His hand traveling up her skirt—
A cold shudder runs down my spine, and I forcibly banish the image.
No.
Tonight is not about skulking in the shadows.Tonight is for dragging secrets out into the light.
And tonight, he’s sitting there with no female accessory.I vaguely recognize some of the faces around him.Business associates, I assume.The ones he’s always desperate to impress.
The bartender slides the glass across the bar top.
Clear liquid, promising fire.
To my surprise, my hand is steady as I lift it.I toss the shot back in one quick, burning swallow.The vodka hits my throat like a controlled explosion, igniting a heat that radiates deep into my stomach.
I set the empty glass down with a hard thud, a small, sharp sound in the club’s chaos.I take a slow, deep breath, willing the alcohol’s warmth to burn away the last of my trembling edges.
Showtime.
I weave back through the pulsing bodies, heading for the private booths.
My black dress is a sleek.An unapologetic second skin.
My heels infuse me with a layer of confidence I desperately need.
My gaze is fixed on my destination:
James’s booth.
As I get closer, the faces within become clearer.James, the picture of a consummate businessman, leans forward in an animated conversation.Several other figures from his orbit fill the plush seating.And then, tucked slightly back in the booth’s curve—
Candice.
Here.
Tonight!
When our eyes lock across the space, hers widen with pure panic.They dart nervously around the club before focusing intently on her drink, like it holds the secrets to the universe.
Seeing her here feels like ice water shocking my system.But the cold quickly calcifies, hardening my resolve into something sharp and unbreakable.
“Amy!”one of the blond men calls out over the music, his eyebrows shooting up.“Fashionably late.Emphasis on fashionably.”
Mark, Mike—I can’t remember—from one of the holiday parties James and I attended.
I manage the smallest of smiles as the loud greeting snaps James’s attention from his conversation.His head turns, that perfected charming smile still in place as his gaze sweeps up and lands on me.
On me, standing all alone.
He freezes.
The warmth drains from his expression, replaced by a flicker of confusion, then annoyance.All of it quickly masked by calculation.He was expecting me to be a footnote in his staged drama.
I hold his gaze, feeling the weight of every curious, scrutinizing eye in that booth.“About the charade you proposed for tonight—”
“Sweetheart, you made it!”James interrupts, projecting an overly bright tone.A charming smile is instantly plastered on his face as he rises smoothly.“We were wondering when you’d join us.”He earns himself questioning looks from a few of his people at the declaration.
With two quick strides, he closes the distance between us.His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.They are flat, chips of ice, reflecting pure calculation as he effectively shields me from the direct view of his guests.
