“Since my business partner bought in.” He winks at me. “Gotta keep appearances now that we're legitimate.”
Luce snorts. “You? Legitimate? That's rich.”
“Speaking of rich,” Camille interjects, “I'm curious about this restaurant. What kind of cuisine?”
“French,” Jord replies, toneless but polite. “Classic techniques, modern presentation.”
“How… predictable.” She examines her manicure. “French cuisine is so overdone these days. Everyone thinks they can master it after a few months in Paris.”
It this bitch for real?
Jord's expression doesn't change, but I know him well enough to catch the tightening around his eyes. “Good thing I trained in Lyon then.”
“Oh?” Camille perks up, scenting blood. “Under whom?”
“Paul Bocuse.” Jord shrugs. “Before he passed, obviously.”
Even Camille can't find fault with that. Bocuse is legendary, and Jord knows it. But she recovers quickly, turning her attention back to me.
“So a restaurant, this gorgeous house, a devoted husband who travels constantly…” She ticks off each point on her manicured fingers. “You've built quite the life.”
The implication slithers between us. I’m a gold digger. That I haven't earned any of this.
“Some of usdowork for what we have,” I say evenly.
“Of course.” Her smile could cut diamonds. “I'm sure your… work… is demanding.”
Asher shifts beside her, and for a moment I think he'll intervene. Instead, he pulls out his phone and scrolls.
“What kind of work do you do?” Atlas asks, genuinely curious now.
I open my mouth, but Asher speaks first.
“She's in publishing.” He doesn't look up from his phone. “Prefers the underdogs. Unconventional stories.”
Camille laughs, the sound brittle. “How mysterious. Are we talking sci-fi? Romance?”
I hold her stare. “Well, a bit of this and a bit of that. I do love a good horror romance.”
Her brows shoot up as she rests back against the couch. “Huh. I'm not surprised. I mean for someone to be so close to my Asher, I would assume you'd be into all that… gore.” So she knows we're close. Or were.
She must sense my inner thoughts because she rolls her eyes. “Oh puhlease, let's get this over with. Yes, I know about Ashvy, and yes, I know you're his precious Venom. It's why he hasn't mentioned me that has me confused.”
Finally. Something we can agree on.
Chapter 9
Ivy
Parker's got a weird talent for making people laugh without being funny. Every single person sitting around the table tonight fuels his ego.
Except for Asher.
Punk vanishes to show her lover the rest of the house, and every so often, I’d catch Asher’s eyes on me any time Parker would be talking. He knew my self-absorbed husband would be too caught up in his own tales and achievements to realizethat Asher was barely focused on him at all. His attention was entirely on me, even when it wasn't. He perfected this skill a while ago.
Crossing my leg over the other, I hit something beneath the table that feels like embers on my shin.
My eyes land on Asher, who is opposite, but he's engaged in conversation with Parker while chewing his food. I go to slide my foot beneath my chair when his collides with mine, stopping any movement.
