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He shrugs. “It’ll knock him out till morning. He’ll wake up with a mild headache and no recollection of the night before. But not much else.” He shakes the baggie. “We both know you hate fucking him, Lucky. I’m giving you a way out.”
“But you’re not, though, are you, Ridge? You want something.”
He attempts a smile that doesn’t make it past the naked hunger cleaving his features. He reaches forward with the hand holding the bag and runs his forefinger down my cheek. “I dream of you when I go to sleep. Every single night. You know that?”
When I don’t answer, he removes his hand.
“I know you took something from Clay’s office. He hasn’t worked out what it is yet. He’s leaving for the casino at eight-thirty. Make sure you spike Krakov’s drink before then. I’ll make sure Clay knows the asshole’s not coming. Once Clay leaves for the casino, come to his office. Bring whatever you took, and I’ll make all your little sins go away.”
“In return for…?”
His gaze lands on my mouth. His Adam’s apple bobs. “You know what I want. What I’ve wanted since Clay hired me two years ago. You’ve denied me for long enough, Lucky.” He holds out the bag. “Make it happen.”
He doesn’t need to add anything else. I know I’m caught between the proverbial fucked rock and a fucking hard place. I take the baggie, tuck it into the tiny zipper compartment of my clutch.
I return to the foyer with profuse apologies and my best acting skills firmly in place. But Clay still stabs me with a hard, speculative stare. That stare strays to me with alarming frequency for the rest of the time Krakov stays in the lounge and cocktail bar. Contrary to what I thought was coming my way, Krakov draws out the moment he takes me to his suite. My relief is palpable when he requests dinner at seven. I pander to his every wish, while inside I’m a sticky hot mess.
My instincts warn me that climbing into bed with Ridge to save myself from Clay is the worst possible solution to my problems.
But when Krakov takes my hand after dinner and starts to lead me away from the dining room, I’m out of options. Clay raises his glass to Krakov as we pass his seat. The Russian, alarmingly sober despite the premium vodka he’s been knocking back for the better part of four hours, slaps him on the back.
Clay’s gaze meets mine, and my heart somersaults at the peculiar look in his eyes. Earl, who’s also lurking nearby, sends me a scathing look as I leave the room. I want to tell myself it’s my imagination, but the voice in my head won’t allow me.
When Krakov stops in the bar for a nightcap, I take my chance and drag him to a dark booth. While his head is buried between my breasts, I slip the powder into his drink. My heart stops beating in the time it takes for the white powder to dissolve, and I’m a whisper from fainting when he accepts the vodka and knocks it back.
I don’t know how long I have before the drug takes effect, so I stand, put on my best pout, and bend over so my cleavage is on full display. He takes the bait. I hurry to the elevator, grateful when he dismisses his two bodyguards.
His gait starts to weave as we reach his suite. I slip my arm around him and almost frog march him inside. The bed is within easy distance. Krakov is out before his head hits the pillow. The part of me that’s grateful I don’t have to endure his touch tonight is woefully feeble against the greater evil lurking in my future.
Heart racing, I undress him, scatter his clothes around the room, then with a quick prayer, take out my travel size perfume and spray two puffs over his body. I don’t know what will happen when I go to meet Ridge, but on the off chance Krakov wakes up, my scent in his bed might buy me some credibility.
I hurry out of the room and head for the North Wing. I have ten minutes to grab the encrypted thumb drive I took from Clayton’s safe before Ridge’s eight-thirty deadline.
My heart is racing out of control by the time I make it to my room. I sit on my bed and take a minute to control my shaking. My gaze lands on my closet. I’m not sure why I stand and head for it. Not sure why I drag out the backpack containing my sacred-things-not-to-leave-behind.
I want to believe that a higher power is looking out for me, prompting me in this direction. But I’ve been crapped on too many times for the hollow belief to sustain me. Nevertheless, I shove my purse and smaller backpack into the larger one. I know it’s unlikely any of the girls will be up here at this time of night, but I still make my way cautiously along the corridor and breathe in relief when I make it to the elevator without encountering anyone.
I swipe my card for the basement and peer out cautiously when the doors open. Most of the area is shut down for the night, but the small corridor leading to Clay’s office is lit. I stash the backpack under the desk nearest the elevator and make my way to Clay’s office.
As I near it, I smell cigar smoke. My heart stops.
Clay.
He’s the only one who smokes the Cubans. But Clay left for the casino. No, wait, I didn’t actually see him leave.
I’m rooted on the spot, unsure whether to flee or confront my fate.
The office door opens and Ridge walks through. “I thought I heard the elevator.” He attempts a smile and holds up a lit Cuban. “I hope you don’t mind the smell. When the boss is away, and all that, right?”
“C—Clay’s not here?”
He frowns. “No. I told you, he’s gone to the casino.” He stands back and beckons me in.
My feet unfreeze and I enter.
Ridge shuts the door and I hear a distinct click. I whirl to face him, and he shrugs. “No one’s going to come down here, but I don’t want us to be disturbed. Is that okay?”
I jerk out a nod, because what the fuck else can I do?