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I didn’t look at him. Instead, I watched the numbers of the floors rise. “We?”
I doubted he’d requested me to dress in this manner if he wanted me to be an active member in any of his plans. He wanted me to look like an accessory, but to what end, I didn’t know.
“Iwill be playing poker,” he adjusted his tie. “You’ll be watching.”
I smiled with venom. “I’ll be arm candy.”
“Among other things.” Nausea swam through me at the way Jasper’s eyes ran up and down me.
“What are the stakes of this game?” I glanced down at my French nails back to the floors ascending.
Jasper suddenly grasped my chin, turning it to face him. Mentally biting my tongue, I didn’t react as he pulled my face roughly toward his.
“Everything,” he murmured as the doors opened. “The stakes are always everything with you involved, Calliope.”
Mouth desert dry, I struggled to swallow at his response. But again, I didn’t let it show. I stepped out of the elevator smoothly, without any signs of fear or trepidation, like I owned the room. Jasper walked close behind me, his hand on my lower back.
My skin stung at his touch, his nearness, the intimate game we played. Before, it had been exciting, foreplay to whatever sordid sex we’d eventually engage in. It felt wrong now.
My gaze flitted around the room. The penthouse suite. Windows boasted an unobstructed view of the glittering lights of the city, opulent sofas covered in plush pillows, a table full of sushi, artfully arranged charcuterie, thousands of dollars’ worth of food that likely wouldn’t be eaten. The poker table was in the middle of the room, a large bar off to the left, complete with a bartender in a sleek black suit a lot of tiers up from the ill-fitting uniforms of the other casino employees.
Wealth. Everything in the room denoted understated wealth. Not riches. Not the new money from those who didn’t know how to spend it. No, that was reserved for the flashy VIP areas.
Every bottle at the bar was the finest, thousands, tens of thousands if not more worth of just booze. Cigars, Cuban, arrayed on another table. All of it was complimentary, nothing but peanuts compared to the money that would pass hands tonight. Opulence, to be sure. But the room promised something else… Discretion. The private elevators, the workers who were likely paid handsomely to do whatever the rich assholes asked and who had not been able to walk through the door without signing an NDA. I knew the drill.
Though I felt wrong being with Jasper, a part of me, the same part of me that wasn’t entirely disgusted by his touch, came alive in this environment. I’d been out of it for a long time by then, yet it felt like slipping into a bespoke suit. It was what I was made for.
Or it had been. At that moment, it itched a little against my newly acquired morals.
The table was full. All of the men sat in the chairs, women milling around behind them. As much as things had changed on the outside world—some ways a lot and some ways not a fucking bit—things stayed much the same in the shadows where sinister decisions and billions were made. Men sat at the table, masquerading as masters of the universe, while smart women whispered in their ears, letting those men think they were nothing but concubines.
Heads turned as we walked into the room, acknowledging Jasper leering at me. I looked right back, not lowering my head. Once I’d made eye contact with every man sitting at the table, I went to the bar, leaning over more than was necessary so the hem of my skirt crept up to where I knew my stockings met my garters.
Jasper’s body pressed into my side as his fingers went to the hem of my skirt, pulling it down.
A gesture that was uncharacteristic of him. Maybe part of the game.
“Martini, dirty. Please.” I gave the bartender a smile before directing an arched brow at Jasper.
I knew the handful of seconds of waiting for my attention irritated him, even if he didn’t show it beyond a small twitch in his left finger, which was resting on the bar.
“I thought I was meant to be arm candy,” I murmured to him.
His fingers drummed on the surface of the bar as the bartender shook my drink. “Arm candy does not mean flashing your cunt.”
No one else would’ve heard it, but I caught the thread of irritation woven into his tone. It intrigued me. Jasper wasn’t exactly possessive. He enjoyed me toying with people. Showing people what they couldn’t have.
We stared at each other until the bartender wordlessly slid my drink along the bar.
“Thank you.” I clasped the stem, still holding eye contact with Jasper while lifting it to my lips to take a sip.
The vodka singed my throat as it went down. But I felt no warmth. “It is not up to you who I do or don’t show my cunt to,” I told him once I swallowed.
“At the least, tonight it is.” He pulled harder so my back arched, and I straightened off the bar.
“Tonight,” I agreed.
His eyes brimmed at the challenge. “For now.” He grabbed the martini glass, lifting it to his own mouth and taking a long sip.