Not now. Not fucking now. “Who are you?”
“Me? Darling, didn’t you watch the performance? I’m the guy so far in the back you needed opera glasses to see me. However, I’m not above a private performance. Say, at your place?”
Henri was not in the mood for flirting. Wait. Private performance. Maybe this guy had information. “What have you heard about Sebastian Unger?”
“He landed my dream role, dammit.”
“What about his patron, Charles?”
The guy grinned, more sharkish than friendly. “Hispatronis loaded, for one thing. And between you and me, I think he’s a little more than merely a patron.”
Oh hell no! This guy was not going to drag anything to do with Sebastian through the mud. “What are you talking about? Lots of opera singers have patrons, don’t they?”
“Oh, we do, but not many have a patron like Charles. He’s possessive. Keeps Sebby-poo on a tight leash.”
My fist and this guy’s face should meet.Henri fought back a growl when the guy dropped a silk-coated arm around his shoulders and whispered into his ear. “While the rest of us attend the after party, Charles insists on taking Sebastian away to aprivate affair.The people who hold season passes to the opera house pay good money to mingle with the stars. Let me tell you, good ole Charles’s selfishness isn’t winning Sebastian any fans.”
“What are you talking about? Wouldn’t these same people attend Charles’s party?”
The guy laughed, a raucous, evil sound. “You haven’t been around much, have you? Theprivate partymight be only for Charles and Seb. Not all patrons are like that, but some definitely are.”
Rose to the Heart, a dagger of love…. Seb, how could you?Henri closed his eyes and sagged against the wall. His unwelcome witness chattered on, words falling on deaf ears. Seb. The one thing in Henri’s life he’d been able to count on. No, they’d never said the words, they’d never even discussed being exclusive. In fact, Sebastian had even said he understood if Henri found others upon his return to LA. It didn’t lessen the pain. Seb, his Seb, wasn’t his.
His heart a lead weight in his chest, Henri stumbled down the hall toward the exit. The elusive scent memory clicked into place. Burberry. Charles the dickwad reeked of Burberry.
