?”
“Trying to get me drunk, are you?” I teased. “That’s not very gentlemanly.”
“Who gave you this idea that I’m such a gentleman?” He leaned in closely and whispered, “Because they were entirely mistaken.”
I inhaled deeply at his liquor-spicy breath on my skin. A wolfish grin before he strolled away let me know he’d noticed my reaction. This wasn’t the same restrained David I had been dealing with lately. This was the David in Lucy’s office, who was growing impatient. David from the cold stairwell, who took what he wanted.
I followed him, lured by his words, hooked by his trailing scent. “How’s that view at night anyway?” I asked when we’d reached the bar.
He cleared his throat and looked over my head. “Where’s your husband?”
“Fishing,” I said flatly. David’s brown eyes dropped to mine, and he surveyed me like a predator would—with a tense jaw and a lusty, narrow-eyed stare. I wavered slightly in the fog of his maleness, out in full force tonight. The thrill he inspired in me held as much fear as it did excitement. He scoffed and uttered something to himself.
