Page 116

“First, my condolences on the loss of your father, Mr. Drakos.”
Tension tightens my neck. Responding to people’s sympathies is hard to do when you have none of your own. But for once, there’s no subtle smirk or hidden intention in Juliette’s words. She actually appears sincere.
“Thank you,” I force out.
“You mentioned several large-scale projects in major metropolitan areas. Any plans for Drakos Development to expand in smaller circles?”
She knows something.
Even from across the ballroom and the few dozen people standing between us, I can feel her emotions. Feel the anticipation, the excitement as she hunts something new.
The problem is, I’m not sure what she’s after. None of our plans over the next five years include anything but projects in large cities or tourist destinations.
“Not at this time.”
The room seems to hold its collective breath, waiting for her to deliver a customary Juliette Grey follow-up question that will unveil her newest target, wreak havoc or both.
“Thank you.”
Surprised, I can only stare as she smiles, nods her head in my direction, and walks out of the ballroom.
Silence reigns for a split second before conversations break out, voices rising as everyone wonders what Juliette’s little performance was all about. Many of them cast curious eyes in my direction or, for those with a vested interest in Drakos Development, concerned faces.
I grit my teeth. Perhaps that was her game. To get her name linked to Drakos once again. Put the world on alert that my company was back in her crosshairs.
I don’t glance at the door she left through. I’ll deal with her later.
Once and for all.
I turn and give the audience a small smile, like I’m letting them in on a little secret.
“Next question?”
CHAPTER THREE
Juliette
SHORTLYAFTERTHEpress conference adjourns, Gavriil walks out of the ballroom with his brother. I watch them both from a small alcove off to the side and note the similarities and differences between the sons of Lucifer.
The eyes are the same. Both tall, both broad-shouldered. But Rafael’s face is sharper, harder, compared to Gavriil’s square jaw and quick smile. Gavriil’s hair is dark brown compared to Rafael’s jet-black, his beard more like a well-groomed shadow. Rafael’s is cut to precision. They both command respect, making heads turn as they walk into the main hall.
Gavriil is stopped by a slim blonde woman with a figure shown off to perfection in a navy sheath dress. Natalie, if I remember right. Natalie White, a financial reporter based out of New York. Based on the photos I’ve seen of Gavriil with his various women over the years, she’s just his type.
She throws back her head and laughs as she lays a hand on his arm. He smiles down at her, his teeth flashing white against tan skin. Natalie pulls a card out of a leather folder she’s carrying and slips it into the breast pocket of his jacket. He leans down and whispers something in her ear that makes her grin widen and a blush tinge her cheekbones.
An uncomfortable sensation spears through my chest. Being on the shorter side with dark hair and very defined features, I’m the opposite of the blonde and delicate type men like Gavriil and Lucifer prefer. Men don’t look at me the way they look at Natalie. It’s not something that’s bothered me much over the past few years.
But as I watch Gavriil, the charm and focused attention on a woman he finds attractive, I can’t deny the envious tug deep in my chest. A tug that turns into a pull as Natalie croons something up at him that makes his smile deepen.
He’s a playboy, I reassure myself.Good-looking, sure. He’s also exactly the opposite of what you want or need.
Natalie gives Gavriil one last steamy glance before walking away. The flirtatious smile disappears as he leans toward Rafael, replaced by an intense focus that hardens his face. They hold a whispered conversation in the middle of the hall. Their bodies are angled just enough that I can’t read their lips.
My phone buzzes in my lap. I look down and my stomach drops. An automatic text reminder that Dessie’s bill is due. A bill I can make, but just barely, and only because my best friend Catherine is giving me a generous discount. A discount I don’t want to accept. But as Catherine lovingly but bluntly reminded me last week, I don’t have a choice. And if this relapse continues and turns into secondary-progressive multiple sclerosis, the bills will only continue to climb as Dessie declines.
Unless I can get Grey House back.
I look up just in time to see Gavriil walking toward an arched doorway. I mentally pull up the map of the hotel. The doorway leads to a flight of stairs that descends to the lower level of the hotel. A heated indoor lap pool, the hotel’s spa and a walkout to the cliffside pool.