I stride to the door and guide her to the elevator, her cherry-cake fragrance slowing my pace so I can simply breathe her in.
We’re headed to the center of the resort. There are two huge rooftop entertainment spaces that members are permitted to reserve. They occupy the area between the North and South Towers. With views of La Lune Noire architecture and the NOLA city lights, they are coveted spaces for events.
When the elevator doors ding open, I guide Mercy inside and brief her. “This party is a meeting of seven connected groups and families. You need to be clingy, attentive, interested. That is the expectation for a woman accompanying me.”
“How progressive,” she deadpans, crossing her arms beneath her breasts to create a seductivelyprogressiveshelf of wet dreams. “What are the stakes?”
She’s annoyed and bratty, but grasps the gravity of her role. She might not enthusiastically support our endeavors, but Mercy is made for my world more than she realizes. It’s in her blood. She has a strong moral compass, but what sets her light-years ahead of others in these types of scenarios is that she’s naturally cunning.
So, I fill her in. “Wives and girlfriends will be present. This will be cordial. Fun. Entertaining. But it is a pre-meeting for the formation of a new cabal. The heads will convene tomorrow night in one of our conference rooms to solidify bylaw agreements. We want as much intel as possible for various reasons. Be on high alert for any mention of a media conglomerate.”
“Spying?”
“And hosting.”
“Understood.” Her jaw sets, and her chest rises with an irritated inhale. “Just another duplicitous Friday with the Noires.”
As we near the correct floor, I thread our fingers and set my gaze on her. “Tamp down the attitude. That won’t work here. I’m not asking much of you. Be yourself, but pretend you are over the fucking moon to be on my arm. Anything less will be a distraction. Sell it.”
“Sorry,” she sighs. “It’s not what you think. The hardest part about that request is being myself. Difficult to do when I don’t know who the hell that is.”
“I know exactly who you are.”
She releases a dubious scoff as the elevator settles with a chime and the doors part. “Oh, yeah? Mind sharing?”
“You’re mine.” I drag her toward the waiting hostess, but before we reach the entrance, I release her hand to slide mine over the small of her back and rasp in her ear, “And just to be clear, Ineverfucking share.”
A flurry of goose bumps erupts on her skin, but I don’t acknowledge them because we’re on.
The strong, brassy notes from the trumpets and trombones of the electro swing band greet us as we filter onto the roof, with the scents of Creole, cognac, and Cuban cigars wafting toward us in the humid, salty air.
We have three fluorescent bar areas, dressed in black and gold—the most prominent being the circular one in the center—all under a canopy of stars and moonlit clouds. Our signature Art Deco style carries out here with sleek, plush velvet sofas, gold-and-crystal accents, ball fountains on the parapet walls, and a glass roof that glides into place if it rains.
Keeping Mercy tucked into my side, I shake hands, dip my chin to those out of reach, and introduce her. The rhythm of the drums drives us through the crowd, and thanks to myperformance last night at the Blind Tiger, none of the men let their attention linger on my girl for more than a second.
The women, who are donned in either audacious flapper attire or modern dresses, fawn over Mercy, asking her question after question aboutus. That might be the easiest part of this lie. So much of it is true. No stories to concoct. No facts to memorize. This ruse is more authentic than the last three years for her, whether she recognizes that or not.
And my sexy Viper sinks her teeth into the doting-fiancée scheme—touching me every chance she gets, batting those long-as-fuck lashes, smiling in feigned adoration.
She’s a fucking fantasy. If only she wasn’t acting out a goddamn role.
Despite that, her presence is beneficial. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a plus-one at any of the events. She keeps my appearance here casual, which is imperative because it isn’t.
We make the rounds, drinking and mingling. The sheer volume of the bass creates the illusion of privacy and encourages clandestine conversations. The most productive talks tend to occur when the dance floor is busy, so I instruct the band to play several Charleston-inspired songs in a row.
After an hour, Mercy retreats to the restroom while I watch the door, sanitize the germs off my hands from all the shaking, and gather information from a nearby discussion.
She returns several minutes later, arching a brow to alert me that she collected her own intel.
I drag her into the far corner, my back braced on the wall, hers against my chest. Hooking my arms around her waist, I graze my cheek over hers. “No one will bother us if we’re over here, having a couple moment. What did you get?”
She shivers and presses into me, her hands clasping my arms. “Nothing about media. But Lenhart isn’t sold on this venture. His wife was in the restroom. I asked her for somemakeup, checked the stalls, and garnered her confidence. She told me he believes there could be negative ramifications from another cabal that he’s in good standing with.”
“Nicely done.”
“Thanks.” She smiles, her brown eyes soaking in the vivacious dancing. “It was … fun.”
Holding her like this is nearly everything I’ve ever wanted.Nearly.
