"No."
My eyes narrowed. "No?"
"No." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "We're doing the bet."
I blinked. "...We are?"
"We are." Then he glanced around slowly before reaching toward me. Not grabbing. Not forcing. Just offering his hand. "Come on."
I looked down at it suspiciously. "...Where are we going?"
He looked offended. "Privacy."
"Privacy?" I repeated.
"Well, yes." His eyes gleamed beneath the devil mask. "This is a very serious negotiation."
Every instinct in my body screamed that this was a terrible idea. A catastrophic idea. The worst idea I had ever had in my entire life. Unfortunately... Curiosity had always been my biggest character flaw.
So I put my hand in his. I looked down at his hand suspiciously. Then back up at him. Then back down again. Every survival instinct I possessed started screaming. Loudly. Violently. Repeatedly.
My hand in his? Immediate mistake. Catastrophic mistake. Because the second my fingers touched his, his expression changed beneath the devil mask. Not much. Just enough. Just enough that I realized I'd made an error. A huge one.
He guided me through the club with infuriating confidence, barely looking where he was going. People shifted around us naturally. Moved aside without being asked. A couple of womensmiled at him as we passed. One man gave a respectful nod. He barely acknowledged any of it.
Meanwhile I was trying very hard not to notice that I was still holding his hand. Very hard.
The music softened as we moved farther from the main floor. Hallways curved beneath low amber lighting and black walls that looked almost liquid beneath gold accents. The heavy pulse of bass faded into something quieter here.
Then he opened a door. And I walked inside. And stopped. I stared around the room in horror. Black leather couches curved around the walls beneath dim golden lights. Mirrors reflected soft shadows across polished floors. A small stage sat toward one side of the room.
With a pole. A very obvious pole. A stripper pole. I slowly turned toward him. My face felt approximately one thousand degrees. "You brought me into a stripper room?!"
His shoulders started shaking. The asshole was laughing. "No."
"You brought me into a STRIPPER ROOM,” I repeated.
He finally looked at me, visibly losing the battle against amusement. "It's a private lounge."
I pointed dramatically. "There's a pole!"
"Decorative." He shrugged. "Very expensive decoration."
He leaned lazily against one of the couches while I stood there looking personally betrayed by architecture. He pointed toward me. "I bet I can guess three things about you."
I narrowed my eyes. "And if you're wrong?"
He smiled slowly. "You walk out of here tonight without getting what you wanted."
Suspicious. Extremely suspicious. But I looked at him. And then looked around. "...Fine."
His smile widened. Damn it. He straightened slowly. Then looked at me for a long second. Not smiling now. Actuallystudying me. His eyes moved over my face. My expression. My posture. Slowly. Deliberately. And for some reason heat crawled up my neck. Very annoying. Then he lifted one finger.
"Number one." He looked directly at me. "You hate the man you're supposed to marry."
Everything inside me froze. My face betrayed me. Because his grin widened. "You cheated!"
"I don’t even know his name,” he reminded me. “I barely know you.”
