Page 62 of The Devil of Downtown

I shoot him my most innocent smile, which just stokes the flames. Christ almighty, the look he flashes me could melt the panties off any woman. Mine too, if they weren’t already in his pocket.

When the laughter dies, an older man beside him, with silver hair and eyes that have seen it all, slaps his back. “I’ve waited years to see if Dane Black has a weakness,” he says. “Looks like I finally found one.”

“Oh yeah,” Dane says, jaw tightening, his fingers brushing my hip in a slow tease. The older man just winks at me like we’re in on a secret joke. I laugh too brightly, taking a large mouthful of champagne. Hell, I really shouldn’t poke the bear, but sometimes I just can’t help myself.

As one cluster moves on, it’s quickly replaced by another row of suits, all eager to talk shop—M&A, which I’m pretty sure is not a boy band, volatility, things that sound like chess pieces moving on invisible boards.

I stand there, nodding when someone looks my way, my champagne flute a prop I cling to like a lifeline. A man in a midnight tux steps forward, grinning like he’s old moneypersonified. “Heard Julian couldn’t make it tonight—Frankfurt deal, right? You two still running the table over there?”

Dane’s easy smile slides back into place. “Something like that.”

Desperate for some breathing space, I waggle my glass and point toward the bar. “I’m going for a refill.”

Dane’s eyes cut to me instantly. “Planning on escaping?”

“Don’t give me ideas.” I grin as I turn away, his fingers brushing my waist as if he doesn’t quite trust himself to let me go.

I slip through a mob of tuxedos and silk gowns, through laughter that sounds rehearsed and constant chatter of portfolios and private jets. The farther away I get, the weight in my chest starts to lift.

The bar is tucked into the corner of the ballroom, dimmer than the rest of the room, the conversation low enough to finally breathe in. I order a vodka soda with lime and let the chill of the glass steady me as I take a few slow breaths.

“First gala?” a warm voice says beside me, lilting with amusement.

“That obvious?” I say, turning to find a beautiful woman with dark blonde hair, flawless bone structure, and green eyes that look like they’ve seen too much and gotten away with all of it.

She smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to interrogate you. I’m Violet.”

“Oh, hi,” I say, pleased to see a friendly face. “I’m Ivy.”

She clinks her glass against mine. “So you’re Dane’s date.”

There’s a teasing edge in her tone, but no malice.

“I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Her brows lift, mischief sparking. “I’ve heard if you cut Dane Black, he doesn’t bleed. What’s it like being his date? Hazard pay included?”

A laugh slips out before I cage it. “Honestly? The jury’s still out. He’s... complicated.”

Violet studies me for a beat, a knowing glint in her eye. “Complicated is usually code for dangerous and irresistible. Trust me, I’ve met his type.”

“I’m not sure there’s anyonelikehim,” I muse. “It’s like standing too close to the fire. Hot, fascinating but liable to burn at any moment.”

She tilts her head. “Careful, that’s how it starts.”

I smile, half because she’s right and half because I don’t know what else to do.

From across the room, I spot Dane watching—jacket off now, sleeves rolled, tie undone, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing he sees.

Violet follows my gaze and smirks into her drink. “Oh yes,” she murmurs, “you’re in big trouble.”

She turns, smile widening as a man who’s too damn handsome for his own good slides a hand over her shoulder, fingers brushing lightly against the curve of her neck. There’s a quiet protectiveness in the gesture.

“This is my husband, Chase,” Violet says. “Chase, this is Ivy.”

His handshake is firm, assessing. “You’re here with Dane Black?”

Something flashes in his eyes—a glint of recognition, maybe warning. The kind men like him share when another shark is mentioned.