I fail horribly.
No matter where I am in the room or who I’m talking to, I can feel his gaze burning into me. And whenever my brother drags me into his networking conversations, Stryker glares daggers at the men like they personally offended him. After a solid half hour of this, his client drifts to the far side of the hall to strike up conversations of his own, and Stryker’s forced to follow.
I didn’t realize how much I’d miss the comforting weight of his presence until he was gone. Without him, even in a sea of people, my brother at my side, I’ve never felt more alone.
“Kiara, right?” I glance up at some suave dude that looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place him. Dark hair that matches an even darker suit, custom tailored and looking like it cost more than my brother’s car. The heavy silver watch on his wrist compliments his eyes; light grey with a sharp gleam as he studies me intently.
“I don’t believe I introduced myself.”
He offers a disarming smile. “You didn’t need to, your brother’s been singing your praises to everyone within earshot all night.”
With a roll of my eyes, I sigh in defeat. “That’s Kills for you. Great for my self-esteem, terrible for my social battery.”
“First time you’ve attended one of these fundraisers, I take it?”
“How could you guess?”
He chuckles, snatching a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing tray and offers me one. “You don’t suffer fools well. Between you and me, I’ve been playing a drinking game for the last hour. Every time one of these assholes approaches you and you silently sigh in annoyance before plastering on a fake as hell smile, I drink.”
I grimace. “That obvious?”
He snorts. “Worse, I’m afraid. I actually had to admit defeat and call it quits before I wound up missing the auction for an impromptu nap.” I can’t help but laugh, and he takes it as encouragement to continue. “A word of advice? That’s like catnip to this crowd. Rich pricks aren’t used to accepting no as an answer, and they’re far too bored in life since they get everything they want with a snap of their fingers. When a challenge presents itself? They’ll become relentless for the simple sake of winning if you’re not careful.”
Eyeing him warily, I drawl, “Let me guess. You’re not like other boys? So you’re swooping in with a different approach because you’re smarter than all of them put together.”
He barks out a genuine laugh. “Now I see why he’s obsessed with you.”
“Who?”
He brushes off my question, grinning. “Doesn’t matter. Looks like the auction is about to start and we’re seated at the same table. I thought I’d take it upon myself to chase off the vultures so you made it back before the lights dimmed.”
“For not at all a self-serving reason, I’m sure.”
He grins. “Oh, 100% selfish reasons, and I hoped you might be willing to help me out in exchange. A little tit for tat, if you will.”
Curious, I raise an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“There’s an item up on the auction block tonight that I desperately want to get my hands on. Seeing as you’ve caughtso many of my competitor’s eyes this evening, if you’re willing to help distract them when the time comes so their attention is split, I can swoop in and claim victory without it costing a fortune.”
“And what’s in it for me?”
As we settle into our chairs, he discreetly reaches into his pocket and slips something under his linen napkin, then slides it in front of me. I take a drink of my water with one hand, using my other thumb to flip up the corner of the napkin.
And promptly choke on my water.
“You can’t be serious.”
He smirks. “As a heart attack.”
I glance down at the bundled stack of 100s, the bank-wrapped paper tag around them showing it’s five thousand dollars.
I’ve never seen that much cash at one time in my life.
“All you have to do is play along once I give the signal. I’ll flirt a bit, make every other bastard here jealous, then you’ll make a dramatic scene worthy of turning heads to get everyone’s full attention. Dealer’s choice on how you want to accomplish it. Once the bidding window is nearly over, I’ll swoop in at the last second while everyone else has lost track of time and secure my victory.”
But something nags at the back of my mind that I can’t let go. The memory of Stryker casually whipping out counterfeit hundreds at the pet expo, and it makes me wonder; maybe that’s how the rich stay rich. Screwing people over when they ‘pay’ because I highly doubt a waiter or service worker would have the balls to call out powerful men like them.
“How do I know these aren’t counterfeit bills?”
