Cassius squeezed my hand. The plane landed, he let go and leaned back, and waited for the plane to slow down beforestanding up. Just like that, he had turned his attention to the flight attendant and the pilot.
But he’d at least left me reassured that if my downfall came, it would not be in public.
I wasn’t sure if that was better than being destroyed in his suite or not.
11
CASSIUS
Had I known that Sarah would bethisanxious about being in New York City, I might have started somewhere smaller, maybe Miami or Chicago.
Might.
I didn’t do well with people who struggled with insecurity. And most people did better than they thought possible.
But there was something to be said for putting the cart before the horse. I needed to build Sarah up as fast as possible without making her suspicious or fearful of a downfall. A private jet flight might have been the next best step, but it didn’t have to go to Manhattan. About the only thing worse would have been Paris, and truth be told, that would have required a little bit of planning.
Still, we were here, Sarah was functional, and all was proceeding as I had set out to do from the start.
We had one of my valet drivers waiting to pick us up as soon as we landed; the plane had not even had its engines shut down entirely before we were in the vehicle. Sarah was in awe; I had to remind myself that her entire experience with planes beforehand had probably been entirely commercial. Not even first-class seats offered this quick of an exit.
“Enjoy the scenery,” I said. “We still have another couple of hours before we have to be at the gala, and we will be at the hotel suite for a spell before then. There is nothing to explore until then.”
Sarah nodded. She didn’t look as panicked as she had moments before. I almost felt sympathy for her; admittedly, I could never understand the artist’s route. As much as I found them to be an insecure lot of headcases, they did provide art that could occasionally get under my cold skin. A bunch of fucking weirdos who could do the impossible.
It just so happened this fucking weirdo was my hot ex that I sometimes wanted to destroy, sometimes wanted to fuck senseless, and sometimes considered one and the same. And frankly, who the fuck knew what would happen at the hotel? I honestly could have just gotten us one room, but that would be sloppy, too easy. I wanted toearnSarah’s return, not just grab it.
We got to the hotel, a Waldorf in the middle of the city, and were immediately whisked to the penthouse suite. Before I could say a word, however, Sarah made her way to the bedroom on the ground level, closed the door, and sounded like she collapsed into bed.
So.
She was clearing her head before I even had the chance to say anything. Fair enough. Part of the challenge—and fun, for me—was keeping her on her toes mentally. I wasn’t a Black Reaper; I wasn’t going to do anything physical. But mentally?
Well, I’d done enough to let her have the next hour or so to herself.
But after that…
An hour sharp later, I told her it was time to go. Sarah must have anticipated this, because when she opened the door, she was dressed in a silky blue dress that went down to her knees. It was just seductive enough to threaten a stiff reaction in my pants, but not so erotic as to be inappropriate for an event like this. Then again, given how some dressed for events like this, who knew what was fair game and what wasn’t.
I hurried her downstairs to our valet driver already waiting; we kept mostly quiet, only engaging in minor small talk along the way. I wanted to get her to the gala, in a place where my natural confidence and stoicism would have an easier time; she probably wanted to keep her sanity. It didn’t make for a great spark for conversation.
But even in moments like these, I knew that tension was slowly building. Often, silence was the best slow burner. Words always carried a risk that the wrong one or even the wrong inflection could undo hours of proper building. Silence let the mind wander to places it would take much longer to speak to—places I intended to eventually take Sarah.
When we arrived at the gala, I was about to take her to her artwork when I heard someone shout my name.
“Cassius Vale!”
I turned just to hear who had the audacity to speak to me like that. Most people referred to me as “Mr. Vale.” Most people didn’t even bother speaking to me, actually. For someone to speak like that…
I turned and saw a man about my age, slicked back brown hair, in an understated but rich tuxedo approaching me. The man looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He wasn’tanyone I would have done a business deal with; I remembered all of those for a variety of reasons.
“Looks like we both needed to escape Las Vegas,” he said, sporting a grin.
“And who are you?” I said, not bothering to hide my contempt for him acting like an idiot.
“Leo Morril,” he said, extending his hand.
“I would not underestimate them. They’re hungry to make a name for themselves. They are ruthless and unafraid to break social norms to get what they need.”
