Page 33 of Inked in Devotion

“You haven’t even tried it,” Maksim chided. “Try it. For Chloe.”

I glared at him. “I doubt this is her scene, too.”

Decadence met us at the door. I learned about baroque-style interiors for my cover as Frenchman Nicolas Durant. What one would call opulent designs of ornately carved furniture, gilded architectural accents, heavy drapery, and fantastical crystal chandeliers, I would call gaudy. Aralina called it ostentatiously frou-frou.

Well-heeled guests in the latest haute couture.

Champagne, caviar, Cartier.

These things bored me and I barely paid attention to the lavish entrance.

I needed an infusion of vodka.

Maks and I descended the thick, burgundy-carpeted steps. “Mr. Zahkarov,” the maître d’ standing at the podium at the bottom of the stairs greeted us. “You’re not on the reservation tonight…” the stiff-lipped man in a tuxedo said.

“Just the bar tonight, Chris.”

“Very well, sir.”

I was on my second glass of vodka when I clocked Chloe’s arrival. She was wearing a black cocktail dress that molded to her curves. The skirt flirted around her thighs as she negotiated the stairs. I’d seen her in some photos alongside Theo, but never this radiant. It was as if she’d walked out of a spa and had a full eight hours of sleep. Her sleepy doe eyes, which I’d spent more time imagining in the throes of an orgasm, were heavily made up. She styled her hair into a twist on top of her head with seductive ringlets framing her face.

Did she go to a salon and get fancied up for him? A curtain of red fell over my eyes as I imagined Daniel Wu’s head through a sniper scope.

His slicked-back dark hair matched the impeccable suit he was wearing. He was handsome in a way like those Korean actors Aralina swooned over. He had a lean build. If his exercise of choice was in the martial arts, then packed muscles were hidden beneath his clothes.

Behind them were his sister and De Lucci.

They hadn’t spotted us yet.

I turned away from the staircase and watched them make their way to their table in the bar’s mirror walls.

“Do I need to warn you about the Wu siblings?”

“They know kung fu,” I said glibly.

“It’s not public knowledge, but I wouldn’t challenge them in a hand-to-hand. Rumor has it Daniel Wu fought off Triad assassins five to one.”

“Impressive.” I tossed back my vodka and pointed to the bartender for a refill. “Is that supposed to rattle me?”

“The problem with you, comrade, is there are not many who dare challenge the Zahkarov bratva’s enforcer.”

“Goes with the reputation.”

“So far that reputation hasn’t been helpful in gaining more time with your son. We’ll be revisiting the arbitration agreement again in a couple of weeks. Have you decided whether you want to push for a form of joint custody? Then you’ll have to ask for half days with Sebastian now.”

“Chloe is open to it. I already asked her. It’s her fucking brother that’s been throwing all the roadblocks.”

“It’s about the optics,” Maksim said. “The board is about to give him power over Jeremiah’s shares, and he didn’t want a scandal to change their vote.”

But I was hardly paying attention to what Maksim was saying. What did I care about corporate scandals? My eyes were riveted on Chloe’s date doing the gentlemanly thing by holding out the chair for her to sit. On paper, Daniel Wu wasn’t a bad choice, but he wasn’t the best.

My chest tightened when I saw him lean forward. Surreptitiously watching her was forgotten, as I spun on my barstool to watch what was playing out.

Daniel appeared to brush something off her cheek. Probably an eyelash.

Chloe laughed lightly, but her cheeks turned a pink hue.

She was blessed with long, thick lashes, and there was always a stray one loose. I should know. I’d watched her sleep and wake up.